Heaven's Door

by Michael Knaggs

  Mags’s golden blonde hair fell loosely onto her shoulders framing her perfect features. She was wearing high platform heels and a loose chiffon dress, pulled in with a matching belt around her slender waste, which lifted the hemline just above her knees. Tom recognised it as the one he always told her was his favourite. She poured two large whiskies and joined him on the sofa, placing the glasses on the low table in front of it and sitting close to him, but far enough away so that she could turn to face him.

  “We need to talk,” she said.

  Tom grinned at her.

  “What?” asked Mags, frowning and smiling at the same time.

  “I just knew you were going to say that.”

  They both laughed, probably for the first time – together – in over two years.

  “This is serious, Tom-Tom,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, Mags. But to be honest, you’ve made me a bit nervous. I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve this.”

  “Deserve what?” she said.

  “This,” and he leaned forward and kissed her again. She kissed him back, more passionately this time.

  “First,” she said, pushing him gently away and becoming more serious, “my speech. I just want to say that … I love you – I mean really love you – so very much – and I’ve never stopped. I realised today that that has never changed.”

  He leaned forward to respond.

  “Don’t say anything yet,” she held up a restraining hand, “I’ll take questions later,” she added, half smiling. “I’ve said a lot of hurtful things recently – well more than just recently, I guess. I think we’ve both been at fault, but I know that I have been the main culprit. I’ve been deliberately blind. I’ve refused to listen, refused to bend, refused to show any sort of empathy or understanding or support …”

  Mags’s voice broke and she lowered her head, not able to continue for a few moments. Tom took both her hands in his.

  “I’m a bit emotional, to tell the truth,” she said, gripping his hands tightly and still looking down at her lap. “Not because I’m sad, but because… well … I’m suddenly happy. At least I will be if you can feel the same about me as you used to and start loving me again. It’s like I’ve walked out of a fog into the sunlight – God, how dramatic is that!” She looked up at him through glassy eyes, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “I feel a bit idiotic, actually, like a love-struck teenager asking you not to pack me in.”

  Tom looked back at her.

  “Go on,” said Mags, through her tearful smile. “I’ll take questions now.”

  “And not before time!” said Tom, making her laugh. “I’ve never stopped loving you Mags – I thought you knew that – not for a single heartbeat. But I thought I’d lost you. I really did. You said as much last night, remember?” His own voice was trembling as he finished.

  They fell together kissing with a passion he had thought would never return. This was a time for gentleness and tender words, but he felt his body responding to the closeness in a way he neither intended nor wanted right now. He pulled himself away slightly to regain control. Eventually they broke off the embrace and sat closer together on the sofa, Tom’s arm around her and Mags’s head buried into his shoulder. They reached for their drinks and sipped them in silence for several minutes, each simply delighting in the other’s closeness. Tom was amazed at just how wonderful he felt. Less than twenty-four hours ago they had been squaring up to each other over a broken coffee mug in the kitchen.

  “But Mags, why …” he asked, at last.

  “It was watching you this afternoon, like I said in my text,” she answered. “I’ve never heard you express yourself in those terms before. It put my own views together with yours and helped me understand that they were not mutually exclusive, that they could exist together. It also made me realise what an easy option I’ve always taken – spouting my own ideas without any attempt to come up with compromises or alternatives. You’ve had to do that. It never occurred to me that you felt anything but contempt for the people you were putting away. I’m not saying they don’t deserve our contempt, but they do warrant our sympathy and prayers as well. It was a revelation for me, hearing you say those things, and after you’d finished, as the day wore on, it seemed to have more and more significance – for us, I mean.” She hesitated. “I’m not explaining this very well, am I?”

  “You’re doing fine, darling. And if I didn’t share these thoughts with you before, then it’s my fault you didn’t understand, isn’t it? And to be honest, Mags, it’s only very recently that I’ve been thinking in those terms, so I guess it’s a case of us coming together on this, rather than just you changing your mind. I think that’s better, don’t you? That we’ve both accepted the other’s position.”

  She moved even closer as he looked at the time on the wall-clock in front of him – 11.30 pm. He guessed that the vessel might almost be there by now, until he remembered what Paul had said.

  A storm in the Atlantic…

  *

  The rumbling in Tom’s stomach brought them both back to reality.

  “When did you last eat?” asked Mags.

  He looked at the clock again. It was twenty minutes past midnight. “Yesterday,” he said.

  “Yes, I know that.” She nudged him in the ribs. “But when yesterday?”

  “One-thirty – eleven hours ago. God, I’m such a hero for the cause.”

  Mags laughed. “Stay right there; I’ll make you something.”

  “No, I’m coming with you,” he said. “Not letting you out of my sight from now on.”

  He followed her through to the kitchen, standing behind her with his arms around her waste as she made him a sandwich. He sat at the breakfast bar and ate it ravenously whilst Mags went through to the sitting room, returning to lean seductively in the kitchen doorway, their two glasses pinched together between the thumb and forefinger of one hand and the half-empty whisky bottle swinging from the other.

  “What shall we do now?”

  “Can’t think of a single thing,” said Tom, smiling. “Well perhaps just one.”

