Angelmama wrote a novel!

Yes our own @Angelmama (also known as AngelGodiva) has written a really groovy, fun novel about the Beatles, and particularly John Lennon. Angel had the pleasure of meeting John when younger, and was inspired to create this work of love, adventure and fun!

 

Nowhere Man


By Angel Godiva




"Thank God that's finally done," said John with an audible sigh. He leaned back in his seat and watched the buildings slowly pass as the traffic crept along.

"I'm ready for a bite to eat and bed," he remarked. Putting his arm about his wife's shoulders, he drew her close and kissed her cheek gently. "How about you, woman?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes. "Are you ready for bed?"

Yoko settled into the curve of her husband's shoulder and sighed softly. "I have a few papers to sign; they have to be out in the mail first thing in the morning," she replied, a wistful smile upon her face.

John looked closely at her and it struck him that, other than Ringo, he knew of no one else who could look so melancholy with a smile upon their lips. It was in the eyes, he decided. Right now, Yoko's eyes seemed...burdened, somehow, as though their owner held the weight of the world upon her deceptively frail, thin shoulders. He wondered briefly exactly how much his wife protected him, how many things were churning in her head that would upset him if he had to think about them. There were some, he knew that. Every now and then, he would open a piece of mail or catch the tail end of a phone conversation about some complicated business affair and demand to know what it was all about. Sometimes Yoko would just smile and explain the matter to him, but at other times, her delicate face would take on a guarded look and she would tell him that she could explain, but it would take hours and in the end, he wouldn't really understand.

Sometimes he would sulk at that, but he didn't really care. John disliked business matters and was quite happy to leave them in Yoko's very capable hands. Just lately, however, there had seemed to be something more, something that he felt sure that he really didn't want to know. Just lately, Yoko seemed not merely harried; she seemed worried. She seemed afraid.

"Listen," said John quietly into her hair, his lips close to her ear, "Is there summat wrong? Ye don't seem yerself as of late. Would ye tell me what's been botherin' ye, please, mother?"

Turning to look up into his worried face, Yoko managed a trembling smile. "It's nothing, John, honestly," she replied, and he wanted to believe her, but the look in her dark, almond eyes chilled him so that he physically shivered. Her eyes seemed haunted, and he could tell that she was only trying to protect him as usual, but this time he had the feeling it wasn't mere annoyance she was attempting to spare him. She was really, truly frightened.

John opened his mouth to say more, but the car had come to a stop and the driver was coming around to open the door for them. They had arrived home.

"I wonder if Sean is still up," Yoko said in a light voice, changing the subject deftly. "He had a long nap this afternoon, so I wouldn't be surprised if he was."

She got out of the car and began to walk quickly to the gate. It was opened for her, and she looked around to see John getting out of the car. She hoped that he would let the matter drop, that he would be distracted by their son and forget to worry further about the terror he had obviously recognized in her eyes.

The truth was that she didn't actually know what was wrong. She had been feeling uneasy all day, and by the time they had left the studio, her emotions had reached a fever pitch, leaving her simply terrified. It was irrational, she knew, but there it was. She just couldn't shake the fear.

John was talking to the driver, and Yoko wished he would hurry up. Her eyes scanned the area in front of the building, and she saw someone standing in the shadows. He looked familiar.

It was the same nondescript guy for whom John had signed a copy of the latest album earlier that day, she realized. Odd that he should still be hanging around, but he was only a fan. He must have something else he wanted signed. She saw John turn and begin to walk towards her, and she started again towards the entryway.

John thought he heard someone call his name above the sound of the car's engine starting. He began to turn towards the sound of the voice when something struck him in the neck and knocked him off balance. He heard a small explosion, and he was struck again--and again, to the sound of two more explosions.

More astonished than anything else, he stumbled, but managed to stay upon his feet. He lurched for the light and safety of the entryway, sudden pain battering his neck and shoulder. He was struck again, and he fell to the floor just inside; inside, where he should have been safe. As if in a dream, he heard Yoko screaming, anguished howls of terror and grief that were terrible to hear, almost worse than the blinding pain.

"I've been shot," he said, an almost childlike wonder in his voice, as everything grayed and faded to black.

***

Finding himself unable to move, open his eyes or speak, John concentrated on what he could hear.

"Do you know who this is?" a man was asking. A siren was howling steadily; the sound seemed to be coming from all around him. "I've seen this guy before," the voice continued. "This guy used to be a Beatle!"

"Whattaya mean, 'used to be?' The fuckin' guy is still alive," said another voice. The second guy sounded younger. John struggled to speak, but could let out no more than a guttural moan.

"Oh," the first guy amended, "I didn't mean 'used to be' as in he's dead, I meant 'used to be' in that the band broke up."

The band--his band; they'd always been his band--sunny, earnest George, persnickety, spritely Paul, friendly, dependable Ritchie-- his friends, his mates, his more than brothers. When was the last time he'd spoken to any of them? The last time he'd seen them? When was the last time the four of them had been together, all in one place, the last time they'd laughed together, the last time they'd played together?

Had it really been ten years since then? How had he--or any of them-- allowed that to happen? He recalled with pain (not in his body; he was beyond that sort of pain, in fact he did not seem to have a body anymore at all) the last time they had all been together, the mutinous looks, the nasty, cutting remarks, the angry, impotent tears stinging his eyes and causing him to turn away and blink them back.

John managed another deep groan.

"He's still hangin' on," the older guy said, "But that's a hell of a lot of blood. I can't believe he's here, in my squad car."

Squad car? Police, then. That's where he was, in a police car.

He managed to open his eyes a crack, and found the round face of a man who was near his own age, maybe a bit younger, peering at him.

"Do you know who you are?" asked the cop, sounding star struck and awed.

John struggled to speak, but could not. Fucking arsehole, he thought. What the fuck does it matter that I'm famous? I'm dying. I can feel it...

A tear oozed from his eye and slipped down his cheek. His eyes closed again; it was far too difficult to keep them open. John felt the darkness begin to envelop him like a warm, fluffy blanket, and he sank into it gratefully.

***

He didn't know how he'd gotten from the police car to the place he was now, but the scenery had certainly changed. There was a light glaring above him, and John winced and squeezed his eyes shut again, struggling to turn his head away in protest.

"Mr. Lennon, do you know where you are?" asked a female voice. He managed to open one eye a crack, but all he could see was a soft blur; the woman was too far away to be made out, and he seemed to have lost his glasses.

"No," he croaked, "No...please, water..."

The woman, who seemed to be dressed completely in white, bent closer and held a straw to his lips, and he drank gratefully. She was pretty, he now saw, and dressed in a nurses' uniform.

"Hospital," John managed to say, then he began to choke. The nurse took the glass away and smoothed his hair back.

So it's happened at last, John thought. He had half expected it for years, had even recently planned with his doctor what they would do if this situation ever arose. Now it had come; his life as he knew it was over, and he would leave it behind and begin again...that is, if he survived.

***

Just the week before, he'd had coffee with Dr. David Kently, and the two had discussed this very possibility. John had shared his idea with his friend to simply disappear if an attempt were ever to actually be made on his life. The threats had been unnerving John for years-- since he'd been a Beatle, actually--and lately things had gotten worse.

John and David had been sitting in the corner at Café La Fortuna when the final plan was made.

"I'm supposed to be stayin' away from these thingies," John smiled, taking another bite of a butter cookie. "I can't seem to do it, though. They're just too bloody good."

"A few cookies aren't going to kill you, John," David replied, nodding at the waitress to refill his cup. "Your last checkup was just fine. If anything, you could stand to gain a few pounds."

"I like it that way," John replied. "Gives me a bit o' room to cheat." He looked over the rim of his coffee cup at his friend. His face was pensive.

"Funny how the meanin' of that word has changed for me," John went on. "'Cheat', I mean. At one time I would've used it to describe what I was doin' with another woman, an' now it's somethin' as innocuous as a fuckin' cookie. Not that I haven't been thinkin' about havin' a woman; I've been callin' May from time to time, and I've actually been givin' her quite a bit o' thought. A man has his needs, ye know. I hesitate, though, 'cos she seems to be nearly over me, and I don't wanna stir old feelin's all up an' maybe hurt her again."

"Not being taken care of at home, John?" asked David. "Is there some problem between you and Yoko?"

"Well, now ye see, Davie, I just don't know how to answer that," John replied. He toyed with his spoon, looked into its bowl, and made a face at himself. "She seems...preoccupied as of late. Nothin' that I can put me finger on, ye understand. It's just a feelin' is all. There's somethin' goin' on inside that inscrutable little head o' hers, but she's not talkin'. I wonder sometimes if she might not be happier without me. I almost feel like I'm in the way at home, sometimes, the last couple months."
"Well, what about Sean? You know how much he'd miss you if you weren't in the home, John. Not to mention how much you'd miss him."

John sighed. "Yer right, I would," he said, his eyes softening. "I get the feelin' that there's danger though, somewhere near. I try not to think about it, but I gotta admit, Davie, I'm dead scared sometimes. I feel like I'm bein' watched...like I'm livin' on borrowed time. If I were to discover I'm right and it's not just me paranoia--if I really am in danger--then Sean would be better off if I were just to disappear." John leaned forward and gazed intently into his friends' eyes. David was surprised by the depth of emotion he saw there.

"Do you ever think of doing that, John?" he asked. "Just disappearing? For good, I mean?"

"I'm thinkin' about it right now, Dave," John told him. "I'm thinkin' about it real hard. As a matter of fact, I want you to make me a promise. Will ye do that, Dave? Make a promise to me?"

"If I can do it, I promise I will, if it means that much to you, John. Tell me what I can do."

"If someone tries to kill me, promise you'll help me get away from New York. I mean far away, somewhere I can start over."

"John," said David, putting a hand on his friends' arm, "No one's going to try to kill you. Why would they?"

"I don't know," replied John. To Dave's horror, tears welled up in the musician's light brown eyes. "I really have no idea, but it's a feelin' I just can't shake," John went on. "I can't explain it. I just have this...feelin' of dread, like there's summat lurkin' just behind a half closed door, waitin' to jump out at me, all teeth an' claws. Somethin's wrong, Dave, somethin's very wrong, and if someone kills me that will be that, but if they try and I manage to survive, I'll be fucked if they'll get another chance at me. I'd rather just let everyone think I was dead and go on with me life elsewhere."

"But where? You have one of the four most recognizable faces in the civilized world, John. Where could you possibly go?"

"I have a place," replied John, a smile touching his lips for the first time since the conversation had begun. "You just let me worry about that, and promise me you'll do yer part. Not only to protect me, but to protect Yoko and Sean as well."

David had promised, and now it had happened.

John looked up at the nurse’s pretty face, and the girl smiled gently. "That's right, you're in the hospital," she replied. "Now, you relax, sir, and I'm going to get the doctor so he can take a look at you. We weren't at all sure that you were going to make it at all-- Doctor Kently is with your wife right now."

***

Once he was alone again, John tried to turn his head and look around the room. There were electrodes glued to his chest and some sort of clothespin-like thingie fastened to his left index finger, the purpose of which he could not begin to fathom. He heard a woman wail in another room somewhere down the hall, and he closed his eyes miserably. Yoko. Her voice, rising hysterically in grief, carried easily to his ears.

"No, no, he can't be dead, he can't be," she wailed. "Where is he? I want to see him; I need to see him--don't you understand? He's my life!"

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and the tears squirted out from beneath the quivering lids; his throat felt thick. His chest heaved, and he began to weep. Great, gulping, shuddering sobs wracked his aching body and he had to hold his breath to keep himself from allowing his own keening wail to join hers down the hall. Her cries began to recede as someone led her away, and John continued to weep inconsolably, feeling more alone than he had since he had been a little boy. As his sobs subsided, his mind drifted back to something that had happened to him when he was still too young even for infant school.

***

He had been running for the sheer joy of feeling the wind in his face, arms out, eyes closed, when suddenly the world seemed to drop away from beneath his feet and he tumbled down head over heels over rocks and gravel, finally landing in the bottom of a deep pit with the air completely knocked out of his small body.

As he remembered, he became that small boy on that overcast day all over again.

He was terrified; no one was coming for him, not ever; everybody seemed to have gone away. He sat on the ground at the bottom of the washout and pulled his knees up under his chin. He crossed his arms over his knees and laid his head across them; he was becoming too tired to cry anymore. With the tears drying on his cheeks, he heaved a shuddering sigh and closed his light brown eyes. He wondered what would happen to him. Would he be here forever? He slept briefly, then started awake; had he heard someone calling him? His little heart pounded in his chest and he jumped to his feet, screaming.

“Daddy! I’m here! I can’t get out! Help me! DADDY!” he cried, and the tears began to come afresh. His father’s voice sounded very far away indeed; perhaps he would not be able to hear him at all. Panicking, the child clawed at the wall of sandy earth in front of him, but the dirt just gave way and dropped into the pit with him. He could not get a handhold. He was screaming incoherently now, every nerve in his small body alive and throbbing with sheer terror. He was at the point of losing consciousness when his father peeked over the edge of the washout.

“John? Are you all right?” he called. There was an edge of fear to his voice.

“Help me, I can’t get OUT,” cried the boy, “I’m hungry and I hurt my leg, it’s bleeding!”

“Hang on, I’ll have you out in no time,” his father replied, sounding very relieved indeed.

That night, the boy dreamed about being in a deep, black hole again, and woke up terrified to find himself in the dark. Scrambling out of bed, he switched the light on and got back into bed, pulling the blankets up under his chin.

