Cut for Life Read online

  AMIE

  CUT FOR LIFE

  by

  LUCINDA E CLARKE

  Cut for Life

  Copyright © 2017 Lucinda E Clarke

  Umhlanga Press

  All Rights Reserved

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the cases of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  All characters, locations and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Cover art and design by Rod Craig based on an original design by Daz Smith

  [email protected]

  http://www.nethed.com/book-covers/

  Editor: Gabi Plumm:

  www.facebook.com/plummproof [email protected]

  IN MEMORY OF

  Walerian Tadeusz Purwin (Ted) 1949-2017

  With grateful thanks for many years of friendship.

  You saw me through some very dark times

  and helped me find a new beginning and purpose in life.

  You will be missed by many.

  Also by Lucinda E Clarke

  Amie African Adventure

  Amie and the Child of Africa

  Amie Stolen Future

  Amie Savage Safari

  Ben (Amie backstory)

  Samantha (Amie backstory)

  Truth, Lies and Propaganda

  More Truth, Lies and Propaganda

  Walking over Eggshells

  Unhappily Ever After

  I THE SHOPPING MALL

  2 LAST NIGHT IN DURBAN

  3 FAMILY TIME

  4 GOODBYE WAR AND PEACE

  5 THE AID WORKERS

  6 NIGEL BREAKS DOWN

  7 GABORONE TO FRANCISTOWN

  8 MPHO'S CELL PHONE SHOP

  9 DEATH IN ZIMBABWE

  10 AMIE LOCKED IN

  11 MEETING THE CHILDREN

  12 A HORRIFIC DISCOVERY

  13 THE ENCOUNTER WITH DOUG

  14 THE CHILDREN'S STORY

  15 AMIE'S FIRST KILL

  16 THE LION ATTACK

  17 RISING FROM THE DEAD

  18 ARRIVAL IN TAMARA

  19 A VISIT TO THE EMBASSY

  20 EMAILS FROM MADDY

  21 VISIT FROM THE WITCH DOCTOR

  22 BUSH FIRE

  23 A REUNION

  24 DANGEROUS RECCE

  25 ANOTHER DEATH

  26 AMIE ABANDONED

  27 A WALK INTO DANGER

  28 THE AUCTION

  29 FLIGHT FROM THE CAMP

  30 LINDA HAS AN ACCIDENT

  31 MEETING IAN FLEMING

  32 JEAN-PIERRE RETURNS

  33 A FINAL SURPRISE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  To my Readers

  Also by Lucinda E Clarke

  Reviews

  1 THE SHOPPING MALL

  Present day

  “Oh, my God! It’s Amie! It’s Amie!” The shriek reverberated round the walls of the shopping mall, bouncing off the plate glass windows and echoing along the hall.

  Amie froze in her tracks. The plastic shopping bags slipped out of her hands and slithered onto the floor. Was the voice referring to her? Had someone recognized her? Was it someone who knew her well? What was she going to say? How could she explain? What was worse, she could have sworn it was her mother’s voice. No, that wasn’t possible. Her parents were six thousand miles away, outside London. This was Johannesburg, South Africa, her mother wouldn’t be here. Would she?

  “Now Mary, calm down, you’re imagining things. You know it’s not Amie. Amie’s gone.”

  Still Amie couldn’t move; she was riveted to the spot, she didn’t even dare turn round. The mannequins in the shop window peered sightlessly at her as she stared at the reflection in the glass. Her mother’s name was Mary. It was her mother. Here, just across the hallway. Hell!

  “It’s only another girl who looks a little like Amie.” Her father’s voice wasn’t convincing and Amie could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head. Did he believe his daughter was standing only a few feet away? “Remember,” he continued, “you thought you saw her in Croydon shopping centre a few months ago. That wasn’t Amie either, just a girl who reminded you of her.”

  “Let me just ask her Raymond, let me ask her ...”

  “No! You can’t go bothering people. There are millions of thirty-year-old girls with blonde hair all over the world. Come and sit down for a moment dear.”

  Amie retrieved the bags off the floor, fumbling with stiff fingers to prevent dropping them a second time. She dithered, uncertain what to do. More than anything in the world she wanted to run to them, throw her arms wide open and tell them that yes, she was Amie, their daughter. She was alive; alive and well.

  She shuffled over to a nearby bench and sat down as if needing to rearrange her packages. She didn’t have the strength to walk away, her legs felt like rubber and she was shaking from head to toe. She sensed movement behind and to her horror realised that her father was helping her mother to sit on the seat that backed on to the one Amie was occupying.

  “Now don’t go getting yourself upset Mary. We’ll sit here a moment while you get your breath back, and then we’ll go upstairs to our room and have something stronger to calm you down.”

  Her father was fussing like he always had throughout their forty odd years of marriage. If they were going upstairs, then they were staying here at the hotel that was part of the shopping complex. What was she going to do? It would be wonderful to talk to them, to feel her father’s arms around her, to comfort her mother. She could also find out what had happened to Samantha, her sister. Had she made it up with her husband Gerry, or was she now divorced? And what about Dean and baby Jade, her niece and nephew, how were they?

