Shattered Lives

by Marian Phair

  PROLOGUE

  The old woman climbed slowly up the hill, pulling her shawl closely around her body. Despite the warm day, she felt cold, said to come with old age. The basket of hazel nuts she had been gathering, weighed heavily on her arm. She planned to rest for awhile under the giant oak on top of the hill, before making her way back down to the cottage she shared with her granddaughter.

  The view from the top of the hill was spectacular, especially at this time of year, when the trees were wearing their autumn dresses of red, brown, green and golden yellow. One could see for miles across the Lough from up here.

  The Nesbitt’s farm nestled beside the Lough shore on the mainland, just a mile away, beyond which lay the estate of the late Lord Felix Harding. He had given her this lovely old cottage on Craig Island, named after his only son and heir.

  Given in recognition for her many years of faithful service to his family, it was hers to live in for as long as she wished, or until her demise, when it would revert back to the Harding estate.

  Reaching the giant oak, Daisy set her basket down and sat with her back resting against its sturdy trunk. She gazed out across the calm waters of the Lough, her mind travelling back in time as she recalled the first day she had set foot on Craig Island.

  It had been a hard life for the families living on the islands back then, without electricity, sanitation, or running water. The things most people took for granted, had been denied to them. Little had changed in her cottage over the years, as she still drew her drinking water from the well and used the Lough water for her other needs.

  Life had been made easier for her a few years ago when Lord Felix had a wood burning cast iron cooking range installed for her, doing away with the big open-hearth fireplace. The tin bath was still in use and hung where it always had, from its nail in the scullery.

  The evenings were her favourite time of day when everyone got together and darkness fell. Storm lamps were lit and they would sit around the fire, drinking from the mugs of hot sweet tea in their hands and catching up on the latest gossip.

  When her Jimmy had been alive, he would entertain her in the evenings with stories of ghosts that roamed the land. Daisy still missed him after all these years. They were poor back in those early days together, and they had often gone hungry, but they were close happy times, content in their love for each other. Her daughter had been born in the cottage on Craig Island, and it had turned out to be the saddest day of her life.

  Jimmy, having set his eel lines, had taken the boat over to the mainland, to help his friend Joseph Nesbitt. Daisy was not expecting him back until very late. She had noticed the dark storm clouds that had gathered, when she brought the washing in from the line. The sky was rapidly turning a dark grey and a sudden wind was already whipping up the waves on the Lough.

  Daisy knew a really big storm was brewing, and took the log basket out to the pile of wood at the side of the cottage and filled it. She filled the kettle, and hung it from the crook over the fire, in the huge hearth. She was lighting the storm lamp when her waters broke, and the first few spatters of rain hit the windowpane. Little heed had been paid to the niggling pains she felt earlier, as she often had similar pains when tired from doing her chores. Going into early labour, on a wild stormy night, with no one to help her, prompted Daisy to make a move. Quickly pulling a shawl over her head and shoulders, she knotted it tightly and took a lantern from the shelf, and made her way down the slippery wet cobbled pathway to the Lough shore.

  The shawl offered little protection from the wind and rain that whipped and lashed at her relentlessly. Shielding her eyes against the rain with one hand, and holding the lantern high with the other, she looked out across the Lough. Daisy could just make out the lights coming from the Nesbitt’s farm, where Jimmy was helping Joseph Nesbitt with the difficult birthing of a calf. The wind was so forceful she had difficulty holding onto the lantern as she waved it back and forth signalling for help. She prayed someone had seen her signal and realised her plight. Pain washed over her, forcing her to make her way back up the slippery cobbles to prepare for the birth. Soaked through to her skin, she had to stop as a spasm of pain gripped her again. Daisy clung to the old wooden gate in the yard until the pain subsided.

  Looking back towards the mainland, trying to see through the driving rain, she could not see an answering light. Waves of pain swept over her as she entered the cottage, struggling to close its door against the elements. They were coming one after another now and it would not be long before her child was born. She quickly peeled off her wet clothes, leaving them where they fell on the concrete floor. Not stopping to dry herself, she put on her flannelette nightgown. Folding an old blanket in half, she spread it over the patchwork quilt to protect it, and then lay down on her bed.

  No one had come to her aid. Daisy had to deliver the baby herself, her cries of pain going unheard, lost in the noise of the storm that raged overhead.

  The following day with the storm abated, Dr Malone, along with a young constable, came over from the mainland. Daisy’s signal had been seen. Her husband Jimmy, along with Ellie Nesbitt, had faced the storm trying to reach her. Jimmy’s boat had been found drifting upside down on the Lough by a local fisherman, out checking his eel line. He alerted the police officer.

  Jimmy’s body had been found two days later washed up on the shore, over three miles away from where he had set out for home. One arm stretched upwards as if reaching out to someone. Ellie’s body was never recovered.

  Daisy never remarried, and raised her daughter Ruth single-handed, the two of them living in the old cottage that was still her home. With a sigh, Daisy rose to her feet, hooked an arm through her basket and made her way slowly back down the hillside.