***

Now, just as he had so many years ago (a lifetime ago), John managed to pull the thin, woven blanket that covered his body up to his chin, and he peered up at the ceiling as he had that night. There was no darkness in this bright, sterile room, but inside of him was another story. Inside of him, it was plenty dark.

***

Later that night, John was moved by plane to a private facility in London, where he would be hidden from the world. Word went out from the hospital to the police that the ex-Beatle's body had been stolen from the morgue, and a convincing 'morgue' photograph had been taken and released to the press.

The police investigation was kept quiet; the general public never would learn that the singer's body had been 'stolen'. Preferring not to be the center of a media circus, Yoko arranged a private memorial service and claimed to have had her husband's remains cremated. She would never admit to anyone at all that he had, in fact, seemed to disappear into thin air. She wondered, though. No matter how many weeks, months, and years passed, she would wonder.

***

John looked out through the glass at the green island below the helicopter. Harmony Island. He was still weak, but he felt much better. New York was half a world away, and he was about to start a new life somewhere safe, where no assassin's bullet could find him. It was ironic, he thought, that he had worried so about being shot back in the sixties after his faux pas regarding the lofty status of his band compared to that of Our Lord and Savior, gradually allowing that fear to subside and finally disappear during his five year hiatus from the music world, only to resurface like a circling shark these past few months. He had donated a truckload of bulletproof vests to the NYPD just recently, but he had stubbornly refused to wear one himself.

It wouldn't have saved me getting shot anyway, he thought. The vest wouldn't have covered the place where the most damage was done. The bullet that would have killed John Lennon had struck him in the neck. As it was, he had managed not to die, but his throat had sustained so much damage that he could barely speak, and it was doubtful whether he would ever be able to sing again.

"Are you all right, sir?" asked the pilot, an RAF man who looked to be all of eighteen and obviously did not recognize his celebrated passenger. To be fair, though, few people, even the most ardent of fans, would be likely to do so.

The famous profile had been altered; just slightly, he still looked like John Lennon, but no more so than many other men did. His nose had been pared down slightly, his lips enhanced with collagen to thicken them a bit, and he wore contact lenses which made his eyes appear quite blue. Add in the accidental alteration to his voice and he could have been any guy who resembled the ex Beatle. Every penny he'd had in his secret safety deposit box in London was now either in the pockets of his friend and doctor, who had done a brilliant job of helping him disappear, or safely tucked into his own.

If he was careful, he would have enough to live on for a good long time, but sooner or later he would need to find a way to support himself. He supposed that there would be time enough to worry about that later. Most of his money had been left under Yoko's control; at least he knew that Sean would never want for anything, nor Julian, to whom he had left a sizeable inheritance as well.

The thought of his wife and children brought tightness to his throat and a painful swelling to his heart. He had just been getting close to Julian at long last, and he had so been looking forward to watching Sean grow into manhood. He wondered if there was any chance of his ever seeing any of them again.

His reverie was cut short as the helicopter began its sharp descent and set down in a wide, green field, scattering the sheep placidly grazing there in a mad panic, running in every direction.

He grabbed his suitcases, threw them onto the grass, climbed out of the craft, recovered his luggage, and retreated to a safe distance, then turned and gave a sharp salute and a tight smile to the pilot, who returned them both and took the helicopter back up. It hovered for a moment, then proceeded back to the mainland. Standing alone in the middle of the field, John watched it go until it was no more than a speck in the distance before taking up a case in each hand and beginning to walk through the grass towards the stone wall running around its perimeter and the brown, muddy road beyond.

***

Picking his way between the puddles left by the previous days' rain, John traveled the rutted road towards the tiny village he could just make out on the horizon. He stopped often to catch his breath and collect his thoughts, which were spinning about in his head like clothes in an automatic dryer. He would glimpse one image after another, each one quickly replaced with the next, which was quickly replaced by the next. It was more than an hour before he finally reached the tiny hamlet with its old fashioned, thatched roof cottages and a small pub with rooms to let above. He sighed gratefully and entered the pub, setting his bags down just inside the door and seating himself at the bar. It was early in the day, and at the moment there were no other customers.

"Needin' a place to stay?" asked the girl behind the bar with a nod towards his suitcases. "I've not seen you before. How do you come to be on our island?"

"Yes to th' first question, and by helicopter to the last," John replied, automatically giving the girl a long, appraising look. She was sturdy and buxom, but not fat; russet waves of hair cascaded freely over her shoulders and fell to her waist. Her fresh, pale skin was accented by a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and large, wide set, gray-green eyes. Very nice, he thought. He filled his eyes with the sight of her.

"Let me know if you see anything you haven't seen before, won't you," she said wryly.

John chuckled; he hadn't been able to find a reason to laugh in a while now, and he was enjoying this exchange with the young barmaid. Suddenly, he felt twenty years younger.

"That I will," he agreed. "Now, how about a pint for a weary traveler? I've walked miles."

"Yes, all of three," the girl retorted, taking up a glass. "Guinness do?"

"Is there anything better?" asked John, "It'll do just fine."

He couldn't remember the last time he'd had one, but he'd heard that stout was good for medicine, and he was sure a little extra medicine wouldn't hurt him a bit. He watched the girl as she pulled the pint and set it, frothy and dark, on the bar in front of him.

He took a good swallow and winced slightly at the bitter aftertaste, but it felt and tasted good inside of him.

"Now," he said with a grin, "How about that room? How much for a month with meals thrown in?"

The girl quoted a price which to John seemed outrageously low, accustomed as he was to the prices of things in New York City. He nodded agreement and paid her, and the young woman went off to write him a receipt and fetch the key.

***

Once the door to his new home had closed behind him, John set his bags down and took in his surroundings. He was surprised to see that there was no television until he realized there would likely be no reception. He would have to do something about that. He liked to keep it on, sometimes with the sound up, sometimes not, but if he woke in the night, the flickering light it gave comforted him.

There was one window, sparkling clean and dressed with sea green curtains which looked homemade, and an armchair beside it covered in a similar cloth. The single bed was of a simple wooden design with two fat pillows and a patchwork quilt, also apparently handmade. A clothes dresser with a mirror stood opposite the window, and in front of it, between the dresser and the bed, there was a braided rug in black, red, and green covering a portion of the wooden floor, which through polishing and age had acheived a soft, golden patina. There was a small table beside the bed and another, with two high backed chairs, beside the dresser. On top of the dresser there was a water glass with a pitcher beside it. In the far corner, there was a curtain falling to the floor. John crossed the room and lifted the curtain to reveal a toilet and a small sink. He wondered briefly where he was to bathe, then decided that the basin would do for now. Two soft, clean white towels were folded on the back of the toilet, and a bar of apparently homemade soap sat in a small dish beside them.

"All the comforts of home, or nearly so," he said out loud, and the sound of his own voice gave him a start. Even though it had been several weeks since the attempt had been made on his life, he was just not used to the strange, new sound of it. With a sigh, he lifted one of the suitcases to the bed, opened it, and began to unpack and put his things away.

Once he was finished with that, he kicked off his boots and stretched out on the bed gratefully; he was asleep in moments.

***

He was awakened by a gentle knock on the door. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. The sun was nearly down, and a deep rose-tinted light was shining in through the window.

"Yeah, right there," he called, his voice rough and thick from sleep. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Mavis," called a female voice. "I've brought your supper."

Mavis, he thought. The barmaid; her name was Mavis, then. It suited her.

John opened the door and stepped aside to allow her to enter. The girl was carrying a large tray covered by a clean, white, linen towel. She set the tray on the table by the dresser and turned to go. "Let me know if there's anything else I can get you, sir," she said at the doorway.

"Must you leave?" he asked.

Something in his voice made her pause. "I cannot stay," she replied, "I have things to attend to, but if you'll come down to the pub in an hour or so, I'll be on a break of sorts-- I have to peel the potatoes for tomorrow's meals and I'll be sitting by the fire for the time it takes me to do it. You can sit by me, and we can have a talk then." She hesitated, then added, "Although I shouldn't, especially seeing as how you haven't even seen fit to tell me your name."

"It's John," he said automatically. Damn, he thought. but it was already out. "John Evans," he added. Maybe it would be okay to keep his first name. It was common enough and might not raise anyone's suspicion, and he was sure that his old friend Mal would not object to lending him his surname.

"Well, then, John Evans," said Mavis with a smile, "I'll see you downstairs in about an hour. Enjoy your supper."

As he began to eat, John realized how hungry he was. Mavis had brought roast lamb, mashed potatoes, fresh peas and crusty, fresh baked bread dripping with butter.

"I'm gonna get fat eatin' like this," he remarked to the room in general, but he didn't stop until every bite had been tucked away.

He thought that tomorrow he would go for a walk around the island. He hadn't been here in forever; after he had purchased the small island off the coast of Scotland in the late sixties, he had decided that it was too gray and chilly here and had given the land to a commune of hippies. The commune had since grown and thrived, developing into this small hamlet with its small shops and a modest tourist trade. The outlying area was taken up by small farms, and it was from these that the island's food supply came, for the most part.

Some of the island women made sweaters and blankets from the wool taken from the many sheep kept here, as well as rugs and skeins of soft, colorful yarn which were sold to markets on the mainland. The residents all knew one another, and there was seldom trouble on the little island. There was no police force. The few small disputes that arose from time to time were handled by a board of peacekeepers, and their word was considered law.

After he had finished eating, John carried the tray downstairs and put it at the end of the bar. Mavis was nowhere to be seen; he supposed she was in the kitchen. He sat in a big wingback chair by the fire and looked about the room. His eyes fell on a tall bookshelf, and he hauled himself to his feet and crossed the room to stand in front of it.

He perused the books eagerly, taking down one after another, replacing each one after flipping through it. There were enough books here to keep him busy for some time; perhaps he didn't need to worry about getting that television and VCR right away after all.

After fifteen minutes or so, John selected a volume and carried it back with him to his chair. Mavis emerged from the kitchen carrying a large basin of potatoes and came over to sit beside him, and he slipped the book between his thigh and the side of the chair.

"That looks like an awful lot o' potatoes," he said, "Ye must be expectin' a lot o' customers."

"We always use a lot," she replied. "I fry them in the morning and at dinner, and roast, bake, or mash them for supper."

"Mind if I smoke?" asked John. "I've cut down a lot, but I still fancy one after a good meal...and a few other special times."

He slipped naturally into flirtation with her, and Mavis smiled warmly at him.

"No, go ahead, I don't mind," she told him. "In fact, I like it. I miss the smell of tobacco in the evening, since my dad passed away last winter. He used to sit here with me like this and have a smoke," she added.

John was unsure of what to say. "I'm sorry," he finally managed. "How'd it happen?" He selected a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply. It burned his throat at first, but after a few drags the discomfort would subside.

"He was sick for a long time," answered Mavis. "Cancer, you know. By the time it was over, he was ready. I think he may have even been looking forward to it. You know, so he could be with Mummy again."

John continued to smoke, watching the fire. "What happened to yer mum?" he asked.

"She died having me," replied Mavis. "So I never knew her. I've pictures, though, and I do favor her."

"Well, then," said John quietly, "She must have been lovely." He met her eyes and she ducked her head, concentrating on the potato in her hand.

Something about the gesture reminded John of Julian; he had reacted in much the same way when his father had teased him about a girl he liked at school. He became painfully aware of how young the girl beside him actually appeared.

"How old are ye, Mavis?" he asked suddenly.

"Seventeen," she said proudly.

The first line of an old song popped into his head, and he suppressed a rueful smile. That was that, then, he thought. This girl was more suited to his son than to him. In a few months, Julian would be the same age.

"You put me in mind of my dad," she remarked, as if on cue. "Do you have any children, John?"

"Yeah, two boys," he replied. "They're with their mothers. One of them," he admitted, "is about your age."

"No daughters, then?" Mavis picked up another potato and began peeling it deftly.

"No, just the boys. I don't know how I'd have gotten through raising a gurrl," he said with a grin. "Th' first time they went out on a date, I'd of been followin' right behind, ready to thump th' little bastard if he stepped outta line, so I suppose it's best I stuck to lads."

"You sound like my father," she said, laughing. "He was always so suspicious of the fellows I went out with. There's not much to do hereabouts, no cinema or anything like that, so we generally went out for a picnic or boating, and he was always certain that they were all after just the one thing."

"Yeah, well, he was right, though, wasn't he," replied John. "He knew that; he was a lad once, an' things never really change all that much."

The girl regarded him, potato and parer halted in mid-stroke. Her pretty face flushed and she smiled shyly. "Yes, he was," she admitted. "They were."

"Well, there ye go, then," said John, crushing out his cigarette. "A father knows."

They sat in silence for a few moments, he thinking of his children and Yoko, she of her father and the mother she'd never known.

It was Mavis who finally broke the silence.

"You must miss them," she said. "Have you only just come from them, or have you not seen them for a while?"

John hesitated, considered his reply, and decided upon the truth. "The older one I haven't seen for almost a year," he admitted, "But the younger I've just come away from. His mother and I have recently...parted ways."

"I'm sorry," said the girl. "Was it bad?"

"Very bad," he replied. "But it's for the best, I think. "

"You still love her," Mavis said knowingly. "You do; I can see it in your eyes. When you mention her they go all soft. Why did you leave, if you love her? Upon seeing his startled expression, she hurriedly added, "You don't have to answer."