  Mary Reynolds was weeping. It was tearing Amie apart at the seams. What was she going to do? What were the consequences if she told them she was still alive? Would it comfort them or cause them more pain? If she broke the imposed code of silence would her employers simply shut her up for good?

  She leaned further forward and buried her head in the bag of underwear she’d just bought until she sensed them getting up from the bench. She counted twenty seconds before peeking behind her; they were heading for the hotel entrance. She would recognize her father’s upright figure anywhere and the particular way her mother walked, a kind of penguin waddle that had always made her and her sister laugh when they were small.

  She clenched her fists around the shopping bags, took a big breath and made for the nearest exit. She needed to get back to the B & B where she was staying and consider her options. This was not a decision to be taken lightly and Amie was not known for making her mind up quickly. She had the uncanny knack of seeing problems from several angles all at the same time and needed space to process them.

  As she approached her temporary lodgings, she prayed her landlady wouldn’t be there. The woman meant well, but she did go on, and on. She tiptoed through the gate, closing it carefully behind her but, too late, she’d been seen.

  “Woohoo. Back from shopping then? You buy something nice?” Simisola popped out of the front door as if she’d been waiting for Amie to return.

  Amie groaned. This was the last thing she wanted. She needed time to think and she faced a deadline and a decision. She was due to leave Johannesburg the following day. How long would her folks be staying at the Sandton Hotel, and should she let them see her?

  “Uh, just a few things,” Amie forced a smile as she answered her landlady. “I must, I need to, uh, you know ...” she indicated her room and grinned.

  Simisola chuckled. “Ah, I understand.
Emergency, right?”

  Amie wasn’t sure what Simisola thought the emergency might be, but she nodded, smiled again and made good her escape.

  She flung the shopping bags on the bed before collapsing beside them. She wanted to scream! Coffee! That’s what she needed, strong coffee. She lunged for the kettle, grabbed a mug from the shelf, poured in the last of the granules, then rested her head in her hands while the kettle came to the boil. I’d be lost without my caffeine rush, she thought. Thank God for coffee. She poured the boiling water into the mug, followed by milk from one of those horrid UHT cartons, then stirred, and stirred, until the coffee slopped over the side, burning her hand. Damn! She patted her burnt skin with the tea towel; her mind was in overdrive.

  She knew what she wanted to do, there was absolutely no doubt about that. She craved her mother’s arms around her and longed to see her smile. She was desperate to talk to them, explain what had happened. A wave of homesickness for England washed over her, although up until now it had only ever been her wish to return to Africa, her adopted home.

  So, she reasoned as she paced back and forth across the small bedroom, I want to see them – would they want to see me? Of course they would. They’d be overjoyed to see their youngest daughter; alive and well. So, why was she hesitating? They believed her to be dead. They’d been told by the British Government she’d been blown to pieces by terrorists. They’d held a memorial service for her in England, mourned her, and by now had probably begun to heal.

  She took her coffee to the bedside table and collapsed onto the bed. Head in hands, she closed her eyes.

  Was it cruel to open those wounds again? If she admitted she was alive, she would have to swear them to secrecy. But, was it a secret they could keep? They’d want to tell Sam, but her elder sister could never keep her mouth shut about anything. She’d caused them major problems when Amie had returned the first time from Africa by blabbing it all over Facebook and Twitter. The result had been a media frenzy that followed them from the airport to their home; reporters and TV crews camping on the lawn, trampling over the flower beds and peering in the windows. Amie hated the microphones being shoved under her nose, the relentlessly probing, personal questions from all sides.

  So, if she was to see her parents, would they be able to keep it to themselves? She thought they probably could and would. Then there was the problem of how they would feel. Was it best to let them believe she was dead, let the healing continue and walk away? Was that even kind?

  Amie stood up again and walked round in circles. Her reflection in the mirror on the wall showed her grey eyes in a heart-shaped face, framed with short blond hair which curled just below her ears. At five foot four inches she would not be considered tall, but she was still fit and slender despite several months of easy living and a sedentary desk job.

  Yes, no. No, yes. Flip a coin? Wasn’t that a bit flippant for such a major decision? She smirked at the pun. Let’s face it Amie, she told herself. You can never make up your bloody mind about anything. You’re a disaster. So, if you can’t decide what to do, then you’ll just have to let fate decide for you.

  She would walk back over to the hotel in the shopping mall and ask for their room number at the desk. Go up in the lift, knock on the door and if they answered it, then she would explain. If there was no reply, she would leave things as they were. Yes, that was the answer; let fate decide.

  After brushing her hair, washing the empty mug and tidying herself up, Amie grabbed her handbag and opened the door. She pretended not to hear Simisola asking her where she was going. Amie had never known a landlady take quite such an interest in her guests, and if she’d been staying for more than a couple of days, it would have driven her mad. She hurried up the road to the mall.

