As Declan scooped the last crumbs from his plate, the front door was shoved open letting in a blast of wind and a chicken. Fionnaugh had pushed the door with her behind and entered backwards, her arms filled with a basket of eggs. Beside her pranced a small sheepdog.
When Fionnaugh saw Declan, she smiled shyly revealing a row of perfectly shaped white teeth. The dog too showed his teeth but in an unfriendly manner. It began barking ferociously.
“Freuchie. Freuchie,” Fionnaugh admonished. The dog backed away from Declan with hackles raised. Declan held a hand towards the animal. It continued retreating into a corner. Fionnaugh grabbed the dog by the scruff of its neck and pulled it towards Declan. Declan still had the remains of some jam on his fingers. He held them out for the dog to sniff. Its stance transformed from aggression to fear. Now the dog trembled as Declan’s fingers approached its nose.
“Good boy Freuchie.”
Unable to resist the traces of jam, the dog was soon licking Declan’s fingers and allowing Declan to pet him but the second the jam was finished, the dog rounded up the chicken and chased it outside.
Fionnaugh helped the older woman stack eggs into a cupboard piled with potatoes and other root vegetables. When the woman’s back was turned, Fionnaugh gave Declan several flirtatious glances, casting her eyes briefly down before looking up at him with a sweet smile. He couldn’t help but smile back.
Declan assumed the older woman was Fionnaugh’s mother. The two were soon arguing. Declan heard the name Johnny several times and the word ‘brathair’. From the glances both women shot in his direction Declan surmised they were talking about him. He must be Johnny, the person they were discussing because he had no other name for himself. He decided to go for a walk while the women sorted out their differences. He was clearly the cause of their heated disagreement.
In a state of confusion, Declan made his way down a path leading from the house and stared, puzzled, along the shoreline. Something dark was floating on the water. He grabbed a piece of driftwood and stepped to the edge of the water, dragging the object towards him. It was a man’s jacket, followed by a pair of pants and eventually two sodden shoes. He examined the jacket, and, feeling something hard inside it, unzipped an interior pocket to discover a knife that opened into various instruments and a package containing thin wires. These items meant something to him but he couldn’t say what. Suspending the edge of a wire between teeth and hand, he plucked it and was gratified to hear a twang, but why?
Declan set about arranging the wet clothes on the sand, drawing an oval face, with eyes and mouth above the jacket. He added hands to the end of the sleeves and ankles for the shoes to rest on. He had created a man, an empty one just like him.
Declan looked up to see Callum clomping towards him carrying a piece of kelp. “Ith, ith,” said Callum, tearing the dark green seaweed in two. Declan stared blankly, unsure what was being asked of him. Callum laughed, popping half the kelp in his mouth and chewing. He kept nodding and waving the other half until Declan took the piece from him and did the same. Callum nodded approvingly and patted his round girth. He looked down at the sand to where he’d seen the young man drawing. Declan’s modern clothing was invisible to him, as was the Swiss Army knife and guitar strings. All Callum saw was the oval shape of a face with eyes and mouth, and a pair of disembodied hands. It was like the drawing of a child.
***
Declan was uncertain how much time passed since he floated into these strange surroundings. He sat disconsolately on a flat rock. Was it really 1848? He’d taken the calendar down from the wall in his room and pointed out the year to Callum and Moira. They simply nodded and smiled as if to say “Yes, so?”
Memories and knowledge were hidden from Declan behind a thick grey murk, although the curtains of confusion occasionally parted to reveal frustrating glimpses of people he thought he knew: A blonde woman with a kind face. A copper headed beauty with green eyes looking at him with what? Love? These images existed on the periphery of his imagination, like the blurring of vision before a migraine. As soon as he tried to examine them carefully, they vanished.
Declan was in a strange place, a wild place, a remote place. Moira and Callum, the people he was living with, seemed kind and concerned. Was he related to them? He didn’t think so. Moira called him ‘Johhny’ and acted as if he was her son. Was he her son? And if he was her son, did that mean the strawberry-haired young girl named Fionnaugh was his sister? Somehow he didn’t feel this was right but then nothing felt right. No, Fionnaugh was definitely not his sister or she surely wouldn’t look at him in such a flirtatious way. And his name was not Johnny, even though that’s what they called him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Elizabeth was completely spent and emotionally exhausted. The wind howled around Kinlochbervie like the sound of mourning. The rain poured down like tears that drenched her heart in sorrow.
Effie comforted Elizabeth, sitting up night after night as Elizabeth railed against the cruelty of fate. They listened to Declan’s songs over and over again, a bittersweet reminder of what would never be. As the painful summer days drifted towards the fall, Elizabeth told Effie she was moving back to Toronto.
“I just can’t stay here any longer,” she said. “The sea torments me. I’m going to sell.”
“People shouldn’t make big decisions when they’re grieving,” advised Effie.
“I’ll have to close the house up,” said Elizabeth.
“Or rent it.”.
“No one’s going to want to rent it. Winter’s coming and believe me this place is no paradise. Short days. Long nights of darkness. Freezing cold. Howling gales.”
“Sounds about perfect to me.”