"No, it's all right," he replied. "It's true. I do love her. I left because I felt I had to. I felt it would be safer for both of us, and for our son. Besides," he added, and tears sprang to his eyes and sparkled there in the firelight, "I'm not at all sure that things were workin' between us anymore. I kind of had th' feelin' she was considerin' splittin' from me, an' I didn't wanna be th' one who got left. I was afraid that if I stayed, I was gonna get hurt, so when I got sh--when I got sure, I took th' first opportunity I had to cut meself loose." His mind raced. He'd have to be more careful. He'd almost said, 'when I got shot,' and he didn't want to let that much information out.

"I'm so sorry," she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "You must be in a lot of pain. Why did you come here, though? Don't you have any other family?"

John sighed. "No," he replied. "No family. Not any more." He got up and smiled at her sadly. “I guess I’ll be goin’ on t’ bed now,” he said.

“Don’t forget your book,” Mavis reminded him.

He took the book from the chair and turned to go up to his room.

“Good night, Mr. Evans,” she called, “Sweet dreams, you.”

“Thanks, you too,” he said before ascending the stairs.

***

Lying in his bed, he thought again of Yoko and Sean. He wondered what time it was where they were; he could never keep the time zones straight.

Tears stung his eyes and he realized he'd forgotten to remove his contact lenses. He got up and took them out, placing them carefully in their case. The lenses had come a long way since he'd worn his first pair back in the sixties. Those had been hard, rigid glass; these were some sort of flexible plastic. It was easy to forget that they were in his eyes sometimes. It was odd, but he found that he missed his glasses, sometimes unconsciously reaching to push them up when they were not even on his face.

Climbing back into bed, he wondered who it was that Yoko had been seeing. He felt sure there had been someone, but he didn't have any proof, so he never had confronted her. He wondered whether she was with anyone right now.

Things had been tense between the two of them the last few months they'd been together. He'd been working again, and she with him, so it had been all right while that was happening, but after the day's work was done, she had been going to one room and he to another, neither of them saying a word to the other.

Sometimes he would catch her looking at him, her enigmatic eyes clouded with something like pity. He wasn't sure what that was about at first, but finally concluded that she had begun making plans to leave him. He didn't know what to do, so he'd pretended that everything was fine, hoping that if he pretended hard enough and for long enough, it would become so.

When the generic, pudgy little man hanging around in front of the Dakota had shot him and he had survived, John decided to take the opportunity both to protect his family from harm and to leave the situation without any final confrontation, and now here he was, in a little room above a little pub in the middle of a little island, alone in this very big, very lonely world.

He rubbed his eyes to clear the tears away and turned onto his side to sleep.

***

The next day at breakfast, John mentioned to Mavis that he meant to take a tour of the island.

"If you'll wait until after anyone wantin' breakfast has come and gone," she offered, "I would be glad to take you on a short tour myself. I'll have an hour or two, and there's not actually an awful lot to see."

He brightened. "I'd appreciate that," he said. "I really need to do some walkin', though. Th' way yer feedin' me, I'm gonna get too big t' fit through th' fuckin' door if I don't keep meself active."

"Nonsense, you're thin as a stick," she scolded. "You could do with a few more pounds, you."

He grinned and went back to work on his breakfast.

***

The island was a small but thriving community. There was a medical building, made of stone with a thatched roof like most of the houses and shops, a general store selling everything from tinned soup to sewing notions, a small school which did double duty as a church on Sundays and also served as a town meeting hall, and a repair shop where one could take any broken item from a toaster to a tractor to be fixed.

In the square there was also a tiny post office with a bake shop under the same roof and a little shop selling fresh fish with the family who owned the business living above. These people also mended fishing nets and sold or traded fishing equipment and bait for those who preferred to catch their own fish. There was a rocky beach close by and a small marina which boasted the island's only petrol pump as well as another for kerosene.

Behind the school there was a small playground in which a few young mothers sat watching their children play, and a soccer field with a set of wooden bleachers. Beyond the village there were farms scattered about, and the green, rocky fields were dotted with placid white sheep and a few herds of goats as well as the occasional horse or cow. Flocks of chickens scratched busily here and there, clucking excitedly whenever one of them scared up and chased down a fat bug. Most of the stoops in front of the little buildings had a couple of cats or a sleeping dog curled up or stretched languidly in the sun upon them.

It was a lovely place, and John found himself feeling very proud of it. When he had bought the place, it had been nothing more than a pile of rocks and a spit of grass or sand here and there, interspersed with the occasional stand of scraggly trees or bushes.

Under the care of the small band of hippies he had given the island to, it had become a lovely little community surrounded by well tended farmland and small, well kept wooded areas.

Electricity was provided by solar panels and several windmills, but few electrical appliances were used. Heat was provided in the winter by imported peat, coal, and those trees that chanced to die. The ground in the treed areas was kept free of fallen branches and debris, which was also burned, and much of the cooking was done over open fires, although some places, including Mavis' kitchen in the pub, boasted propane powered stoves. Water for most houses came from wells in their back gardens, and there was a public well on the town common from which underground pipes were run to the school and the various businesses.

Not a lot of money changed hands; much of the local trade was done by means of the barter system, one person trading, for example, eggs from his chickens for flour and sugar from the general store. Most of the actual cash came from the occasional tourist and the sale of fish and woolen items made by the island's women, and this was used to pay for the heating materials and the staples not produced on the island as well as things like lumber, nails, liquor, tobacco, pans, and crockery.

All in all, John was quite impressed; the ragtag band of hippies with dreams of creating their own society had done all right for themselves. He thought that, in signing ownership of the island over to them, he had done quite a good thing.

***

He hadn't been on the island for more than two months before John began to be considered a local. He fascinated the single women in the village, and the pub began to have more female customers as the weeks passed.

"They're all here to see you, you know," Mavis told him one night as he was helping her change the keg behind the bar,

"There are a lot more of 'em around the last couple weeks," he admitted, "But I'm not so sure it's because o' me. They mostly listen to th' radio; they don't really talk t' me all that much."

"John Evans, don't be so bloody thick," said the girl, shaking her head with a smile. "Of course it's you. They're just waiting for you to choose between them. That's the way it's done here. A woman lets a man know she's available and interested, and he takes it from there. Isn't it the same in America? Isn't that the way it's done everywhere?"

He snorted. "Well, it was, once, but not any more," he replied. "Nowadays if a gurrl fancies a fellow, she comes right out an' lets him know about it. Sometimes," he added with a wink, "She even asks him to come home to spend the night with her."

Mavis blushed.

"No, it's true," he asserted. "Happens all th' time, like. Anyhow, these gurrls don't seem all that shy to me. I see 'em sunnin' themselves without their tops on in the park, bold as ye please. D'ye mean to tell me, Miss Mavis, that a gurrl who'll do that in public is too shy to ask a bloke out?"

"It's not the same thing," she explained. "It's one matter to be free with your body; that's natural, but a woman asking a man out-- well, Mr. Evans, that's entirely another thing. It's simply not a woman's place."

He laughed out loud at that. "Ye'd get yer arse kicked by one o' them feminist types for sayin' such a thing as that, me gurrl," he told her. "The women in America would be positively insulted by such talk, and pissed as fuckin' hell."

He tightened the tap and straightened up, holding the small of his back and wincing. He smiled at her puzzled expression. "Ye know," he confided, "I like th' way o' thinkin' in these parts better. It's sort of refreshin', like, old fashioned gurrls who expect a man to take the lead. Here I was thinkin' these ladies were taken, they seemed so reserved. Now that I know I'm to take me pick, why, I feel like a lad in a sweet shop."

Mavis giggled and gave his shoulder a push. “Go on with you, then, Johnnie,” she said, “Enjoy yourself. Your public awaits!”

***

It felt strange to John the first time he accompanied one of the island women back to her cottage for the night. He still loved his wife, and he felt a bit guilty holding another woman in his arms, but it had been a long time, and his need was strong, so his discomfort was quickly overcome.

No matter how many times he spent the night away from his room, however, he was always glad to come back and spend the day with Mavis. His physical needs were quieted by the lush, sensuous women practically lining up for his attention each night, but although he enjoyed them immensely, it was always the young barmaid he sought out when he needed a friend.

***

"So," said Mavis one morning as John was helping her stack the chairs on the tables, "When are you going to tell me the truth about yourself, John?"

"Whattayer mean; I've answered all yer questions," he replied. A cold worm seemed to writhe inside of his stomach.

"Let's sit by the fireplace," Mavis said quietly, placing her hand on his arm. "I'll wash the floor later. There are a couple hours before I'll need to open again. We'll talk, you and I."

He hesitated, his heart pounding, his eyes imploring her.

"It's all right," she assured him. "Really. Come sit."

John sat, but he did not sprawl comfortably as he usually did. He sat upright, his eyes slightly averted, a high, thin buzzing in his ears. He felt a strong sense of impending doom; an irrational fear clutched his heart.

Mavis settled herself beside him and took one of his hands in both of hers. "Such beautiful hands," she said in a near whisper. "Such graceful fingers. Are you a musician, Mr. Evans?"

A shock ran through him and his eyes darted towards hers. He found her staring hard into his face, leaning forward, her eyes calm but unrelenting.

"Have ye ever heard me speak of any such thing?" he asked, avoiding her eyes. "Did I bring any instruments here with me?"

The girl sighed. "Please tell me, John," she said in a desperate voice. "I've known you were troubled since the first day you walked in here, and it took me a while to figure it out, but I think I know who you are now, and I need to understand why you've done what you've done."

"I don't know what ye mean," he replied, withdrawing his hand. "Ye must be daft, gurrl. I don't know what it is ye think ye know, but whatever it is, yer wrong, and if ye'll excuse me, I've got someplace I've gotta be."

He steeled himself and forced his eyes to meet her gaze. Her face had gone all soft with hurt, and a tear dripped from one green eye and slipped down her cheek.

"You don't trust me," she whispered. "I thought you did."

"I do," he insisted. "I just have to leave. Please, Mavis, let's just go back to the way it was before and please let's just not mention this again."

She nodded. "Okay," she agreed. "Okay, John. I'll drop it."

She looked so lost and seemed so forlorn that he leaned forward and put his arms around her, his heart aching. "It's all right," he said gently, kissing the top of her head. "I'm sorry to upset ye, lass, but I am who I say I am, and whatever it is yer thinkin', yer wrong. Understand?"

She shifted in his arms and leaned her cheek against his chest with a sigh, listening to the steady beat of his heart. She nodded her head, knowing full well that he was lying to her and that things would never be the same between the two of them again.

***

John found it hard to be around Mavis with the lie between them. It hurt her that he would not confide in her, and he knew it. More than anything, he wanted to go to her and pour his heart out, to tell her how much he missed his children, his wife, the life he had left behind. He wondered what would have happened if he had never been shot. Would Yoko have stayed with him? Had she really been planning to leave him for someone else the way he'd gotten it all decided in his mind? The longer he was separated from her, the less likely it seemed to him.

Maybe he could go back and pick up where he'd left off. Maybe everything would be all right. Maybe... but no. What about his family's safety? There had to be a reason that he'd been shot, and it seemed likely to John that whatever that reason was, he was better off staying dead, at least as far as the world knew. There had been things that had happened before the shooting; the mysterious clicks and hums had begun coming across the lines during his phone conversations again, and several times when he'd been walking in the park, he'd felt he was being followed and watched.

During his five year 'retirement', the phone had been quiet and he'd begun to relax out in public. He'd sat for hours in the park watching Sean at play with nothing indicating that he was even being noticed except for the occasional request for an autograph or an excited whisper between a couple now and then when one of them noticed the ex-Beatle sitting there. He'd been relaxed and happy, cheerfully tending to his little boy and making sure that when Yoko came home, nothing would disturb her and she could rest.

One day, John had decided that he still had things to say to the world. He would share his feelings about what it was like in his corner of the universe, how happy he was to have the opportunity to start over again in his relationship and in his career, and why he had kept a low profile for so long. He decided that he would record a new album; he had been writing for a while and had enough material to complete a record if he put them with some of the stuff Yoko had been writing. He would, he decided, go back to work.

During the making of the record, which he had decided would be called "Double Fantasy" It was the name of a flower John had seen while on holiday with Sean and he'd loved the sound of the name. Subtle changes began to take place.

Once again the little buzzes, hums and clicks could be heard during John's phone calls, and he began to feel as though he was being watched again. To make matters worse, Yoko had begun acting strangely. He would catch her now and then talking on the phone, hurriedly excusing herself and hanging up when he wandered into the room, or even worse, regarding him with what seemed to John like alternating looks of pity, fear, and pensive speculation. He hadn't been sure at the time which of those expressions had troubled him most, but now he realized that it was the pity. He'd tried not to think about it, but as she gazed across the room at him with that look in her dark eyes, it was all he could do not to demand to know the reason why.

He wouldn't do it, though, no sir, not him. If there was one thing John had learned in the forty years he'd been upon this earth, it was that nothing good ever came from confrontation. Confrontation hurt, and it confused things more than it ever clarified them, because people tended to become defensive and voices tended to be raised, causing things to come out that were better left unsaid until the issue at hand became so clouded that no sense at all could be made of it. Better to be silent, better to allow things to remain calm. More often than not, situations rectified themselves, or if they didn't, they became less important with time and could be spoken of calmly at a future date. There was always time to wait the problems out, that is, provided you didn't get shot.

John, however, had been shot, and he had very nearly died, and he didn't know who that strange little man had been, what he'd had against John, or worse yet, why he had done what he had. John had the feeling that someone else, someone much more powerful, someone with an agenda John could never hope to understand, was behind the shooting. The man he'd glimpsed before he'd been hit had seemed inconsequential, a nobody--a stooge. Even if he was sure of nothing else, John was sure of that. That guy probably hadn't even known who actually was behind the assassination attempt, and that was the man John was afraid of.

