“Good.”
Elizabeth was surprised when the President walked away from her, returning to his desk and sitting behind it. He dialed a few numbers. My God, was he actually making a phone call while she was pulsing with the excitement of the vibrations between her legs? Apparently, he was.
“Yeah Rich,” drawled the President in his laconic voice.
“I’ve got a meeting with the Sec of State at 4.30. Tell her I’m running behind fifteen. Thanks man.” The President looked over at her with a lazy grin.
“Are you ready to serve your President now Ms. Harding?” he asked,
Elizabeth was gasping, “Yes sir. Oh please sir. I can’t wait another minute.”
“And what exactly is it you’re waiting for?”
He was toying with her. He was playing with her. He knew damn well what she wanted.
“You sir, I’d like you. All of you.”
A tongue, Declan’s, was now flicking away at her. Elizabeth heard herself moaning.
“What’s his dick like?” asked Declan.
“Thick, hard, beautiful.”
“Like this?” Declan thrust into her.
“Yes,” whispered Elizabeth.
“So you love being fucked by the big, black President?” he demanded,
“Yes, oh yes,” she said.
“You’re a very bad girl, aren’t you?”
“Very bad.”
“So now, I’m going to have to fuck you.”
Elizabeth stared up at Declan’s perfectly proportioned face with its strong, slightly narrowed jaw line and straight, Roman nose. His eyes were closed as he entered her and approached a climax. His thick dark lashes rested across his cheeks like tiny strands of black silk. A grimace, almost a look of pain, shot across his face. It was a look she recognized from seeing him perform onstage. It was the look of him losing himself to rapture. It was a spasm, a joy of completion. He cried out in pleasure. She contained him. She held him. She loved him.
CHAPTER TEN
Al and Tony were piqued to learn the wedding of Declan Thomas wasn’t taking place but any picture of the rock star was worth money so they hung around, hoping for a glimpse of him. When they heard a local say that Declan was taking a helicopter to Inverness that afternoon, they were overjoyed. They positioned themselves with a clear view of the landing pad beside an old pier.
“Bonus,” said Al nudging Tony with his elbow. Elizabeth, wearing a headscarf and dark glasses was pushing the twins in a stroller. Tony thought they might be able to sell the photo of her under the heading ‘Jilted.’ Their cameras clicked away until the final shot of Declan throwing his bag into the helicopter.
Elizabeth and Effie had accompanied Declan down to the pier where the helicopter waited, its blades slicing slowly through the early summer air. Declan kissed Effie on the cheek.
“You girls have fun but don’t get in any trouble.”
“Too late for that,” laughed Effie.
“And you two,” said Declan giving the twins each a kiss, “be good for mommy. I’ll be back in three days.” He turned to Elizabeth.
“And you my beautiful, sexy woman. I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too.” Elizabeth brushed a lock of Declan’s hair away from his forehead. “Be careful won’t you?”
“Careful of what? Letterman? He’s grumpy but he still gets the ratings.”
“Be careful of everything. I worry about you because I love you,” said Elizabeth.
“And I love you too. Always and eternally. You are my heart’s desire. You are my dream woman. You are…”
Elizabeth gave Declan a playful push.
“Okay. I get it. Now go,” she said, giving him a kiss.
Declan scooted under the blades of the chopper and waved goodbye. He threw his bag in then climbed on board, buckling himself in and blowing kisses through the windshield. When the blades whirred so fast they couldn’t be seen, the nose of the helicopter tipped forward, the tail lifted and they were away.
“So,” said Elizabeth turning to Effie, “what do you fancy for tea?”
“I still can’t get used to tea being anything more than a drink.”
“It’s supper really. Bangers and mash alright?” asked Elizabeth rubbing her arms against a sudden chill.
“By bangers you mean sausages?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Sounds good to me. With loads of whipped potatoes and butter. Yummmm.”
“Right. We’ll stop at the shop on the way back,” said Elizabeth. She turned to look at the helicopter, now a speck in the distance.
“I hope he’ll be alright.”
“Of course he’ll be alright. Why wouldn’t he be?”