  Tom finished his snack, and, after setting the security alarm and switching off the lights, followed Mags up the stairs.

  “Oh dear,” said Tom, as they entered what had been for nearly two years Mags’s separate bedroom. “I seem to have left my pyjamas in the other room.”

  “Sorry. No time for Tom-Tom to get jim-jams,” said Mags.

  They both became silent, as if they had suddenly grasped the significance of the moment. Tom was the first to speak.

  “Where are the children?” he asked. “I’d forgotten all about them.”

  “No lectures tomorrow morning; staying over with friends.”

  Tom smiled. “Good.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Week 1; Thursday 26 March…

  Douglas’s cabin was large, rectangular and traditionally appointed, with an old-fashioned oak desk and upholstered captain’s chair on castors at one end and a large table with six similar chairs – minus the padding and castors – at the other. The walls were covered in paintings of sailing ships and the wall-to-ceiling shelves along one side of the room were filled with ancient books, ornaments and other sea-faring memorabilia.

  Calum had called the meeting to update Lawrence and Douglas on the status of the prison deck, and to discuss any likely schedule changes.

  “Well, if it wasn’t a shit-hole before, it is now,” said Gally. “The deck’s just covered in the stuff – and puke and piss. And as far as we can see, there’s no way of cleaning this up, and lurching about like we are, it’s moving all the time, slopping everywhere. We’ve got broken glass from the smashed monitors in it as well – mostly just in the cabins. The only good thing,” he added, with feeling, “is they’re suffering more than we are. Most of them have nowhere to sit or lie down, and they’re honking all over with the stench and the movement of the ship.”

  “Even so,” said Lawrence. “You have to feel for them a bit. I
mean given their circumstances …”

  “You feel for them if you want to,” said Gally, leaning across the table. “And while you’re doing it, remember it was your Home Office that put them there.”

  “Okay, Gally,” said Calum.

  “Well, perhaps Mr Harding would like to step into a couple of plastic bags and go down there and help. I don’t like our guys having to do this, boss, and certainly not without the gear to do it safely. Perhaps as part of his feedback, the man from the ministry can recommend we get protective clothing.”

  They all looked at Lawrence, who didn’t speak.

  “What about the plumbing?” asked Douglas. “How bad is that?”

  “We’ve had to turn off the water supply to the cabins on all but the port side central line because of the ruptured inlet pipes,” said Gally. “Not possible to isolate individual cabins within a line. Needless to say, there’s no way we can consider any repairs while the cabins are still occupied. In any case, the whole deck would need to be sluiced and disinfected first.”

  Calum turned to Douglas.

  “How are we doing with ETA? Any change?”

  “We’re close to falling behind, I’m afraid. I’ve slowed down to minimise the effect of the worsening weather on the prison deck. We speed up, we’ll feel it more. Headwinds are force eight now.” He looked at the brass wall clock. “Five after one. I thought we’d be much closer by now, but we could just still make it for seven.”

  There was silence for a few moments.

  “I guess we should get our friend back down below,” said Calum.

  They looked out through the glass panel in the cabin door. It was pitch dark outside except for the halo of light which the vessel itself was shedding onto the spray and rain which encircled them. Below them, at the bow of the ship, a bedraggled shape was handcuffed to the rail. As they watched, a wave crashed against the bow, shooting spray upwards and over the deck.

  “He could die of hypothermia if he stays there much longer,” said Douglas.

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” said Gally, getting to his feet. “I’ll put him back in his cabin. Unless you’d like to do it, Mr Harding. You could apologise for the inconvenience as well.”

  *

  Tom awoke once in the night at around 3.00 am and slipped from the bed, retrieving his mobile from the pocket of his trousers, on the floor of the bedroom, and setting the alarm for 5.00 am. He got back into bed, squeezing closely up against Mags, pulling her arm over him and putting his around her.

  *

  Douglas and Calum stood on the bridge together, shuffling their feet and occasionally shrugging their shoulders to keep warm as they watched the early light of dawn picking out the heights of Hirta and Soay, lying about three miles off their starboard bow.

  “Land ahoy!” said Douglas, and Calum smiled. The sight of the island group, albeit through a fine swinging curtain of spray and mist, which offered a quick look then snatched it away again, was somehow comforting after a dark and turbulent few hours, even though it was only there to be passed by and left behind.

  “And then there was none,” said Calum, as it disappeared again. “At least the weather’s improving. That’s the last time I ask you if we’re in for a pleasant trip.”

  Douglas laughed. “I just thought you had enough to occupy your mind without worrying about the weather.”

  “And you were dead right there.”

  They were silent for a few moments.

  “Have you been through the checklist with Alpha Control yet?” asked Douglas.

  “Yes, and everything’s okay. You’d think with two hundred and thirty-odd items to cross-check, at least one isn’t going make it. But, thankfully, not this time; they all passed with flying colours. So we’re cleared for docking when we get there.” He stamped his feet and shrugged again. “I don’t know about you, Captain, but I can’t wait to get back to Lochshore. I didn’t appreciate what a nice place it was until now.”

  “Aye to that.”