If he went back and let it be known that he was still alive, he might not be so lucky a second time. Even worse, his wife or kids might be targeted. No, he could not go home, and he could not let anyone--not even Mavis-- know that he had survived and was here on this island away from the rest of the world. He thought it quite possible that the cosmic reason he had bought the little island and handed it over to the hippies was so that he might have someplace remote to go away to when the need arose. After all, nothing ever really happened for no reason at all; he knew that much.

***

"Good morning, John Evans," said Mavis when John dragged in one morning a few weeks later. "You look a sight; you must have had a great time last night. Who was she, if I might be so bold as to ask?"

"Rainbow Kelly," he muttered, dragging his sleeve across his bleary eyes. "Got any coffee, have ye, Miss Mavis?"

"Course I do; when have you ever known me not to have the coffee made by the time it's nearly noon?" she asked, setting a big, steaming cup in front of him.

"Never," he replied, lifting the cup in both hands. He took a careful sip. "It's good," he told her. "Ye make th' best coffee, Mavis, me gurrl."

"Thanks," she said, sliding into the seat beside his. "Will you be coming to my party tonight, or do you have another...date?"

"What sort of a party?" he asked, lighting a cigarette. He was beginning to feel better now.

"It's my birthday," she told him. "I'm eighteen today."

"Are ye really? Well, then, by all means, happy birthday to ye." John smiled at her, a genuine smile, the first she'd seen upon his face in weeks.

"Thanks," she said, returning his smile with a real one of her own. "Now, hadn't you best get going?"

"Goin' where-- I was goin' to bed, actually," he said. "I had a hard night."

"No doubt. Going to get my birthday present, of course," replied Mavis. "And mind you, I'm going to be expecting a good one. Eighteen is a milestone, after all."

"Yer only right, an' I promise to go just as soon as I have a little bit of a nap," he said, crushing out his cigarette and downing the last of his coffee. "I won't sleep long. The kids will see to that, if I keep me window open. They run by here like th' bloody clappers, shoutin' at the tops of their lungs, when the school lets out."

***

He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillows, and didn't wake up until, as he had predicted, the children were released for the day and stampeded by.

When he went downstairs, Mavis had gone somewhere, but there was a sandwich wrapped in oiled paper on the bar for him, and a thermos of coffee, which was holding down a note addressed to him. He poured some coffee into a cup, unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite, and began to read:

Dear John;

If you're reading this, you've discovered your lunch. Please make sure to put some water in the vacuum bottle after you've finished your coffee. I've gone to the bake shop and to pick up a few groceries. I may have to throw my own birthday party, but I draw the line at baking my own cake!

See you in a bit,

Love,

Mavis

PS - please leave the latchstring out so that Dylan can get in with the new keg and to take out the old.

M
He made a mental note to arrange a party for her the following year, and as soon as he had done so, the realization struck him that he still assumed he'd be here the next year.

With a sigh, he finished his lunch, rinsed the thermos, and left, carefully leaving the latchstring out.

***

Dozens of people showed up to help Mavis celebrate her birthday, most of them bringing a covered dish or an additional cake. The big, wooden record player was fired up and soon the little pub was reverberating with the sound of the records the villagers had brought with them--many of which happened to be old Beatles records.

"Dance with me," Mavis demanded when her favorite song, John's own "In My Life" began to play.

"I love this song," she told him, settling her cheek against his chest "It's so beautiful. A man who could write a song like this must have the most beautiful soul."

She looked up at him, searching his face with her eyes. "It's too bad he had to die," she whispered.

John said nothing, but his arms tightened around her.

"I heard about it over the radio, when he was shot," Mavis went on.

John was barely breathing.

"Hundreds of people were standing on the sidewalk as near as they could get to where it happened, and his widow said that she could hear them down there, singing, chanting, and crying throughout the night."

She placed her cheek against his chest again, feeling how hard and fast his heart was beating against her ear.

"He was so loved by so many people who never even were lucky enough to get to know him," she said. "So many people all over the world; especially here, I think. This island was his gift to our parents, you know."

John, of course, knew this very well, but he continued to be silent.

"I always thought he must be the most wonderful man," she went on. "I always knew he had to be so good and so generous. I was only six years old when he gave this island to us, but I remember him. He was dressed all in white, and so was the lady with him. He signed a paper and he shook hands with my father. After that, he noticed me and winked at me, and he made the funniest face. I laughed, and he tousled my hair and left with the pretty Japanese lady. She was his wife, and when they looked at each other, you could see the love shining out of their eyes and lighting up their whole faces."

John was breathing shallowly, his head spinning, his arms trembling as he held her.

"Do you know what I wished, right then?" asked Mavis, looking up into his face once more.

He didn't answer, but he shook his head, watching her eyes.

"I wished that someday, a man like that would look at me that way," she replied. "But he never came back, and I never did meet another man like that...until you came."

"I'm not like him," John finally said. "At least, I'm not like your idea of him. I'm a bastard, Mavis, and not worth yer notice."

She lifted her hand and traced the outline of his strong, square jaw.

"He had a fine, beautiful face," she said, ignoring what he'd said. "Like you do, Mr. Evans. He was a little different; his nose was a little larger, and his lips a bit more thin, and his eyes weren't blue like yours, but you are very like him," she insisted. "Especially when you smile with your eyes and all your teeth are showing. It's like I was back there that day with him smiling at me with the pretty lady standing beside him wearing the big, white hat over her cloud of jet black hair."

A stab of nostalgic pain caused his throat to constrict, and John blinked back hot tears. He remembered that day. To be honest, he did not remember the girl, not as an individual, but he remembered that there had been several children present. Most of all, he remembered that hat. Yoko in her big hat that made her look so small, her long, thick hair barely contained by it, framing her delicate face so that she looked to him like a flower.

A tear escaped and tumbled down his cheek, and he dashed it away with the back of one trembling hand.

"It's all right, John," whispered Mavis. "I won't tell anyone. Not ever. I promise."

He drew in a deep breath, kissed her cheek, and told her they would talk later before excusing himself to the privacy of his room to collect his emotions.
Part Two Coming Soon!



Copyright 2004, Angel Godiva

About the Author
Angel Godiva was actually was given that nickname by John Lennon, whom she met in L.A. in 1974 on her 21st birthday. She had yards of hair back then. She lives in Northern Connecticut with her second husband, and has been a Beatles fan since 1964, when she was 11. The high point of her life was meeting and getting to know John (though she never saw him again after he returned to NYC). She also writes poetry, and is currently working with an editor friend on her first novel.

 

Nowhere Man - Part 2


By Angel Godiva

Copyright 2004

When John did not come down for breakfast the next morning even though he’d gone to bed quite early, Mavis went up to make sure that he was all right.
Balancing his breakfast on a tray in one hand, she knocked softly. “John,” she called, “Are you awake?”

When there was no reply, she knocked more sharply. “John,” she called again, more loudly this time, “I’ve brought your breakfast!”

No answer.

Mavis sighed and took the tray back downstairs to keep it warm by the fire.

She set it upon the hearth and turned to see John just beginning to sneak back up the stairs to his room. When their eyes met, he smiled sheepishly. He swayed slightly on his feet.

“Where have you been?” she asked. “I never saw you leave.”

“Ye weren’t meant to see me go,” he told her, walking unsteadily back down and coming to sit by the hearth. “Ye weren’t meant to see me come in just now, either, as I’m sure ye’ve surmised. I was avoidin’ ye, Mavis, didn’t ye think I would, bein’ as ye know so bloody fuckin’ much about me?”

“John, are you drunk this early in the day?” she scolded, standing over him. “It’s not yet noon. Where were you, anyhow?”

“Yes, I am, a little, in answer to yer first question,” he replied. “An’ to yer second, although it’s not actually yer business, I was at Birdsong McKinnon’s cottage.”

“Birdsong McKinnon! Well, that’s very nice, John,” she replied crossly. “I hope you’ll be sure to get checked by Dr. Fenity to make sure you don’t need any penicillin.”

“I was careful,” he said, lifting the cover from the tray. He picked up his coffee and took a long swallow. “Got anything to give this a little strength to it?” he asked. “I could use a bit of the hair o’ th’ dog,” he added.

“I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?” Mavis retorted. “You can barely stay upright.”

“Oh, I can stay upright, me gurrl, don’t even imagine otherwise,” he said with a drunken grin. “Just ask Miss McKinnon.”

Mavis opened her mouth to reply, thought better of it, and sat down beside him. Abruptly, she buried her face in her skirt and began to cry.

Something about seeing her break down like that snapped John halfway back to sobriety. Her bare legs and feet suddenly embarrassed him even though he had seen her sunning herself topless on more than one occasion. She seemed frail and helpless, even though he knew full well that she was one of the strongest women he had ever known, for all her youth.

“Whist, gurrl, no need for that,” he said gently.

He reached for her, disentangled the skirt from her hands and face, and let its hem drop to the floor, covering her white feet. He lifted her from her chair and into his lap, stroking her hair, whispering to her that it would be all right.

Wrapping her arms about his neck, Mavis hid her face against his shoulder and continued to cry as though her heart would break.

“All right, then, let it come,” he whispered, holding her close. “Whatever it is, get it outta yer system, and we’ll go for a walk afterwards.”

***

During the walk to the beach, neither of them spoke. Once they arrived at the shore, John perched upon a rock and watched Mavis as she picked up a smooth, gray stone and set it sailing over the water. It skimmed across the bright blue sky and dropped into the gray-green sea an impressive distance away.

Mavis stood looking after the stone, and John watched her as she lifted her face to the sun, her russet hair rising from her shoulders and billowing behind her in the breeze. She was dressed in her usual attire, a long, full skirt in a dark floral pattern and a white peasant blouse made of a gauzy material through which her large, full breasts were clearly visible out here in the bright sunshine. The blouse had an elastic neckline and the top of her bosom and her white shoulders seemed luminescent in the clear salt air.

John felt as though he had never really seen her plainly before.

For the first time since the day they had met, he found himself wanting her with all his heart. She was breathtaking out here in the sunlight, her eyes searching the horizon beyond the fishing boats that bobbed in the water nearby. The sounds of the fishermen calling to one another carried back to the shore, and a flock of gulls wheeled overhead, raucously squabbling over the offal the fishermen tossed overboard.

“Mavis,” said John softly, just to say it and to taste her name upon his tongue, flavored with the delicate tang of the salty spray that was hanging invisible in the air.

As if she had heard, she turned her head and looked back at him.

He lifted his hand and beckoned her to come closer. She approached him and he saw that she was shivering. Funny how he hadn’t been aware of the chill in the air before he noticed that, he thought.

She stood before him and he removed his flannel shirt and draped it over her shoulders.

“You’ll be cold,” she objected, but she accepted it gratefully.

“I’m fine,” he assured her.

“Let’s go back and sit by the fire,” Mavis suggested. “I’m all right now. I don’t know what got into me.”

“Just a little overwhelmed, I imagine,” he told her. “Come on, then, we’ll go. We’ll have some coffee and talk about whatever it is ye want to know.”

She leaned against him and they walked slowly back into the village, his arm encircling her waist protectively.

***

Seated by the hearth with steaming cups of coffee in their hands, John offered the girl a warm smile.

“Ask away,” he said. “I’m all yers.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asked. “I don’t want to hurt you. I would cut off my arm first, me.”

“That’s why it’s all right,” he told her. “I believe that ye mean that, and I do need someone I can talk to. It’s been so long since I could even think about me past, never mind knowin’ the luxury of discussin’ it with someone I trust.”

“All right then, John Lennon,” Mavis said quietly. “Suppose you begin by telling me why you’re here and letting the world think you’ve been dead for half a year.”

He sat back, took a deep breath, and poured his heart out to her.

***

When he was finished and there was nothing more to say, Mavis locked the door and placed a sign in the window to let anyone who came by know that the pub would be closed until morning.

She returned to John, who was putting more wood on the fire, and stood watching him quietly.

When he had finished and replaced the screen, Mavis moved towards him and knelt on the floor beside his chair, laying her head in his lap, her hands resting open upon his thighs, beneath her cheek. She watched the fire and felt his muscles tense beneath her hands.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said softly. “Your trust means a lot to me.”

“Thanks for lettin’ me say it at long last,” he replied, stroking her hair gently, hoping that she would not become aware of how her nearness was affecting him; his jeans were becoming tighter by the second. “Mavis, gurrl,” he finally said, “Ye don’t know what yer doin’ to me.”

“I know,” she replied quietly. “I’m just not entirely sure what to do about it. I suppose,” she added, lifting her face to meet his eyes. “That I am waiting for you to make the first move.”

“Are ye sure that’s what ye want, love?” he asked, shifting slightly.

“Very sure,” she told him in a calm, husky voice. “More than anything I have ever wanted before in my life.”

He lifted her from her knees and stood up, pulling her to her feet. She leaned into his chest and he gathered her close, both of them trembling despite the warmth of the fire so close beside them.

She lifted her face to look into his eyes, and he bent his head to kiss her. She answered the kiss eagerly, and all of his tentative nervousness evaporated as he explored her mouth with his tongue, his arms drawing her closer, his hands traveling over her body hungrily. He began to push her back onto the hearth, but she stopped him, her hand on his chest above his wildly beating heart, her eyes luminous and dazed, her mouth trembling.

“Not here,” she whispered. “The windows—I don’t want anyone to see. Let’s go up to my room.”

He nodded and she took his hand, pulling him up the stairs behind her.