  It came on suddenly, a searing pain running across her shoulder and down her arm, and with it a sense of pressure between her breasts. Dropping her basket she clutched at her chest and for a few horrifying seconds she knew she was about to die. The world around her was swirling, and as her body fell to the ground everything began to fade……

  The body lay where it had fallen in the lush grass, the sightless eyes staring up at the clear blue sky. A pool of blood stained the grass, and the rock she had hit as she fell, a dark brown beneath her head.

  Nearby, a squirrel sat busily gnawing on a hazel nut which had fallen from the basket she had been carrying.

  The letter came two days after the funeral. On opening it Amie found it was from Wilkins, Adams and Grebe Solicitors who were handling the affairs of the Harding estate.

  The letter informed her, that with the demise of Mrs Daisy Mae Williams, the rent free cottage she had lived in now reverted back to the estate of the late Lord Felix Harding.

  Lord Craig Harding was giving her one month’s notice to vacate the premises. Amie realised with a sudden shock, that with the death of her grandmother, not only was she entirely alone in the world, but with a new life growing inside her, she would be homeless as well.

  Amie had been only ten years old when her parents, Ruth and Jonathan, died tragically in a boating accident. An only child, Daisy had brought her here to live with her on this beautiful remote island, tucked away in the region of upper Lough Erne in Northern Ireland.

  Dropping the letter on the table, Amie collapsed onto the large over-stuffed couch in front of the fireplace, giving way to her grief and despair, its big cushions soaking up her tears. She wept for the woman who had endured so much pain and heartache in her own life; she had hidden her own grief over the loss of her daughter, to help her grandchild, overcome her loss, and had shown her nothing but love and care.

  Silent tears ran down Amie’s cheeks, because she had to say farewell to the island that had been her home for the past eight years. Finally, all cri
ed out, she drifted off to sleep. When she awoke the late afternoon sun was sending its shadows across the room. Placing a log on the fire from the basket kept beside it, she lifted the poker and prodded its dying embers back into life. As the flames licked at the log she sat gazing into them wondering what the future would hold for her and her unborn child. There would be no one left, save the ghosts, to walk Craig Island.

  The past three weeks had been hectic, giving her no time to dwell on her problems. She had been forced to sell what little furniture she had to a second-hand dealer on the mainland, in order to pay for the funeral arrangements.

  Two years ago she had set up a small market garden behind the cottage. There was a small orchard, a plum, a pear and two apple trees, planted years ago by her grandfather. This had been the inspiration for her little business adventure. She had planted rhubarb, gooseberries, and black and red currant bushes, enlarged the vegetable plot and made flowerbeds. She now supplied a shop on the mainland with fresh, seasonal produce and it had secured a modest income for them to live on. Now, sorting out her business affairs, she realised she would need to secure some form of employment as her meagre savings would not last very long.

  Packing what few remains she had into boxes, she carefully labelled them and stacked them in a neat pile beside the front door. Fergus McMahon, the second hand dealer, was to collect them later that day and put them into storage for her. He had already heaved her grandmother’s heavy trunk down the narrow wooden stairs, leading from the upper floor, telling her to check it before he took it away, in case there was something of importance inside that she may need later. She had not got the heart to go through it yet, and it would remain locked and in storage for the time being.

  She placed the key to the trunk in her purse for safe keeping before going through the cottage once more, giving it a final check. Satisfied nothing had been overlooked, she took her jacket off the peg beside the front door, and slipping her arms into its sleeves, she stepped outside to take her last stroll around the island as it held so many memories for her, both good and bad.

  She strolled leisurely up the winding pathway, pausing now and again to admire the view from across the Lough, carefully avoiding the spot where her grandmother had lain in death. She continued upwards, making her way to the top of the hill where she sat with her back resting against the giant oak tree. This was her favourite spot on the island, and it was here under this oak tree that she had shared her first kiss with Ralph Newman, and had given herself to him, heart, mind, body and soul.

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was a warm summer’s day and her chores being done; Amie drew fresh water from the well and took it into the cottage where Daisy sat drinking a mug of tea.

  “I’m just going for a wee dander around the island gran, so is there anything you need me to do for you before I go?”

  “No pet, I intend to do a bit of baking after I’ve had my brew, away you go and enjoy yourself, make the most of the good weather.”

  Amie strolled up the winding pathway, stopping at her favourite spot by the giant oak to admire the view. The breeze coming off the Lough played over her warm body, gently wrapping her flimsy pale green dress against her body, outlining her full breasts, slim waist, and long tapering legs.

  The sunlight danced off her long, curly, auburn hair, lending it golden highlights. Throwing her head back, face uplifted into the breeze, she closed her eyes enjoying the almost sensual feel of it as it played over her.

  As she went to move a male voice said, “Hold it, right there.”

  She turned around, and found herself looking into the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen, eyes that were fringed with long dark lashes that would be the envy of many a woman.

  “Who are you?” She demanded, confused and embarrassed by his openly admiring gaze. “How long have you been watching me?”

  “Long enough to admire the view and to take a picture,” he said, indicating the camera in his hands. “I think I will call this one ‘Venus arisen’.