“I don’t know. I’ve just got a weird feeling is all.”
“I think maybe you’ve been up here too long,” said Effie.
“You could be right about that.”
Elizabeth turned for a final look at the helicopter but it had disappeared behind a massive cloud. The cloud looked ominous, as if it was gathering malevolent energy. Something definitely didn’t feel right.
***
Five minutes into his flight, Declan caught a whiff of a sickly, sweet odour. He looked carefully at Harry Peters who was intently maneuvering the craft. Harry’s eyes were slightly glazed and hooded. He’d been drinking.
“You okay to fly?” shouted Declan over the noise of the engine.
“Me? Och ahm fine. Good ta go.”
If he’d noticed Harry’s inebriated state Declan would never have got on board. Too late for that now. Declan was at this man’s mercy. He couldn’t insist on landing because they were over the sea. If they turned back he’d miss his connecting flight from Glasgow to New York. Declan said a silent prayer and hoped for the best. Harry had flown this route a thousand times before. Declan supposed he could do it with his eyes closed.
“Have ya ever taken a look at Handa?” bellowed Harry. He pointed below to a small island several kilometres off the coast.
“No, can’t say I have,” yelled Declan.
“It’s a big breeding colony for seabirds. I’ll fly past the cliffs so ya can take a look.”
Declan was about to say he wasn’t interested in sea birds but Harry seemed determined to show him.
“Dinna worry. We have to fly past them anyways.”
Declan could make out three large dark forms beneath the ocean’s surface.
“What’s that?” yelled Declan.
“Minke whales. And out there, see that, what looks like a black raft? They’re puffins.”
The birds floated in the distance like a shroud. On the periphery of the chopper’s airstream, different species of gulls wheeled and shrieked, alarmed by the massive, mechanical intruder.
Declan thought they were getting too close to the towering cliffs. His heart was beating faster. He started to panic. Fuck Letterman, he thought. I’m going to get this clown to turn around and go back. He was just about to issue his order to Harry but he didn’t get the chance. As they swooped around a sharp corner, Declan saw a large tree dangling by its roots, jutting at right angles to the ocean.
“Harry, look out,” roared Declan.
“Christ almighty!” screamed Harry.
Harry shifted gears, pulling the nose of the helicopter down so they could pass beneath the tree but time and fate intervened. One of the chopper’s blades sheared a branch. Declan heard a searing, grinding noise as sparks flew around them. He smelled acrid smoke. Within seconds the helicopter plunged into a dizzying tailspin.
“Mayday, mayday!” yelled Harry into his radio as inky sea rushed towards them. The machine screamed terrifyingly downwards in a juddering shake. But, just before impact, time played a trick on Declan, turning his perception into a symphony of slow motion. He imagined he heard orchestral music. He thought he had all the time in the world to gaze out to sea, undo his seatbelt, and leap easily from the passenger side in order to simply swim away.
A crack rattled through
the spines and teeth of both men. The impact of ocean meeting machine blasted off the windshield. Water rushed in with the force of a tsunami. Churning cold grabbed Harry and Declan as they plummeted into a roiling darkness beneath the ocean.
Thrown from the pilot’s seat, Harry’s drunken brain wondered irrationally why he’d never learned to swim. His life drifted past him. Marriage, divorce, children. There was nothing to be frightened of. He made swimming motions with his arms and marveled at all the pretty bubbles escaping from his lips. It was so quiet in here, so starless. Where had his helicopter gone? He swiveled slowly around to meet a blade, still whirring in the water. A rictus of fear froze permanently on Harry’s face as his decapitated head sank slowly to unfathomable depths.
In shock, Declan launched himself sideways, a rush of adrenaline fueling his strength to kick out and away from the sinking bird. He fought desperately against the suction pulling him down. His lungs felt on fire. Swim. Swim, screamed his brain. Just as he felt he must give up, his head broke the surface. Gasping and choking for air, a wave smacked him in the face forcing more seawater down his throat. Coughing and gagging he searched desperately for a place where he might land. To his right foreboding cliffs sheared the ocean in a vertical drop. To his left lay the choppy horizon of an endless sea.