***

No one else was staying at the pub right now, so there was no need to worry about anyone disturbing them.

She undressed slowly as he watched. She blushed shyly as she pulled her blouse over her head even though he had seen her breasts before.

Naked at last, she reached for the zipper on his jeans and slid it down slowly, making him sway slightly on his feet. He tore off his t-shirt and kicked off his jeans, pressing her down beneath his body into the soft featherbed. She could feel him throbbing against her, and was suddenly a little frightened. He seemed gigantic to her, and she was inexperienced.

“Please be gentle,” she whispered. “I’ve never gone this far before with anyone. You’re the first.”

“I will,” he promised. “Yer sure this is what ye want, baby? Really sure?”

She nodded, trembling, breathing hard, feeling his hardness against her moist opening. He pushed gently, and she caught her breath.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Do it. Please, don’t stop.”

She cried out despite her resolve not to as he finally slipped inside of her, then her eyes filled with something like awe as he began to gently and carefully move.

“Is it okay?” he asked in a harsh whisper, watching her face, struggling for control.

“It’s perfect,” she said, her voice betraying the wonder she was feeling.

She closed her eyes and moved with him, amazed by the feelings he was causing; she had never known that her body was capable of such pleasure. She felt as though any more would certainly cause her to die, but she didn’t care.

John fought for control, torn between his concern for her and his own mounting excitement and impending climax. When she suddenly gasped and arched against his belly with a soft cry, he lost all thought and let himself go, pouring every bit of his love into her soft depths, heedless of the deep groans that wrenched themselves from deep inside of him and joined the sound of her voice.

When it was over and their breathing had returned to something approaching a normal rate, Mavis raised herself on one elbow and looked into his face. The afternoon sun slanting in through the windows turned the white walls rose, and a gentle smile curved her mouth.

“Let me see your eyes,” she whispered.

“Yer lookin’ at ‘em, unless I’m mistaken,” he replied, smiling back at her.

“No, take out the contact lenses that are making them look that color, I mean. I want to see them as they really are. I want to see them naked.”

He obliged, placing the blue lenses carefully upon her nightstand.

“They’re beautiful,” she told him. “You’re beautiful.”

“Yer the beautiful one here,” he assured her. “Even though I can’t see all that clearly right now.”

“Do you have glasses?” she asked.

“I do,” he told her, “But I only wear them when I’m alone in me room, readin’ and such. I might be recognized with me real eye color showin’. The blue eyes are meant to put people off.”

“Wear them when you’re alone with me,” she said softly, “Please, promise me.”

“I will if it’ll make ye happy,” he told her. “Now c’mere an’ let me show ye another thing or two.”

***

For the first time since he’d left New York, John was truly happy. He felt like he belonged on Harmony Island and as the days, weeks, and months passed the memory of his lost life seemed to recede until it seemed more to him like a dream than reality. He still thought of his family and friends now and then, but he tried not to do this too much. It hurt to realize that he would never be able to see any of them again, so he tried instead to fill every moment with activity and not give himself enough time to dwell on the past.

On the first anniversary of the shooting, there was a program on the radio dedicated to John’s memory. Quite a few of the villagers were in the pub that night listening to it since John, having given the island to these people, was something of a local hero.

During a break in the program, John and Mavis were in the kitchen putting together some cold lamb sandwiches.

“What do you think of the program, darling?” she asked, kissing his cheek and laying out more thick slices of her fresh bread.

“It’s dead weird,” he replied. “Kind of like bein’ at yer own funeral. They’ve all those candles an’ flowers out there, an’ people’re all whisperin’ an’ all. Sort of gives me th’ shivers.”

“They think a lot of you,” she said with a shrug. “They’re showing their love and respect for your memory.”

“That’s nice an’ all, but I don’t feel as though I deserve it, still bein’ alive an’ all,” he replied. “Truth to tell, I’ll be kinda glad when it’s over.”

John took the tray out to the bar and sat in his chair by the fire beside Mavis.

“Well, of course I miss him,” Paul was saying to the interviewer. “We all do. We hadn’t spoken for a while before it happened, you know, but he knew I loved him. He knew we all did; we knew he loved us, too.”

Watching him closely, Mavis saw John’s jaw twitch and his eyes shone with unshed tears, which he blinked back, ducking his head to light a cigarette.

Now George was speaking.

“He was like a brother to me,” said the guitarist. “Even closer. I was closer to him than I was to my real siblings, and I’ll always miss him...but he’s still here with us, and he always will be. He lives on because we live on, and he’s part of all of the rest of us.”

The hitch in his friends’ voice as he said this last was too much for John to take. He excused himself and went to the big bathroom off the kitchen, where he ran a bath and climbed in, allowing the warm water to relax his body. He leaned back and closed his eyes, a few tears escaping to trickle heedlessly down his face.

More than anything, he wished that he could let his old friends know that he was still alive.

***

”I hate to see you like this, my love,” Mavis told John a few days later. “You’ve been this way since the night of the memorial tribute. You’re missing your friends, aren’t you; I saw your face when they spoke.”

“They’re sufferin’,” he whispered. “Me family too, I’m sure. They’re all sufferin’, and it isn’t fair that I should be happy when they’re not.”

Mavis settled herself beside him and put her arms around his neck, laying her cheek against his; his morning stubble scratched her, but she rather liked it. They were lying in her bed, John looking at a list Mavis had written up for a shopping trip to the mainland. She took such a trip twice a year.

“Will ye miss me while yer gone, Miss Mavis MacDougal?” he asked, caressing her cheek with the graceful fingers of one hand.

“I will, but I’ll be home tonight,” she promised. “I couldn’t bear to be away from you for longer than that, me.”

“See that ye are,” he replied.

He laid the list aside and leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. Mavis loved the way he looked in the morning, his hair tousled, his eyes their natural, light brown color, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“Ah, gurrl, I’d love to see ‘em,” he said wistfully. “I could trust them...they wouldn’t peach on me, but it’s too risky. I could never have any of ‘em come here. Just me is one thing, but if anyone saw me with one of the others, the game would be up.”

“Maybe you could get to them somehow,” she suggested. “Surely there must be some way--”

“Don’t even think on it,” he said firmly. “It’s not safe; I can’t do it.”

“All right.” Mavis got out of bed and began to get dressed. “I have to be at the North Pier in an hour to catch the ferry,” she said. “I’m going to fix your breakfast and make you a sandwich for later before I go.”

***

Mavis stood at the rail and watched Harmony Island grow smaller until it was no more than a speck on the horizon. She knew that if she went to the front of the ferry, she would see the coast of Scotland looming before her and the smells would be coming across the water from Campbelltown. The front of the boat was where she usually spent the trip, but her heart was on her island, inside of the little pub, up the stairs, down the hall to the left and behind the door of the room she shared with John. She looked up to see the position of the sun; he was probably out of bed by now, she decided, and in the tub. She was still entertaining herself with that image when the captain announced that they were arriving in port.

Mavis wanted to get John a present while she was in Campbelltown. She would, she decided, buy him a guitar--a really nice one. She had noticed the longing in his eyes when Starfire MacDermott had played his guitar and sang in the pub at her birthday party. She’d asked Star what sort of a guitar it was, and he told her that it was a Gibson Spanish guitar. That, thought Mavis, would be just right, a perfect Christmas gift for John. She would have it sent back so that he wouldn’t see it when he met her at the pier tonight. She asked for directions to a good music store at the first information booth she saw and caught herself a taxi.

***

The music store she’d been sent to seemed rather grand to Mavis. This is going to be pretty expensive, she thought.

She felt a little out of place in her handmade clothes, surrounded by people who appeared as though they could afford just about anything a posh shop like this had to offer. She saw a salesman talking to a dark-haired gentleman and tried to catch his eye, but the look he flicked in her direction said leave me alone; can’t you see I’m talking to someone important?

Irritated by the clerk’s disdainful glance, she headed in his direction, stopping short when she saw who it was that the salesman was speaking with.

It was Paul McCartney.

The salesman scurried away, leaving Paul standing in front of the piano they’d been discussing. A strawberry-blonde woman sat at the piano, smiling up at Paul.

“What do you think?” she asked. “Will it fit in the room? It’s a bit bigger than the old one.”

“It’ll do,” replied Paul.

He slid onto the bench beside the woman and put an arm affectionately around her shoulders. Mavis realized that the woman must be Paul’s wife, Linda.

“Excuse me,” said Mavis, stepping closer, “But could I please have a word with you, sir? It’s very important.”

“I don’t really have the time right now,” Paul replied. The salesman was coming back, and he was not attempting to hide his annoyance at finding Mavis harassing his very important customer.

Linda rose and took Mavis by the arm. “Come over here,” she said kindly. “I have a few minutes. We’ll let them discuss the piano, and you can tell me what it is that’s so important.”

There were a couple of chairs in another part of the store where the walls were lined with guitars. Linda and Mavis sat there. After taking a careful look around to see that no one would hear, Mavis turned to Linda and examined her face. It was open, honest, and kind.

“I want to talk to your husband,” she began, “About John Lennon.”

“I don’t think he’ll want to discuss him,” Linda told the girl. “His death hit Paul pretty hard. They were so close, you know, and then a rift developed between them. They didn’t speak for years, although John did send a couple of letters that--well, let me just say that they were not very nice. They managed to patch things up, sort of, but the relationship was...strained. Paul will never get over losing him, though. He loved him very much.”

“I know,” Mavis said in a soft voice. “John feels--felt the same way.”

“You knew him?” asked Linda in surprise. “I didn’t know he’d spent much time in Scotland. How did you know him?”

“That’s a long story,” Mavis replied, “But it’s very important that I speak to your husband. Please, can you get him to see me?”

“Why don’t you give me your address or your number,” Linda offered. “I’ll see if he can make time for you sometime next week. I can see this means a lot to you, and I will do my best to convince him, but we’re really strapped for time today, and besides, he’s going to need some persuasion to talk to anyone about John. It’s a very painful subject to him. You understand, I’m sure.”

Linda got to her feet and Mavis caught her hand, taking it into both of hers. The two women locked eyes, and the desperation Linda saw in Mavis’ clear, honest face made her hesitate. Tears welled up in Mavis’ eyes and spilled over.

“My dear,” whispered Linda, resuming her seat. “What on earth is it? Here, don’t cry.”

Mavis’ face crumpled and she allowed herself to be taken into Linda’s arms, sobbing quietly. Paul, meanwhile, had approached the pair, and now stood close to his wife, who looked up into his face.

I don’t know, her face told him. She continued to hold Mavis, letting the girl cry it out. When at last Mavis’ sobs subsided, she sat up and took the handkerchief Paul offered.

“It must be pretty important at that,” he said. “Come on out to our car. We can talk there.”

***

It took close to an hour for Mavis to convince the McCartneys that what she was telling them was true.

“You can’t tell anyone,” she said emphatically. “Not even your kids. No one can know.”

“I understand, and I agree,” replied Paul. “Now, exactly where is he? How near is this place?”

Mavis explained, adding that the McCartneys could not be seen there.

“It would be safer if I brought him to you,” she said. “To your farm. You would need to make sure that no one else would be there, though.”

“I could take the children somewhere for the day,” replied Linda. “The house would be empty, and it would be very private. I’ll arrange something and get back to you with the best date and time. Do you have phone service there?”

“Only local,” replied Mavis. “We have a telegraph machine at the post office, though, and if you send a message--in code, of course--to me there, they’ll send a lad to deliver it.”

“Wow, that really is remote,” said Paul. “John couldn’t have chosen a better place to disappear to.” He took the girl’s hand and looked into her eyes.

“Thank you for letting me know,” he said quietly. “I can’t tell you what it means to me to know that I’m going to be able to see him again. And most of all, thank you for taking care of him. He hates to be alone, you know.”

“Yes, I do know that,” replied Mavis. “That’s exactly why I’m telling you.”

***

Paul took Mavis back to the music store and chose a guitar to be sent to the island for John. The one he chose was far beyond her means, but Paul told the manager to put it on his bill and send it to his farm. He promised Mavis that he would then send it along to the island himself, addressed to her.

She said goodbye to John’s friend and hurried to do the rest of her shopping so that she wouldn’t miss the ferry back to the island. She hoped she’d done the right thing; she decided that, if John trusted his friend, he would not be upset with her for talking to him. She wasn’t sure how he would feel if he learned that she had included Paul’s wife in her confidence, but she was certain that the sweet, quiet woman could be trusted not to say anything.

***

John was waiting at the pier when Mavis returned. “Have a good time, did ye?” he asked, lifting her down and setting her upon her feet. “I wish I could have gone with ye.”

“Maybe next time you can,” she said, following him across the rough planks to the rocky beach. “You could wear a disguise.”

“I already am,” he replied, “But it didn’t fool you. I certainly can’t go to a major city in Scotland. I’d stand a much better chance o’ bein’ recognized.”

The couple sat on a bench beside the pier and watched as the islands’ supplies were unloaded onto the pier and piled together into several mounds.

“Which o’ those bloody great stacks do I have to wrestle back to the pub?” he asked.

“None,” she replied. “We’ll get Dylan to bring everything in his cart. Let’s go home; we’ll stop along the way and ask him.”

John had taken advantage of Mavis’ absence by having his own surprise prepared. He had gotten one of the older women to make a set of heavy, dark green draperies for the big window facing the street in the front of the pub. Now they could close the drapes after hours and have privacy as long as no one was staying in any of the guest rooms. Right now, nobody was.

“Notice anything different?” he asked as they entered the bar.

A woman of about fifty- five, Sarah Riley, was behind the counter serving a group of fishermen who were discussing their days’ catch.