  Her flip flops made slapping sounds on the marble floors, not the ideal footwear for a smart shopping centre in Johannesburg, but this was all she’d packed besides her boots for going into the bush. She marvelled at yet another splendid structure built only a stone's throw from the squatter camps; the informal housing areas. Never before coming to this continent had she been so aware of the divide between rich and poor. The massive shopping complex built of steel, glass and marble, housed shops that catered only to the wealthy. It incorporated a plush conference centre and a five-star hotel, and it was a sharp contrast to the shacks, built of packing cases and tin roofs held down by discarded truck tyres, just across the highway.

  She strolled into the hotel and waited in the queue for the reception desk. There were several people in front of her and Amie’s nerves nearly gave out. She turned to head back to the guesthouse, fate had made its decision, but then a voice called out to her.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Um, yes. Can you tell me the room number for Mr and Mrs Reynolds, please?”

  “Yes, no problem, ma’am.” The young receptionist tapped on her keyboard. “Here we are, room 1903. It’s on the nineteenth floor and the lifts are over there to your left.”

  “Thank you.” Amie’s feet dragged as she made for the bank of elevators. Was it too late to turn back now? No, she’d made a pact with fate and she would follow through. Stop dithering! Her new profession called for split second judgements and actions, dithering didn’t help, was counterproductive in fact, but hell, it was a job she’d never asked for and frankly hated. I was forced into this work. I can’t help it if I’m no good at it. It’s not my fault if it all falls apart!

  She watched the illuminated orange numbers flash past; the lift was ascending at high speed. If it would only slow down a little, then she would have more time to think. All too soon it stopped, the doors slid open and a well-dressed couple waited for Amie to step out before they entered and were whisked out of sight.

  Amie peered at the signage on the wall. Damn! This wasn’t the right floor, she’d jumped out the moment the lift doors opened, but this was the 17th floor and right in front of her was the restaurant. That’s decided it then. Sad, but that’s how it’s going to be. That was the hand of fate.

  She was about to summon the lift for the ground floor when the maître d’ at the restaurant entrance called out her.

  “Lunch?” he enquired.

  Amie hesitated, then pivoting to face him she said, “Why not?” Her stomach was crunched in a knot, she wasn’t hungry, but maybe a sandwich would help and more coffee, yes, definitely more coffee. There was none left at her accommodation after her last cup, and the nearest supermarket outlet was on the other side of the massive complex. She had no desire to linger in the mall with its happy families out for a day’s shopping, laughing and smiling; that was not what she needed right now. The restaurant was empty; as the only diner she could hide and calm down.

  The maître d’ showed her to a table in the middle of the room, but she pushed past him and made for the furthest corner by the window. After taking her order, he passed her instructions to the lone waiter hovering by the bar area.

  Think forward Amie, not back. Concentrate on your next assignment. It promises to be a lot less dangerous than the previous one. Her instructions were to join up with a group of aid workers helping out in rural villages, she thought they might be funded by the European Union. All she had to do was keep her eyes and ears open and report back on a number of issues that she assumed were important to Her Majesty’s Government and possibly some faceless bureaucrats nestled in Brussels or The Hague, or somewhere.

  It was going to be something nice and easy for a change: no guns, no fights, no traipsing through the bush. No, this time it would be more like a holiday, making new friends and helping people in her beloved rural Africa. She was to leave the following morning, take a short plane hop to Gaborone in Botswana where she’d meet up with the rest of the party, then a road trip north into Zimbabwe and north again to Ruanga. She imagined, at thirty, she’d probably be the oldest of the group, most would be university students or fresh out of school doing their gap year to gain some insight into how the other half lived. She groaned at the
thought that many of them would arrive with the same preconceptions she’d had when she first landed in Togodo. It had taken her some time to recognize that African culture was very different to her western one. Should she try and advise them, or sit quiet and listen?

  Amie, so busy with her thoughts, didn’t see the dark-haired, blue-eyed European who’d slipped into a table on the far side of the room. Had she noticed him before he’d hidden behind a potted palm, she would’ve had admired his tall, muscular body and his handsome face. But because she hadn’t noticed him, she didn’t realise that, once he’d ordered his meal, he didn’t take his eyes off the young blonde woman sitting by the window.

  She was mulling over her plans when her mother’s voice sliced into her thoughts.

  “Ray, you can say what you like, but I know it was Amie. I’d know her anywhere.”

  Amie had been on another planet so she hadn’t noticed that the maître d’ who’d delivered her coffee, which was now cold, had seated her parents only a few tables away. She turned her back on them and stared out of the window, terrified they would see her.

  Amie stiffened when she heard her father’s voice across the almost empty room. “If you were so sure that you saw Amie, so absolutely bloody sure, then why didn’t you go right up and say hello? You don’t always do what I say.”

  Amie, terrified they would notice her, shifted her chair to face the window. Fate! Wretched fate! Was it playing with her again? If she left the restaurant now she would have to walk right past them, or so close it would be impossible for her mother not to see her. She was pretending so hard to watch the crowds scurrying along like ants below, that she didn’t hear the waiter approach and ask if everything was OK. She turned to look at him and found herself staring straight into her mother’s face.