Declan struggled out of shoes and clothes that were weighing him down. He thought about Elizabeth and his two children. The terrible knowledge that he’d never see them again wracked his aching body. Death was coming for him as surely as the frigid cold of the north Atlantic was seeping into his bones. Below him he felt a nudge. Was it a whale? The nudging continued until Declan’s body hoisted out of the water. The curved bubble of the helicopter windshield, trapping a pocket of air, now supported him as he bobbed on the darkening sea. It was a rescue of sorts but one that would only prolong the inevitability of death. A final sob escaped his lips before he slipped into a watery darkness, an unknown world where a strange mist gathered, and time lost all meaning. When he regained consciousness it would be in a different dimension, one where the past existed alongside the present as easily as the sun and moon shared the sky together.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Word of a helicopter crash at sea spread rapidly around Kinlochbervie.. Nobody wanted to tell Elizabeth. That unpleasant duty fell to Reverend Stone, a man stooped by familiarity with bad news.
Elizabeth was standing at her kitchen window, peeling potatoes, when she saw the lean figure of the minister coming towards her door. A sudden feeling of dread seized her. She dropped her peeling knife into the sink with a clatter, drying her hands on her apron. “Effie,” she called. “Oh my God Effie.”
Alarmed by the urgency in Elizabeth’s voice, Effie ran from the living room where she’d been putting together a jigsaw puzzle with the twins.
“What is it? What?”
White-faced, Elizabeth opened the front door before the Reverend had a chance to knock. One look at his face told her all she dreaded to know. She stumbled back against the kitchen table before sinking to her knees
“Oh no, please don’t tell me.”
The reverend bowed his head to acknowledge what Elizabeth already knew.
A long, low animal yowl escaped from deep inside Elizabeth as if her very soul was being murdered. The sound had no vowels or consonants. It seemed to sidestep her vocal chords entirely. It resonated from every cell, from every muscle, from the collective memory of every woman whose life had been devastated by loss.
Effie helped Elizabeth up and gently steered her to the living room couch. The minister offered to stay but Effie told him it was okay to leave. She poured two glasses of brandy but Elizabeth was unable to swallow; even breathing felt difficult. The cottage around her took on an edge of unreality, like the setting of a stage. She was an actor in a tragedy. The leading man, her perfect lover, was missing.
The Scottish coast guard searched the waters around Handa Island for twenty-four hours discovering only a curved windshield and the fragment of a helicopter blade floating on the waves. Deep-sea divers were dispatched but soon abandoned their task in the face of strong currents. A crew of men with rescue dogs combed every inch of the long-abandoned island, finding no sign of survivors. The verdict was final. Harry Peters, pilot of the doomed helicopter and his passenger, the rock star Declan Thomas, were presumed dead.
Now, to Elizabeth fell the horrible task of phoning Declan’s mother. She could barely croak out the words.
“My boy, my boy,” was all Joan could say, over and over, between howling sobs.
News of the death of Declan Thomas became headlines around the world. Camera crews arrived in Kinlochbervie in droves, eager to interview locals about anything to do with Declan Thomas. Anderson Cooper did a stand-up on the cliffs above Handa.
Jimmy Mack appointed himself unofficial guardian of Elizabeth’s house. He threatened any reporter who came within ten metres with a Glasgow kiss.
Neighbours dropped by with pies and stews, standing awkwardly in the doorway, while Effie ran interference promising she would pass along their messages of condolence to Elizabeth.
Several radio stations devoted themselves to playing Declan Thomas’s songs for twenty-four hours. Mourners gathered for candlelight vigils outside venues where he’d once performed.
Photographers Tony and Al were thrilled. Finally, they had a big payoff. They owned the last ever photos of Declan Thomas boarding the doomed helicopter. Their price shot up.
Grief descended on Elizabeth like a thick fog. Bridie whisked the twins away to stay at her house so they shouldn’t have to see their mother’s devastation, but they seemed to know instinctively something was wrong.
Elizabeth took to her bed, alternating between sobbing and sleep. Aided by Effie’s Valium she drifted away from pain but it pounced back as soon as the drug wore off.