“Evenin’, Mavis,” she called, smiling. “Mr. Evans.”

“I’m always tellin’ ye, call me John,” he corrected.

Sarah blushed under the power of his dazzling smile. She nodded and returned to the business of pulling pints.

“Hmmm,” Mavis replied, looking around the bar. “I notice that Sarah’s in love with you, just like every other woman in the village, no matter that she’s married.”

“It’s me curse,” he said in mock apology. He took hold of Mavis’ shoulders and turned her towards the direction they’d come in.

“Oh, John, they’re lovely!” she cried, running to take the rich fabric between her fingers. “Who made them?”

“Peace Masterson,” he told her. “Sarah told me she was the best woman for the job. Besides,” he added, “I admire her. She’s the oldest person on Harmony Island, and she just dropped out of society and left everything behind to come here and pursue her dream. She’s a real, honest to goodness, old fashioned dropout, is Peace, and I think the world of her.”

“She kind of stepped in when my mother died,” Mavis said, still fingering the fabric. “She was like a mother to me when I was little. I should go see her. I’ve neglected her lately.”

“We’ll invite her over soon,” suggested John. “She never gets out, she told me so.”

Mavis smiled and kissed his cheek. “She was flirting with you, was she?” she teased.

“She’d be yer only possible competition,” said John. He took Mavis into his arms and kissed her soundly. “She’s nearly seventy, you know,” he added. “I’ll bet she knows all sorts of tricks.”

“I’ll show you tricks,” Mavis laughed. “Just as soon as Sarah goes home and we close up for the night.”

***

The fire crackled and sent elongated shadows dancing across the walls. John had closed the new drapes and brought some blankets down from their bed for them to lie on in front of the hearth. He was lying on top of Mavis, smiling down at her.

“Are ye sure I’m not too heavy for ye, darlin’?” he asked.

“I like having the weight of you on me,” she said, stretching languidly. “Makes me feel all safe and warm.” She reached up to trace the line of his jaw with her index finger. “I have something to tell you,” she went on, smiling up at him.

“In a minute,” he replied, touching her lips with his to quiet her. “I’ve summat I wanna say first.”

Mavis was silent, her eyes devouring the sight of him in the firelight.

“I love ye, gurrl,” he said in a soft voice. “I’ve wanted to say it all day, but I was waitin’ for the perfect moment. This is it. I love ye, Miss Mavis MacDougal, and I wanted to make sure ye knew it.”

Mavis could barely breathe; she had said those words to him a thousand times or more, but he’d never said them back. He usually just gave her a kiss or said that she was “his gurrl”. Much to his alarm, she burst into tears.

“Whist, gurrl,” he whispered, “No need to be so open about yer disappointment!”

“Oh, stop,” she said, her voice hitching. “I’m just so--happy!”

“Me, too,” he told her, rolling off of her and gathering her into his arms. “And it’s all because o’ you. Now,” he went on, kissing the top of her tousled head, “What was it that ye wanted to tell me?”

She lifted her face and looked into his eyes, her face shining with happiness.

“I ran into your friend Paul today,” she said, as though it was nothing unusual; as though she was talking about Paul Riley, Sarah’s husband, who ran the fish shop.

John was stunned. “Ye don’t mean it,” he said. “Yer jokin’, right?”

“I’m not,” she assured him. “I saw him completely by accident. He lives near Campbelltown and was there to buy a piano.”

“What the devil were ye doin’ at a piano shop?” he asked.

“I--was thinking we might want one for this room,” she said after a brief hesitation. “I wanted to see how much they were, and he was there in the shop.”

“How did he look? Is he well? Fuckin’ hell, I wish I could lay eyes on him again!” John exclaimed.

“I spoke to him,” admitted Mavis.

“Ye never did--Mavis, that’s too dangerous! What if someone heard ye?”

“No one did,” she assured him. “He brought me to his car, and we spoke there. Off away from the city; no one heard anything.”

“God’s wristwatch, gurrl, ye took a chance—what’d he have to say? Christ, I can hardly believe this is happenin’,” he said, jumping up. He paced nervously, his bare feet soundless on the polished wooden floor. He ran a trembling hand through his hair; every nerve in his body felt as tight as a mainspring.

“He wants to see you,” Mavis told him.

“He can’t come here—it’s far too dangerous, and I can’t chance bein’ seen in Campbelltown,” John told her. “Tell me he’s not comin’ here, gurrl!”

“No,” Mavis assured him. “You’re to go to him—to High Park Farm, where he’s staying now. Sycamore—you know him, he’s Rainbow’s brother—has a small plane; he can take you there, and no one will know. Paul is going to send me a telegram to let me know when there will be no one in the house but him for the day.”

“This Sycamore guy—bloody hell, what is with the names these people gave their fuckin’ kids—he’ll see Paulie, and he’ll recognize him.”

“He won’t,” Mavis assured him. “He’ll let you off in a field by the house and then take me on to Glasgow to visit my auntie...I haven’t seen her in forever, and she has a daughter—my cousin—that will keep him occupied. It will be fine, darling, truly. This will work!”

John gazed into her eyes, searching for any sign that she did not really believe what she was saying, but he could find none. She was confident that the plan would work.

“All right, then,” he finally said. “By Christ, I’ll do it!”

***

Two days later, the telegram came and Mavis arranged with Sycamore to take them to Argyll, to High Park Farm, the very next day.

John’s stomach was in knots as the little plane skidded to a stop near the edge of a wide, winter-brown field with patches of snow here and there. He kissed Mavis and climbed out.

“I’ll pick you up here in four hours,” called Sycamore, “Have a good visit with your --brother, was it?”

“Yeah,” John said with a wide smile, “My brother. I will-- see you then! I’ll be here!”

Mavis watched as he loped across the rocky field towards the farmhouse in the distance. There was a curl of smoke coming from the chimney, and the door opened. A figure stepped out of the house and stood by the door for a moment, watching John approach. Sycamore turned the plane, taxiing in a circle to begin his ascent at the opposite end of the field, and Mavis pressed against the window, her heart swelling, her throat constricting painfully, as she saw Paul begin to run towards his friend. As the plane took off, both men threw themselves into one another’s arms, and Mavis knew that they both were crying, the same as she was.

***

John and Paul were, in fact, both weeping. They could scarcely bear to disentangle themselves from one another’s arms, and once they had, they stood toe to toe, breathing heavily, tears running freely down their faces, devouring the sight of one another. Everything that had happened to cause a rift between them had dissolved. Neither of them ever had expected to see the other again, and now they were together. All wounds were instantly healed, completely inconsequential.

It was John who finally spoke. “Paulie,” he said, his voice wavering, “I’m back.”

“I can see that,” replied his friend, dragging his sleeve across his eyes, “But I didn’t believe it until just now. You’re a bit different to look at-- I like the blue eyes-- but it’s you, Johnnie, and no mistake. You’re here, you’re really here.”

“Here and gettin’ numb from cold,” said John, taking a deep breath and heaving a sigh. “Let’s go inside, okay?”

***

“Nice place ye’ve got here,” John said, sitting at the table in the homey kitchen. He noted the many chairs around the large, oaken table. “Yer no slouch in the baby makin’ department,” he added. “Yer miles ahead o’ me, that’s for sure. Congratulations on all of ‘em. I’m sure you’re a first-rate dad.”

“So’re you, from what I’ve heard,” Paul replied, setting a steaming mug of tea in front of his old friend. “You finally got it right.”

“Yeah, I’m great all right,” John said sadly. “Miles away from both me kids, lettin’ them think I’m dead. I’m no better than me own father was, Paulie.”

“It’s not your fault, John,” Paul told him earnestly. He sat across the table from his friend and looked into his face. “Mavis told me why you’re doing what you’re doing, and I understand. It can’t have been easy on ya, John, being away from everyone ya love for all this time. I don’t think I’d be strong enough to do what you’ve done if I were you.”

“I’m not strong, mate,” John said quietly. “I’m a coward, really. It’s true that I feel that Sean and Yoko are safer with me outta the picture, but my first reason for doin’ this was that I was scared. Some guy shot me, Paulie-- he was tryin’ to kill me, and he almost did. That scares the shit outta me, and my first thought was to play dead so he wouldn’t try again.”

He sighed, took a sip of his tea, and lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag and let the smoke out in another long, slow sigh.

“Once I decided to play dead,” he went on, “I started thinking about why that guy had tried to kill me. I got a look at the guy, Paulie, and he was a loser. You could just tell by lookin’ at him. It was only a moment, but I could see that he was nobody--I figured that maybe he might have been lookin’ for his fifteen minutes of fame, y’ know, but something about the whole thing just doesn’t seem right to me.”

“They said that he was a deranged fan,” offered Paul, sliding an ashtray across the table to his friend. “You know, just a nutter.”

“ I know what they said,” John replied. He pointed his cigarette at Paul and leaned across the table. “I just think,” he went on, “That there’s a lot more to it than anyone’s saying. If you ask me, that guy didn’t even know why he was doin’ what he was doin’. I think he was bein’ used, and he was dumb enough to let it happen. I think he was doin’ what he was told. I don’t know who was behind the whole thing, but it seems to me that I’m a lot better off dead as far as the rest of the world knows. Please, promise me ye won’t let it get out.”

“You know you can count on me,” Paul said earnestly. “You know you could count on the other lads too, don’t ya?”

“I know, but I can’t risk havin’ so many people knowin’ about it. I especially can’t risk havin’ it get back to Yoko or me kids. How are they, anyroad, Paulie? Do ye know anything about what’s goin’ on with ‘em?”

“You really are cut off out there on that bloody island, aren’t ya, John-- don’t ya read the papers or anything?”

“Yeah, well, they get it every couple days or so, an’ it’s in the library, which is also where I live...the pub has the library in it, and we get the paper there, so yeah, I do read it, but I never see anything in it about me family or friends-- it’s not the bloody Daily News or the Mirror, it’s the fuckin’ Campbeltown paper.”

Smiling, he added, “I have seen a few articles that yer in, though. Yer like a local celebrity in these parts, Argyll’s most famous son, or summat. Ye’d think ye’d been born here rather than in th’ Pool.”

“Yeah, I see your point,” replied Paul. “Well, you might not like this, but Yoko’s with another bloke now. Some fellow named--”

“I don’t wanna know his fuckin’ name, Paulie, stop there, I just wanted t’ know if she’d moved on.,” John interrupted. “It might be someone I know, and I don’t wanna hafta picture her with him.”

“Well, to be fair, John, you’re with someone else, too, and Yoko doesn’t even know you’re still alive, so it’s hardly right for you to be--”

John interrupted him again. “Okay, enough about that,” he said firmly. “Tell me what’s goin’ on with th’ lads. Are they still married to the same women, for instance? Have ye seen either one of ‘em recently? Paulie,” he went on, leaning forward in his seat again, “I miss ‘em so much-- I’ve missed all of ye just so goddamn fuckin’ much.”

“Well,” Paul began, “Ritchie was married earlier this year...”

***

John was at the stone wall at the end of the field when the plane returned. He climbed in and embraced Mavis, his eyes shining.

“It was bloody marvelous, Mavis,” he said, turning to look towards the house as he fastened his safety belt. “Just like we’d never been apart at all, after the first few minutes.”

They could see Paul standing by the house, his hand raised in farewell. John and Mavis waved back even though they knew Paul could not see them, and the little plane bounced across the field and rose into the air, heading back towards home.

***

Christmas morning brought snow to the island. It was white and quiet on the beach, and Mavis was shivering as she waited outside of Donovan Halsey’s little shack at the top of the pier. She knocked again and was rewarded by a crash from within.

“Jussaminnit,” called Donovan thickly, “I’m comin’.” He opened the door and smiled at Mavis. “So,” he said, “Have ya finally decided to drop that fella you’ve been so taken with and come away with me, Mavis?”

“Not today,” replied Mavis, returning his smile. She looked past him, trying to see inside the dark little building.

“I’ve come to pick up that big box that was delivered last week,” she told him. “I need it this morning.”

Donovan tossed his waist length hair back over his shoulders and disappeared into the depths of the shack, from whence Mavis could now hear a great deal of bumping and scraping.

At last, Donovan reappeared holding the box. “What is this, anyhow?” he asked. “Seems like it oughta be heavier, for the size of it.” He handed the package over to Mavis, who accepted it almost reverently.

“It’s a Spanish guitar,” she replied. “It’s for John Evans-- a Christmas gift.”

“Oh, does he play, then?” asked the young man, his eyes lighting up. “We could always use another man in our jam band.”

“He plays a little,” said Mavis carefully. “But he wants to try to get better, so I got him this for Christmas.”

“Well, I know someone who’s gonna be havin’ a happy Christmas,” Donovan replied. “Have a good holiday, Mavis. Will ya be openin’ at all tonight?”

“No, but I’ll be open for breakfast tomorrow,” she promised. “Thank you, and have a happy Christmas, Donovan.”

***

When she got back to the pub and let herself in, Mavis was chilled to the bone. She stoked the fire and sat beside it to warm herself as she opened the big box.

She lifted the guitar from the packing material and caught her breath. It was a thing of beauty; a fine, graceful instrument with a deep, burnished golden finish.

She fastened a red velvet ribbon to the neck of the guitar and leaned it against John’s customary chair, then went upstairs to awaken him.

John was still fast asleep, one hand lying halfway open upon the pillow beside his head. His hair, which had not been cut in more than a year now, spilled over the pillow and glinted with red highlights in the sunlight now slanting through the window. The storm had stopped, and voices could be heard, slightly muffled by the snow, floating up from the street as people who had gone out to shovel the stone sidewalks and street greeted one another and wished each other a happy Christmas.