It took a few seconds for Effie’s meaning to sink in.
“You? You want to stay here?”
Effie nodded.
“For a little while. I’ll rent it from you.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” said Elizabeth. “It’s yours to stay in as long as you want. I’d never have gotten through the last months without you.”
“I’ll come back to Toronto if you want me to,” said Effie.
“I know you would but I think its time I started to get my life back together. You’ve been such a Godsend to me and the kids, I can’t thank you enough.”
“I’m so sorry you had to go through this terrible agony and heartbreak,” said Effie.
“Me too. I miss him so much.”
Effie put her arm around her friend’s shoulder.
“And I expect you always will.”
Effie produced a tissue for Elizabeth to wipe away fresh tears.
“Every day you carry on, every day you make it through you’ll get a tiny bit stronger,” said Effie.
Elizabeth smiled weakly.
“I know you’re right Eff. It’s not the days because I keep myself busy. It’s the long nights that ache,” said Elizabeth.
“Of course,” said Effie. "But then Declan can visit in your dreams.”
Elizabeth shot her friend a quizzical look.
“Funny you say that. The other night I dreamed I was a dragonfly. I was flying over a beautiful tranquil lake. When I looked down into the water I could see Declan’s reflection,” said Elizabeth. “Not him, just his reflection. So I tried to land on the water to touch him but it caused ripples and he disappeared. The only way I could see him was by flying away.”
“Miraculous,” gasped Effie. “That’s your subconscious protecting you from sorrow. It’s telling you to fly away in order to get perspective and that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
“You’re brilliant,” said Elizabeth.
“True enough.”
Effie considered herself to be a spiritual person. She tended to see signs and omens around her and was a firm believer in fate and astrology. In Effie’s mind, Elizabeth’s dream was definitely a message for Elizabeth to take a new direction.
Elizabeth was pleased that Effie wanted to stay and take care of the house.
Finally, having made a decision to return to Toronto she felt her life could regain some sort of equilibrium.
“Once I get back on my feet we can think about getting that magazine going,” said Elizabeth.
“Sure,” said Effie. “It’ll take a while anyway. I can e-mail some people. See if there’s interest. Maybe work up a business plan.”
Elizabeth kissed her friend’s plump cheek. Since being in Kinlochbervie, Effie had regained at least twenty pounds and it suited her.
“Why Miss Effie” said Elizabeth feeling more light-hearted, “would a certain short Scot have anything to do with you wanting to stay here?”
“It might,” said Effie.
“Tell me what’s going on,” said Elizabeth. “You haven’t told me anything about Jimmy in ages.”
Since Elizabeth’s tragedy, Effie had been extremely discreet, getting together with Jimmy Mack only when she knew Elizabeth was busy with something like taking the twins to Inverness for a check-up. Jimmy had been understanding and never pushed Effie to spend time with him. But, when the opportunity arose he’d delighted in making love to her, calling her his “bonnie wee lassie.”
After the incident in the sea with Elizabeth, Effie decided that both she and the twins were going to learn to swim. Every Saturday Jimmy drove them to the pool in Ullapool for toddler and adult swimming lessons. Effie was astonished that Jimmy didn’t know how to swim either, in fact, none of the fishermen in Kinlochbervie did.
“Why is that?” asked Effie.
“Fishermen figure that swimmers take longer to die and they dinna want that,” answered Jimmy gruffly. It was an odd logic but one she could understand. She asked him nothing further on the topic but pressed ahead with lessons until both she and the twins knew how to tread water and float.
“Jimmy asked me to stay,” said Effie to Elizabeth. “In fact, he asked me to move in with him but I said no. I like things the way they are. Separate places. No pressure. No putting up with anyone farting in bed, and by anyone I mean myself.”
“Are you saying you don’t fart when Jimmy’s around?” said Elizabeth.
“Not if I can help it,” said Effie. “And I can’t help it more than anyone else but, if Jimmy’s around, I don’t enjoy it.”
“Did you know you can kill someone by farting?”
Effie raised her eyebrows. “Never!”
“Yeah really,” said Elizabeth. “A man got charged with it a few years ago. He trapped his wife under the duvet while he farted. She died. It’s the methane. It’s a poisonous gas.” She started to giggle.
“It’s good to have you back sweetie,” said Effie. “You’re a never-ending fountain of useful knowledge.”
Elizabeth continued, “It’s called a Dutch oven. Ernest Borgnine, a movie star back in the forties did it to his wife, the singer Ethel Merman.”
Effie’s eyes were agog. “What happened?”
“What do you think?” said Elizabeth. “She divorced him….after thirty two days.”
“I guess so,” said Effie.
“But imagine everyone knowing that’s the reason you got divorced. How embarrassing would that be?”
“Yeah. I guess people avoided lighting up around Ethel after that,” laughed Effie. “Jeesus. That’s brutal. What a way to go. Wish I’d know that when I was with Stevie.”
“So you’re keeping the romance alive with Jimmy then?” said Elizabeth.
“Fuck yes,” said Effie.“Where am I ever going to find another man who refers to me as a ‘wee’ anything."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Prison visits were ending for the day. “So where is it you want to go for this vacation?” asked Khaleed Khomeini resignedly as he handed his daughter the latest tabloid junk.