She felt paralyzed, zombie-like, unable to do something as simple as make a cup of tea. After three days Bridie approached Elizabeth with tears in her eyes.
“Yer’ve got ta tell the wee bairns something,” she said. “They miss yer something fierce and don’t understand why they’re not seein yer.”
“I know,” said Elizabeth. “It’s not fair on them. I appreciate the time you’ve given me Bridie. Bring them back.”
Elizabeth splashed cold water on her face. Her eyes resembled two puffy golf balls. She had to hold it together for the sake of her children. She was doing her best, which wasn’t even close to good enough.
Jack and Camille charged into the house, launching themselves at their mother. Camille was in tears. Forlornly, the girl held out her favourite toy, a pink bunny that was now missing an ear.
“Jack pulled off bunny’s ear,” sobbed the child.
“No I didn’t,” pouted Jack. “You did it.”
“Shh, shh,” admonished Elizabeth. “Do you still have the ear Camille?”
Nodding, the child pulled a wilted ear from her pocket.
“Then bunny can be fixed as good as new,” said Elizabeth retrieving her sewing basket. If only I could be repaired as easily thought Elizabeth.
“Children,” said Elizabeth as she stitched the missing ear back into place “I have to tell you something.”
Arrested by the seriousness of their mother’s tone, the twins stopped what they were doing and paid attention.
Elizabeth bit off the thread attached to her needle and looked at them.
“Daddy’s gone away for a long time.” It was all she could think to say. She handed the bunny back to Camille.
“There. Fixed.” Elizabeth managed a weak smile.
“Don’t cry mommy,” said Jack.
“Daddy’s coming back,” said Camille taking her hand.
Elizabeth registered the concern on their faces. Even though she felt made of lead she owed it to these two children to try and maintain a sense of normalcy.
“Shall we go down to the swings by the school?” she asked.
“Aye,” they both said at once.<
br />
Elizabeth knew she was operating like a robot but it would be good to get outside. Effie offered to come along but Elizabeth said no. She would eventually have to get used to being with the children on her own.
Neither Joan nor Elizabeth wanted a memorial service, something so final that it would seal their loss forever. Declan was still alive in his songs and videos that played constantly on the radio and entertainment channels. Instead they chose a tribute website with photographs and videos. Condolences poured in from fans around the world, so many that the website crashed several times.
Three weeks after the tragedy, Elizabeth and Effie hired a fishing boat to take them around the coastline of Handa. Elizabeth took a basket of dried white heather. She watched silently as the tiny white flowers bobbed away on the sea that claimed her love.
CHAPTER TWELVE
News of Declan Thomas’s death filtered into the medium security wing of the Vanier Women’s prison in Milton, Ontario. Shots of Handa Island appeared on the television with various reporters talking about the superstar’s life.
Several inmates had been shocked and upset but none more so than Natasha Khomeini. She cried for days, then, to comfort herself, began a scrapbook outlining the details of his meteoric career. Elizabeth Harding, owner of the massively successful Alternative Talent Management had discovered him. She’d managed his image and groomed him for ultimate stardom. Then, the bitch had gone and started a relationship with him, sealing the deal with two bratty kids.
Natasha hated reading about Elizabeth Harding but she adored newspaper clips that mentioned her own name. She was proud, when she Googled herself, that she got hundreds of hits. The knife she’d brandished had been intended for Declan, a scar to remind him that she, Natasha was his one true love. That stupid cow Elizabeth had flung herself between Natasha and Declan and caught the knife in her neck. Now Elizabeth was the one with the scar, a reminder that Natasha was someone to be taken seriously.
The tabloid articles that irked Natasha most were ones that referred to Declan and Elizabeth’s romance but she now had the perfect antidote, thanks to a Photoshop course, one of many offered at the correctional facility. Natasha removed the faces of a bride and groom from a magazine and replaced them with her face and Declan’s face. The photo was her prized possession. They made a stunning couple. Yes, it was a real fairytale wedding, perfect in every way. She was Mrs. Declan Thomas. She was getting out of prison in September, just a few weeks away. She’d buy herself a wedding ring.
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