  Still holding onto the camera with one hand, he held the other out to her. “I’m Ralph Newman” he said, grinning at her and displaying even white teeth. Amie put her hand into his, feeling the warm pressure of his fingers on her own.

  “I’m Amie Richardson,” she replied, feeling suddenly shy.

  “Well lovely Amie, what brings you to this island?”

  “I live here, with my grandmother, we are the only people left on the island,” she told him.

  “Surely, someone as young and lovely as you could not possibly live in such a remote place.” She found herself blushing under his admiring gaze.

  “It’s a long story,” she replied.

  “I have lots of time to listen,” he told her smiling.

  He was so close she could smell his aftershave, his very nearness disturbed her. Amie felt herself trembling under his gaze and sat down in the long grass, before her legs betrayed her, drawing them up under her, not looking at him, and trying not to let him see the effect he was having on her. He sat down beside her, gazing out across the Lough.

  Amie cast a sidelong look at him, admiring his handsome profile, his short dark wavy hair, his long dark eyelashes and the white T-shirt he was wearing, which was setting off his tanned muscular torso. She found herself wondering what it would feel like to be held in those strong tanned arms.

  “I’m sorry” she murmured, realising he had spoken, apologising for her wandering attention, a smile flickering across her face. “You were saying?” Plucking a blade of grass, he played with it curling it through his fingers as he spoke. “I was telling you my reason for being here, since you seem reluctant to talk about yourself. I’m a free-lance photographer and I am in the process of building up a portfolio, which I will show to a certain international company, with the hope they will offer me a position in their company. If successful it means I can fulfill my life’s ambition as a photographer.”

  “What type of photography?” she asked, looking interested.

  “To photograph wildlife in its natural habitat, and be well paid for doing what I enjoy most,” he said, with a wry smile. “It does not meet with my father’s approval as he always wanted me to take up medicine, follow in his footsteps and become a doctor. He hoped, once qualified, I would join his practice, taking over from him when he retired.” Tired of playing with the blade of grass he threw it away, and gazed once more across the Lough. Amie sat quietly, waiting for him to continue.

  “Now at the ripe old age of twenty-five, I think he has finally accepted the fact that he cannot sway me from my chosen path.” He stretched out, propping himself up on one arm, looking at her. ‘I could drown in those eyes,’ she thought, unaccustomed warmth spreading through her whole body, her breath tightening.

  Amie found herself opening up to him, she told him how at the age of ten she had lost both parents in a tragic accident, how she had come here to live with her grandmother, her only living relative.

  She explained what life was like, living and growing up on an island, and how she had to make her own entertainment. Most of her playtime as a youngster, had been in the tumbled down ruins, and what was once the gardens before nature reclaimed it all, of the other cottages on the island.

  “We live in a lovely, old, two storey cottages, on the other side of the island which belongs to the estate of the late Lord Felix Harding. My grandmother was his cook and housekeeper.”

  Amie had never met his lordship, but she had been to the ‘big house,’ as the locals called it, several times when she was very young. Her parents had been alive then, and they had been too many parties there.

  Amie recalled seeing a young blonde haired boy, somewhere around her own age playing in the huge gardens at the back of the manor, throwing a ball for a small cocker spaniel to retrieve.

  She would have liked to have had a pet, whilst growing up on an island, which had been a lonely experience for her. The only friends she had outside of the school, she had attended, ten miles aw
ay on the mainland, lived only in her imagination.

  “Poor Amie” he murmured, “life has not been kind to you so far I would love to take away that sad look in your lovely green eyes.”

  The afternoon shadows were lengthening across the grass. Ralph glanced at his wristwatch, and then sprang lightly to his feet.

  “Amie I must be going now” he said reluctantly, “I have an appointment on the mainland.” He extended his hand to her, pulling her effortlessly to her feet, still holding on to her with one hand; he placed the other under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. He bent his head and lightly brushed his lips across hers.

  Their eyes met, and she saw the desire in his as they went an even deeper blue. She knew her own were answering that desire. With her heart beating wildly, she melted against him, feeling the powerful effect of his nearness take control. Her eyes closed as his lips took hers, in a kiss more carnal, than a first kiss should be. She opened her mouth to his exploring tongue, returning his kiss with an answering fire of her own.

  Amie felt the hot searing passion between them and his male hardness pressed against her stomach. Moaning deeply in his throat, he reluctantly released her and stepped back, breathing as hard as she was, and trying not to show it.

  Amie was flushed with desire and embarrassment at her wanton behaviour with a complete stranger.

  “Meet me here tomorrow morning at eleven sweet Amie,” he asked her, his voice husky, “okay?” Unable to speak, she nodded her head in agreement.

  With a wave of his hand he was gone, striding down the hill towards his boat on the Lough shore, his camera slung over one shoulder, he never looked back.

  Amie turned, retracing her footsteps back to the cottage, her head full of thoughts of the handsome Ralph Newman, and wishing it was already tomorrow.

  CHAPTER TWO

  After five blissful weeks had passed, the eighth of August dawned hot and sunny. Ralph spent any free time he had with them on the island.