Mavis watched John sleep, her eyes soft with adoration. His long, dark lashes fluttered slightly with a dream, and a gentle half smile curved his lips. He shifted slightly and Mavis bent to kiss his cheek. His eyes opened and he smiled lazily, stretching his legs and reaching for her. He was warm from sleep and Mavis melted against him. “Happy Christmas, Miss Mavis, me gurrl,” he said, his voice thick from sleeping.

“And to you,” she replied, running her cheek alongside his, enjoying the rasp of his whiskers against her skin. “Did you have a good sleep?”

“As always,” he replied, stretching again and drawing her closer.

Mavis could never resist those hands running restlessly over her body. She climbed under the quilt with him and gave herself over to him, loving him fiercely, losing herself in his passionate embrace.

***

When at last they descended the stairs to the pub, the fire had dwindled, and it was chilly.

“Poke the fire up, love,” said Mavis. “Get the chill out of the room.”

“I thought I’d poked yer fire up plenty already, ye wanton wench,” he teased, but he turned to comply. He stopped dead when he saw the guitar leaning against the chair, drawing his breath in sharply with surprise.

“Bloody hell, gurrl,” he breathed. “Bloody hell. It’s fuckin’ gorgeous. Wherever did ye have it hidden? I’ve been over every inch o’ the house, and I never saw it.”

“Well, isn’t that nice,” Mavis scolded gently. “You’re like a little boy, John, hunting through the house for your Christmas present. I knew you’d do that,” she added. “That’s why I had Donovan keep it in his shack until this morning. I didn’t want the surprise spoiled.”

John lifted the guitar, running his hands along its smooth, perfect curved body and long, graceful neck. He set it down and gathered Mavis into his arms, kissing her deeply. “I love it,” he told her. “It’s perfect. Thank ye, love.”

He held her a moment longer, finally releasing her, his eyes shining. “I’ve got summat for yer Christmas, too,” he told her. “Be right back!”

John bounded up the stairs, and in a few moments, he came thundering back down again. He approached Mavis, grinning like a naughty child. “Ye’ve gotta unzip me jeans to get t’ yer prezzie,” he told her.

Mavis looked down to see a suspicious bulge in the crotch of his pants. “You already gave me that present,” she said, smiling as she reached for him. She ran her fingers along his crotch, trying to guess what might be in there with him.

“Whist, gurrl, ye’d better just unzip ‘em and get the bloody package out o’ there before I have to give ye the same gift I already gave ye before,” he warned. “Yer gettin’ me decidedly interested again.”

“Like I’d mind that,” she replied, but she unzipped his jeans to reveal a small, black velvet, drawstring pouch with a gold cord. She pulled it out and opened it to find a small amount of wood shavings, enough to disguise the corners of the little box inside.

Mavis opened the box to reveal a beautiful emerald ring with tiny diamonds surrounding the center stone. She looked up at him, her eyes shining. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “God, John, it’s lovely. Where did you get this?”

“I had Paulie get it for me,” he replied. “I just described what I wanted, and he had it made by a jeweler in Campbeltown. I thought it’d go well with yer eyes...and it does. Here,” he went on, “Let me put it on for you.”

He slid the ring onto her finger, his hands trembling slightly. “How did you know what size to get?” she asked. “It fits perfectly.”

“Well,” he explained, “I borrowed that silver ring ye sometimes wear--y’ know, the one that looks kind of like a twisted cord?” He grinned at her. “The one ye thought might’ve gone down the drain when ye took it off t’ wash up after supper a while back.”

“You let me think I’d lost it!” she exclaimed.

“It’s in the bottom of the bag, in the sawdust,” he told her. “Safe as houses.”

“I love it,” she told him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “And I love you.”

***

It felt good to John to hold a guitar again. His fingers had itched to take one of the other island men’s instruments and play it whenever there was a party on the island. He had longed to feel the smooth wood in his hands and run his fingers along the strings, to coax music from a guitar the way he elicited responses from a woman’s body.

He played an experimental chord. “Nearly perfect,” he announced, giving the tuning pegs a few minor adjustments. “Paulie tuned this, I’ll bet. He did help ye pick this out, didn’t he.”

“Yes,” replied Mavis. “He also helped me to pay for it. I hadn’t brought enough money, but he was sure that this would be the one you’d want. I told him I’d pay him back, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

“I’ll thank him in me next note to him,” said John. “In any case, it’s barely lost any of its tuning at all. It’s a beautiful instrument, Mavis, a work of art-- and I had another very much like it once. It couldn’t be more perfect.” He began to play, and Mavis sat upon the floor beside his chair and leaned her cheek against his thigh, just listening.

A few days after Christmas, Mavis received another telegram.

“Mavis,” read the message, “Need to see my brother(stop) There are friends coming to visit (stop) Very important please come Monday (stop) best, James.”

She folded the telegram and tucked it into the pocket of her apron, then went to find John and tell him that they would be taking another trip to High Park Farm. She decided not to let him know that his other bandmates would be there too. She would, she thought, let it be a surprise. He’d been nervous enough at the thought of seeing just Paul for the first time. She doubted that she could take the amount of nervousness it would inspire if John were to learn that he would be seeing all three of his old friends on Monday.

***

Monday dawned crisp, cold, and clear. The sky was a brilliant blue without a cloud in sight. Mavis held fast to John’s hand as they flew towards Paul’s remote farmhouse.

Once they had landed, John climbed out of the plane and waved to Mavis. “See ye later!” he called. “Have fun with yer auntie, an’ have a grand time with that little Carol, Sycamore-- Mavis says she likes ye!”

Mavis waved and the plane began to taxi away down the field. She watched through the glass as John started to hurry towards the house and smiled as he spotted the three men coming out to greet him.

All four of them broke into a dead run, barreling towards one another, and Mavis struggled to hold back the tears that stung her eyes, smiling as they met halfway between the house and the field, all three of the others embracing John as one. Suddenly feeling like an intruder during an intensely private moment, she dragged her eyes away from the little knot of jubilant friends and turned her attention towards the clear, blue sky ahead.

 

Nowhere Man - Part 3

By Angel Godiva

John, Paul, George, and Ringo finally managed to tear themselves out of one anothers' arms. All four of them were openly weeping.
"I never thought this was gonna happen again," John finally managed to say. "We're all here; we're all together."

"I wouldn't have believed it if it'd been anyone but Paul who told me you were still alive," George said, smiling through his tears. "I thought I'd lost you. We all thought we'd lost you."

"It's good to see you, mate," said Ringo. He wiped a sleeve across his face and stepped forward to embrace John again.

John held his old friend for a moment, then squeezed him and let him go.

"You too, Ring," he said softly.

He looked around at his friends and his heart seemed to swell. He had missed them. For the past eleven years, really, he had missed them.

***

The four men spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on one anothers' lives. It felt like a dream, something impossible that they would surely awaken from to find that it was not real at all.

Finally, George asked the question that was on all of their minds.

"So, John," he said softly, "What happens now? Are you goin' back to Harmony Island, or will you come back and rejoin the world?"

John sighed and smiled sadly.

"I don't know," he replied, lighting a cigarette. "Someone tried to kill me, didn't they--and they think they were successful. That puts me out of danger, and I have to say that I like that...it's a good place to be. Then there's Mavis. She's become precious to me, and I don't know if I would ever be able to be happy without her again. Yoko's gone on with her life, apparently, and the world seems to be gettin' along just fine without me."

He pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room to look out of the window at the windblown fields beyond the house.

"I'm happy where I am," he admitted. "I love me new life just as it is...but I miss me work and I miss me kids and all of you. If I could keep what I have now and add those things and the people that I love, it would be grand--it kinda has to be one way or the other, though, doesn't it. They say ye can't have everything, and it would appear that they're right about that."

"Can you really be happy hiding out there on the island forever, John?" asked Paul. He poured himself a drink and looked to the men seated around him for support, but their eyes were on John.

"Maybe," he replied, "I dunno. I think I have to try, though...at least for now. I don't feel ready to leave there yet. I'm dead scared, Paulie. I think I would feel better--not to mention safer--if I just stay dead for a while."

***

Later that night as he lay beside Mavis, safe in their bed on the island, John stayed awake long after she had gone to sleep, staring up at the ceiling, watching the shadows cast by the flickering firelight. He got up carefully, being sure not to jostle her, and added a couple pieces of wood to the fire.

As great as it had been to hear all about how his kids were doing and seeing the pictures of them his friends had given him, it just wasn't the same as being there.

He pulled the pictures from the pocket of his jacket and gazed into the open, friendly face of his youngest son. The child was obviously Eurasian, dark almond shaped eyes smiling out at him and a thick shock of dark, glossy hair.

John's heart banged hard in his chest, and his throat constricted as he looked at the boy in the picture, so changed from the child he'd held the day of the shooting, yet so unmistakably the same. Bright mischief shone from the dark eyes looking up at him, and the little mouth was slightly curved in a secretive smile very like his mothers, and John could tell from looking at the picture that his son was a happy kid.

Next there was a recent photo of Julian; Paul had taken this one himself, and the smile the boy wore was familiar to John...it was very like the smile he himself had worn in public sometimes, calculated to tell whoever saw it that the guy behind the face was happy enough, nothing to worry about, nothing to hide, but if you looked deeply enough into the eyes in this face, you could tell that the smile wasn't completely honest. The eyes of his older son held a measure of pain, and it hurt John to see it there. He knew that Cyn was a good mother to Julian and that any pain he held in his young heart was his fault, and his alone.

John hadn't been available to Julian when the boy was small; he hadn't even been there when he was born. His amazing success had taken him from his wife and child, and when he did find himself at home, there was a certain awkwardness between himself and his son. John had simply not quite known what to make of his child, so he had left the care of his son to Cyn and trusted her to do the right things. She had done a brilliant job, but Julian had ended up being raised, as John himself had, by the women in his life.

The teenager stared into the camera with the carefully crafted smile pasted across his face, his eyes haunted with a sadness his father knew all too well. The picture was hard for John to look at, made all the harder by the kids' striking resemblance to him.

John turned quickly to the next photograph.

In this one, Sean was seated on a kitchen chair, holding a kitten in his arms, looking as happy as he could be. At the edge of the picture, Yoko could be seen, beaming at her son with open pride.

Both of them looked to be at peace, and that made John feel a bit better.

He slipped the pictures back into the pocket of his jacket and poked at the fire a bit. The flames jumped and sent his shadow high up the wall behind him, and his face was illuminated sharply.

He turned his head and looked at Mavis lying in the bed, her hair spilling across her pillow, a gentle smile on her face as she dreamed her pleasant dreams.

He loved her deeply, and he did believe that he could be truly happy with her, but he missed his work. Sometimes at night, he couldn't sleep for the words and music tumbling through his head, spilling out onto paper and through the strings of his guitar, music that throbbed and beat its wings against his ribcage like a frustrated bird longing for escape, wanting only to soar into the air and be appreciated by others for its beauty and rarity.

John was a musician, an artist, and he felt trapped inside himself by his inability to share his art with the world. He had so much to say, so much to share with the world, but he did not dare. He had to keep silent and live his life of anonymity or risk having another attempt made on his life.

He tried to comfort himself by remembering that it had not been all peaches and roses even during the height of his fame-- as a matter of fact, that was probably the worst part.

It had been great fun at first, and very exciting as many new things are. Being recognized wherever they went, having their every whim catered to, being adored by countless girls...even being chased by teenagers had been fun--at first.

It hadn't been long, though, before the trappings of fame began to wear thin, and John had begun to feel as though he was no more than a trained animal, carefully boxed up in one cage after another, each prison masquerading as a posh hotel room, between performances and press conferences. There was little time for his family and there was little time for himself. He'd tried to fill the emptiness with drugs, alcohol, and the endless parade of willing, nubile young bodies, but even that grew dull and uninteresting in time.

He had clung to his friends, those who were trapped on the same mad, dizzying ride, and the four found comfort in their brotherhood, but it just wasn't enough.

After the group had stopped touring it got a little better for a while, but in the end the four men realized that it was time to stop and go their own ways. They realized it a while before they acted upon it, not quite willing to give up the one measure of comfort they had become to one another even though they each wanted something a little different out of life and knew that the only way they would be able to live their separate dreams was, well, to separate.

There was the inevitable rancor and finger pointing; no one wanted to be labeled as the one who had broken the group up, and the world tended to place the blame squarely upon the tiny shoulders of John's new girlfriend, much to his dismay.

To be sure, it hadn't helped ease the tension to have her sitting there in the studio with the group. She was an outsider. Besides, wives and girlfriends had traditionally been expected to remain at home and not intrude upon their mens' professional lives. It was the status quo, and Yoko was breaking the rules. What was more, John wasn't doing anything to stop it-- in fact, he was encouraging her. It was the last little straw upon the back of an already sorely overburdened camel, and everything simply blew apart.

John clung to Yoko for comfort and strength, and he felt safe with her. He no longer felt alone as he had for the past couple of years, no longer felt misunderstood. She got him, and that was something he needed.

With the Beatles behind him, John began a new life with his new love. He was enchanted with her, completely blown away. She was like no one he had ever known before. She taught him what really mattered and she challenged him as no other woman ever had. The two of them were inseparable, and whatever they did, the world took notice, so they used that to promote the world peace they dreamed of.

Like two children, they innocently put on plays of every sort to point out the things they believed in, and like children they clung together to ward off the darkness and their personal fears.