“Scotland,” said Natasha.
Khaleed’s eyebrows shot up.
“Scotland is hardly a vacation destination,” he said.
“I want to see where Declan Thomas died.”
Seeing her father’s eyes start to roll, Natasha quickly added, “then I’ll go back to school and become a…a….doctor.”
Khaleed beamed.
“That would be good. I would be most proud of you,” he said.
“Yeah well, that’s the main thing. It’s all about you isn’t it pop…father?” said Natasha.
“You are making me most happy,” said Khaleed. “I will put money into your account.”
Natasha thought for a moment.
“We still have the place up north don’t we?”
“Yes, of course,” said Khaleed.“Your mother’s ashes are scattered there. Why do you ask? ?”
“I was thinking I could use some alone time,” said Natasha. She glanced around. “Not much time alone in here.”
Khaleed fished in the pocket of his bespoke suit, an outrageously expensive garment custom made for his slim frame. He produced a key.
“I was hoping you might spend some time with your mother’s departed spirit so I had an extra one made for you.”
“Gee thanks,” said Natasha. “But they won’t let me keep it in here. Take it home and leave it on the key rack.”
Khaleed leaned across a sagging couch and gave his daughter another peck on the cheek.
“You have made me proud again,” said Khaleed.
“Yeah, yeah. That’s all that counts,” said Natasha.
Natasha stood to go, folding some tabloids under her arm.
“Bye Pops. Don’t forget the money.” She smiled sweetly. “Be generous. Studying medicine is going to take up a lot of time and I want to make sure I get to enjoy myself first.”
Khaleed bounced on the balls of his feet as he exited the correctional facility. His daughter was going to be a doctor. She would redeem the family name. He wanted to announce it to the world.
Natasha slouched back to her cell. Become a doctor…right. That was a good one. She smirked to herself. Her old man was a gullible fool. She was going to become a famous author. Fuck Elizabeth Harding.
Natasha flung the tabloids on top of her bunk. Declan Thomas was still in every one of them. She flipped through them, looking for more pictures to tear out. Many of them used the same photo of Declan, his eyes practically scorching the lens with the intensity of his gaze. Those eyes now gazed at her with longing and adoration. Natasha kissed his paper mouth, remembering the sweet taste of the real one.
Natasha had fallen hard the first time she saw Declan Thomas busking on the street. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen. She was smitten, not only by his voice but by his lean physical presence that exuded sexiness. She dropped a dollar in his open guitar case, caught his electric gaze and smiled. She was aware, as he sang, that he checked her out. She hung around. That night, she had him in her arms. He wasn’t that good at fucking but she’d taught him. She showed him what a girl likes. He’d been surprised when she asked him to tie her up but he’d obliged and the sex had been hot.
Natasha settled on her bunk looking for pictures of movie stars to play her. When she was done she would trade the tabloids for other favours. She knew Mouse would be back soon and eager to please her. Maybe she’d use the strap-on tonight. Why not? Thinking about Declan made Natasha feel horny. She could use an orgasm. Poor Mouse would miss her. By mid September Natasha would be free of prison. In just a few weeks she could tell the world to go fuck itself.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Elizabeth had been back in Toronto for two weeks, staying with Declan’s mother Joan. While each woman was a comfort to the other they were also a reminder of shared agony. Elizabeth’s wounds opened afresh at the sight of Joan’s tears. Joan had lost her only child. A woman could find another husband, or another lover, but never another child. The thought of losing either Jack or Camille made Elizabeth feel physically ill. She knew women could, and did, carry on after such emotional evisceration but they were never the same women. They were hollow women pretending to be real.
Joan had lost weight. She was pale. Even though the doctor had prescribed pills, she
had trouble sleeping. At least with Elizabeth in the house Joan had someone to talk to about Declan.
“My friends were sympathetic of course,” said Joan, “But it’s not something you can keep going on about. Eventually people become uncomfortable because they feel helpless, so they draw away.”
Elizabeth agreed. She didn’t know what she would have done without Effie. Now it was her turn to be a support for poor Joan.
Every night, when the children were asleep, Elizabeth stayed up talking with Joan. Joan had adopted Declan after her twin sister Jean’s suicide, so he’d come to her in sadness, then left her in sadness.
“He was such a joy to Charles and me,” said Joan, “such a bright child, so full of mischief, and musical, always musical. We bought him a guitar for his seventh birthday. We couldn’t get him out of his room. He’d be up there practicing for hours on end,” said Joan wistfully.
The two women drank wine and cried in each other’s arms. They hugged, and once they even danced to one of Declan’s tunes in the kitchen.
“He wouldn’t want us to be sad,” said Joan.
“No,” agreed Elizabeth. “He wouldn’t. It’s just so difficult to accept he’s gone.”
Elizabeth stroked a small tattoo at the bottom of her wrist.
“What is that?” asked Joan.
“Half of a yin-yang symbol,” said Elizabeth. She bit her lip to hold back further tears. “The other half is on Declan’s wrist, somewhere beneath the sea.”
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