  A few minutes later, as visibility improved, they saw the first rays of the sun, rising astern above the mist, alighting on the top of the massive construction ahead of them. The uppermost part of the superstructure reflected back the pale light and the sight of their objective squeezed a gasp of wonder from both men. With most of it still in mist and partly below the horizon, what they saw looked like the top of a giant cube, breath-taking in its size and emerging like a ghostly mirage out of a seemingly empty world.

  “Go and get Mike,” said Douglas. “He’ll never forgive us if he misses this.”

  *

  Tom awoke thinking about Grace Goody. It was not a consciously driven thought; but she was the first person in his mind as he reached to switch off the alarm on his mobile.

  He turned to where he expected to see Mags asleep beside him. She was not there. He sat up, the sudden movement reminding him that he had consumed nearly half a bottle of malt the previous evening. At that moment Mags appeared in the doorway carrying a breakfast tray.

  “Good morning, Home Secretary. Can I press you to a hot muffin?”

  “What are you doing awake at this time?”

  “When you’d gone back to sleep, I checked when you’d set your alarm for, and set mine for ten minutes before.”

  “Well, it’s very much appreciated and …”

  “Oh, don’t thank me,” she said, placing the tray on his bedside table. “I have an ulterior motive.”

  She was wearing the same short, loose robe she had worn the night before last when she had confronted him in the kitchen. Now she pulled it slowly apart and placed her hands on her naked hips, thrusting one forward in a seductive pose. She was wearing nothing underneath except a very small pair of briefs. She dropped her arms and, with a shrug of her shoulders, the gown slipped to the floor. She lifted up the duvet and crawled over him to her side of the bed.

  “Don’t let it get cold,” she whispered, slipping her tongue into his ear.

  “Some chance,” he replied, already breathing heavily, and rolled on top of her.

  They made love a second time as they showered together before going down to breakfast, soon hearing the sound of tyres on the gravel driveway.

  “Six-thirty already,” said Mags. “God, couldn’t Paul be late just once?”

  Tom went back to the bedroom, put on his tie and jacket and returned to the hall, picking up his briefcase from the table where Mags had placed it eight hours before. They kissed passionately again for nearly a full minute before Tom turned to leave.

  “By the way, are the kids back tonight?” he asked.

  “I’m going to invite them formally to have dinner with their parents,” replied Mags.

  “Do you think they’ll come? When was the last time the four of us sat down to a meal together?”

  “It’s the only way they’ll get fed,” said Mags. “I’m sure they’ll put in an appearance even if it’s just out of curiosity. It would be great if you could get back so we could have a chat beforehand.”

  “You mean prepare ourselves for Question Time? Yes we should, I guess.”

  “So will you make it? What’s your day looking like?”

  “Well, got a date this morning with Hanker the Anchor. I’ll ask her to be gentle with me …”

  “And I suppose you’ll be flirting with her, as usual – in front of millions of people?” said Mags.

  “I never flirt with her,” said Tom, “I just respond in kind to her flirting with me – simply out of courtesy. I don’t understand how anyone can fail to see the difference.”

  Mags grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket. “Just watch it,” she said, “or no more hot muffin in bed for you!”

  Tom laughed. “After that I’m meeting Tony for an exclusive. He wants to do a more personal insight into what the last year has meant to me.” He smiled at Mags. “That’s going to be a lot different to what I would have told him yesterday at this time.”

  “I hope you’re not plann
ing to go into too much detail.”

  Tom laughed again. “Okay, I won’t mention the muffins. Anyway, this afternoon there’s a debate in Westminster Hall; session ends at five, so if I can get away straight after that I can get back by, say, six-thirty to six-forty-five. That okay?”

  “Fine. I’ll arrange dinner for eight.”

  Tom opened the front door. It was raining heavily. He gave his wife one more kiss and went down the steps. He stopped at the bottom and turned back to her.

  “Listen, how do you fancy getting away for the weekend? Set off as early as possible tomorrow evening and go somewhere far away. Get a cottage in the Yorkshire Dales or Peak District. Just the two of us.”

  “That would be wonderful; let’s do it.”

  “Doing it is exactly what I had in mind,” said Tom, looking up at the sky. “If it’s anything like this we’ll have to stay in bed all the time.”

  “Now just you stop that and go to work,” said Mags, putting on a serious face.

  Tom grinned then walked to the car through the pouring rain.

  “Morning, Paul. Wonderful day, isn’t it?”

  “Morning, Home Secretary. And actually, it’s lashing down.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said, and settled into his seat.

  *

  Tom was jolted awake by the rapid deceleration of the car. He looked up to see Paul waving his arms at a vehicle that was attempting to turn right out of a side road and had blocked their lane. He checked his watch – 7.05. He had a sudden feeling he’d forgotten something. Then he remembered and stared at his phone, not knowing what to do.

  His indecision was resolved by the sound of its ring tone – the thumping intro to Police’s Every Breath I Take – which made him jump as it interrupted his thoughts. He looked at the display and hesitated for several moments; Sting was already into the lyrics before he touched ‘Answer’.

  “Hi!” he said, in a rather high-pitched and exaggeratedly cheerful voice.