After a time, and also like children tend to do, they began to argue and things began to deteriorate.

John went to Los Angeles, taking with him at Yoko's insistence the couples' personal assistant, and Yoko, having banished him, remained in New York.

John felt lost without Yoko, and he clung to the girl he now shared his life with, a sweet Chinese girl called May. She was familiar and warm, and she loved him.

John responded to her love, and it wasn't long before he trusted her enough to allow her full access to his wounded heart.

He loved her deeply, and his love and trust was well placed; there was nothing May wanted for John more than his happiness.

It hurt him that he knew he would end up leaving her if (or when) Yoko ever asked him to return home to New York. He knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, and he knew what his response would be. He would go to her. No matter how much May meant to him or how good she was for him, he knew that when the day came and Yoko gave him the okay to come home, he would go without stopping to wonder why, and that was just what had happened.

With quiet grace and dignity, May had let him go without making a scene; she knew that it was what he must do, and John had been grateful for that. He was thankful to have been spared the scene that most women would have caused, and he loved the girl even more for not putting him through any hysterics.

Afterwards, he had kept in touch with her, calling her from time to time as well as checking up on her to make sure she was okay through mutual friends. He had thought about her often after he reunited with Yoko, and she remained in his heart always...whenever he thought of her, it was with a tug of longing for what might have been. He felt it even now as he stared into the fire thinking about the past.

When Sean had been born, John's life had been transformed.

Unwilling to miss out on the babyhood of his new child, John stayed at home to take care of the infant, leaving the recording studio behind. He had retired from his professional life, and for five years, that was enough for him.

The day did come, however, when things changed. The music began to want to come out of John again, and he had returned to the studio to make a new record.

It had been good to work again, letting the music flow from his heart and his fingers, eyes closed, the words pouring from his soul because there was no way he could stop it. Making music was like having a baby to John...he mulled over the words and thought of the melodies as he was doing even now, but eventually, when it was fully developed and ready to emerge, the music, like the child inside of a pregnant woman, refused to remain inside and he would be unable to contain it. The time would come for it to be brought forth, and he was feeling the pressure now.

***

Mavis turned in her sleep, sighing softly, and John turned his head to look at her. His face softened and he allowed himself a smile; just seeing her there made him feel a little better.

He put another piece of wood on the fire, banked the coals, and went back to bed, taking her into his arms carefully so as not to wake her.

She snuggled closer, her smooth cheek warm on his chest, and he rested his chin against her head and closed his eyes to wait for the morning.

***

"Mavis, I want to make music again," John said at breakfast the next morning.

The girl stopped pouring coffee into his cup and looked into his earnest face, her heart fluttering in her chest.

"What do you mean?" she asked, putting the pot on the table with shaking hands. "John, are you going away?"

"No, don't be daft," he replied. "Of course not. It's just that I've been givin' it a lot o' thought, and I think I need to do some work. I feel like I'll go mad if I don't let some o' th' pressure off meself."

"But how can you do that without giving yourself away?" Mavis asked, placing John's breakfast in front of him. "Everyone is bound to know it's you."

"I've thought o' that," he replied, his eyes shining with excitement, "And I think I've got th' perfect idea. I'll record some of the stuff I've been workin' on and give it over to Paul. He can say he found it in his attic or summat, and he can release it for me."

John pulled the girl into his lap and put his face in her hair, and Mavis wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

"This really means a lot to you, doesn't it, my love," she said quietly.

He looked up into her face.

"It does," he replied.

"Then you should do it," Mavis told him, "It's obviously something you need to do. I just want you to be happy."

"I'm goin' back to see him in a couple weeks," John told her. "I'm really lookin' forward to this!"

***

It was cold down in the common room, so John got a fire roaring in the hearth while Mavis set about making breakfast and prepared to open the door to the public. She was cooking a big skillet of bacon and sausage when John came up behind her and put his arms around her waist, kissing her neck.

"Almost time to let the teeming hordes enter," he whispered. "Care to pay a bit of attention to me first?"

Mavis smiled and took the sizzling pan of meat off the fire.

"Well, all right," she said, turning in his arms and lifting her hands to caress his strong, square jaw. "But make sure it only takes a few minutes."

She kissed him deeply, her tongue exploring his warm, inviting mouth, lazily at first, then with rising urgency.

John broke the kiss and swept her up into his arms, kicking the kitchen door open to carry her to the hearthside.

"After a kiss like that one," he told her, "It'll probably take less than a minute all told."

Mavis stretched herself out on the warm stones and John grabbed an afghan from the nearest chair and spread it out beside her. She rolled onto the blanket and reached for him, and he eagerly covered her body with his own, taking her mouth once more, a soft moan escaping him as she tightened her hold on him and urged him on, grinding her hips suggestively against him.

"Now," she whispered, "Please--oh, God, baby, I just can't wait, please, now!"

John lifted her skirt quickly and easily slipped into her, his breath stopping for a moment as always at the sudden heat and the pleasure of being fully enfolded by her warm, hungry body.

Mavis sighed and pushed herself up to take him in yet more deeply, and the two of them found their perfect rhythm almost immediately.

Mavis watched him as they moved together, loving the fierce urgency and the burning passion in his arresting eyes, which were gazing into hers as the heat rose in her belly. The pulse in his long, graceful throat pounded wildly, and he let out a deep groan, almost doubling his speed as his pleasure mounted.

Mavis' body was slamming against his with complete abandon, the room now filled with their soft cries and the sound of their frantic, labored breathing. The rest of the world no longer existed for either of them, so lost were they in one anothers' eyes and the sensations that threatened to overtake them at any moment. The feelings rose in Mavis until she felt sure that if they became any stronger she would die, and immediately they did, but she did not.

"Are ye ready for it, baby?" John rasped, his breath hot against her ear, his thrusting becoming almost unbearably hard, fast, and overpowering. He could wait no longer.

Unable to speak, Mavis nodded her head and clung to him, allowing the feelings to rise, peak, and hold her in the grip of an earth shattering climax as John let himself go and filled her with his essence, a sound that was half a wail and half a groan exploding from deep inside of him.

It seemed like a long time had passed by the time Mavis came to herself once more. She was still panting slightly, and her eyes fluttered open as she sighed happily, the warmth still throbbing in her belly, gentle pulses still coming irregularly from deep inside of her as John grew soft and finally slipped from her body. She looked into his eyes.

He was still lying on top of her, supporting himself on his elbows, smiling down at her like a naughty child.

"I think ye woke up the whole bloody village," he said happily, kissing her gently and rolling off of her. He fumbled for a cigarette and lit it, a thoughtful look on his handsome face.

"You're not so quiet yourself," she countered, sitting up and smoothing her skirt primly. She smiled contentedly and grabbed a couple of tissues from a box on the table beside her rocking chair, trying to be discreet about cleaning up the mess.

"Besides," she added, "Look at the awful mess you've made of me, and me just fresh from the shower. Now I'm going to be like this all morning."

"Just a little something to remember me by," he said casually, taking a deep drag on his cigarette and smiling up at her. She grinned and shook her head. He looked for all the world like a happy cat who had just eaten an innocent but delicious canary.

Leaning down for a last quick kiss, Mavis got to her feet and went back to the kitchen to finish getting breakfast ready. John turned his attention back to the fire and poked it back into full flame, then adjusted his clothing and went to open the heavy green drapes over the front window and unlock the door.

There were a couple of fishermen waiting for their breakfast, and as soon as John opened the door, they came in, stamping their feet and rubbing their hands together, their cheeks ruddy with cold.

"Jesus, John, took ya long enough to open the door," said one of the men. He was Desert Sky MacMillan, who was currently living with a girl called Butterfly Simonson, one of John's former conquests.

"Sorry," John replied. "I was just a bit preoccupied, didn't notice the time."

"Right," the other guest interjected, "We heard ya bein' preoccupied. Sounded like nice work, by the way."

The second man gave John a knowing nod and clapped him on the shoulder. His name was David Fuller, one of the few denizens of Harmony Island with what most would consider a traditional name.

John blushed and gave the men a wink and a smile.

"She's very distractin', is Mavis," he said innocently. "And there's a lot to do before we can open."

"Desi wanted to give the both of ya a bit of applause," David confided, "But I talked him out of it."

"Thanks for that," replied John. "It'd be hard for me to get her to relax here in the front room if she knew we'd been heard in the street. Ye know how women are. Mavis can be just a little--"

"Mavis can be just a little what?" asked the girl, throwing the kitchen door open with a thrust of her hip as she came in with a big pot of coffee in one hand and a couple of heavy mugs in the other.

"Oh, I was just tellin' the fellas here that you could be a little slow sometimes in gettin' our breakfast ready," John replied, all innocence and smiles.

"It'd go quicker if you'd give a girl a hand," she told him, pouting prettily. "Go on into the kitchen, John, and make sure the eggs don't scorch, if you please. I've put your breakfast on a plate by the stove, and a big cup of coffee."

John disappeared into the kitchen, and Mavis poured coffee for the two customers.

"Now," John heard her say as the door swung closed behind him, "What will you gentlemen be having this morning?"

***

It was about a month later when John found himself standing in the hayfield below Paul's farmhouse once again, the plane moving away from him. He watched as it bumped along for a moment, then began to walk towards the house.

The field was becoming green, and up near the house, a small flock of sheep were grazing. They watched John as he passed them, chewing thoughtfully as they followed him with their eyes. Paul's dog lay nearby, and she got to her feet and loped to him, barking with excitement as she recognized her master's friend.

Paul emerged from the house, followed by the rest of the former Beatles.

"Yer finally here," he said as he grasped John's hand and pulled him close for a hug.

"Every time I see you, John, I'm more thankful that you're still with us," he added, releasing his friend.

The others hugged him too, and the four went around the side of the house and headed for a small barn which Paul had converted to serve as a home studio.

Once the four were inside, John looked around and gave a low whistle of appreciation.

"This is the best home studio I've ever seen," he said, shrugging out of his coat.

"Ye've thought of everything, haven't ye, Paulie."

"As far as I know," replied the bass player, crossing the room to a small bar and reaching behind it to collect some bottles of stout to pass around.

"If ya think of anything I may have forgotten, please feel free to mention it, won't ya, John?"

"That I will," replied John. Accepting one of the bottles and twisting off the cap, he positioned it between his fingers and flicked it into a waste bin across the room with admirable skill. He took a long pull on the bottle, sighed contentedly, and looked around some more.

"I never thought this was gonna happen again," said John, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep drag. He looked thoughtfully at his three old friends and smiled. "Enough of this standin' around," he added, his eyes sparkling. "Let's do somethin'--let's make some fuckin' music!"

The next ten hours were productive; the four men seemed to have never been apart. Forgotten were the petty disagreements and gone was the boredom and apathy which had preceded their original breakup. They were together, they were full of ideas and feeling lucky to be working with one another again after so many years.

"There were so many times," George remarked when at last they sat down together on the large sofa at the back of the room to relax, "When I saw something or heard something and I would think, 'John would just love this', and I would remember that you weren't there any longer for me to share it with. Those were the times I missed ya most."

John stretched and laced his fingers behind his neck, arching his back and wincing at the crackling that this action produced.

"I've felt the same way, plenty o' times," he replied, regarding his friends contentedly. "I wanted to let ye all know that I was all right, but I was worried about the word gettin' out. I wish I'd done things differently, but there ye have it. It took Mavis to put me back together with the people I loved an' missed so much and for so long." He lit a cigarette and looked at Paul.

"Now," he continued, "How about another drink? A man could die o' thirst around here."

"I'll get 'em," Ringo volunteered, rising to his feet.

He got the bottles and passed them around, the smile on his lips as always at odds with the sadness that seemed to be forever in his eyes.

"Here's to us," he said, seating himself once more and raising his bottle in salute to the others, "Together again after a long, long time. I've missed ya, John, and I'm glad we've gotten ya back in one piece."

"To us!" chorused the others, raising their drinks.

John took a drink and surreptitiously brushed away a tear.

"To us," he said again, his voice uncharacteristically small. "To all of us."

He swallowed the stout past the lump in his throat and smiled again.

"It's almost time for me ride to come for me," he said after a moment, "So we'd better get back to the house. We won't hear the plane from in here. Shall we take a little walk, me lads?"

As the four rose to their feet, there were a great deal of noises that they hadn't ever made before when they got up after sitting. The chorus of groans and sighs made them all look at one another and break into uncontrollable laughter.

"My God, we're gettin' old, aren't we," said George, stretching with another sigh.

"Maybe we should rethink all this."

"Speak for yerself," replied John. "I personally am happy to feel a little arthritic discomfort. Lets me know I'm still alive, and I'm still grateful every day for that."

***

Once the plane had landed once again in the meadow near the village on Harmony Island, John caught sight of Mavis waiting near the stone wall at the edge of the field. Her dark cape swirled around her in the wind, and her hair was whipping across her face. She waved to him as he stepped off the plane and ran to embrace him. He caught her to himself and kissed her deeply, his heart swelling with love for her.

"I missed ye, gurrl," he whispered into her hair.

"I missed you, too," she told him. "Let's go home. I'm freezing and supper is waiting for you. Did you have a good time with your friends, did you get a lot of work done?"

"Let's do that, good, I'm starving, yes I did, and yes we did," he replied, walking towards the road with her to the wagon she'd borrowed to ride home in.

They climbed aboard and waved to the pilot before John took the reins and called to the old horse to 'get along an' get us fuckin' home'.

Mavis sighed and leaned against him. He put an arm around her shoulders to help warm her as well as to reassure himself with her closeness. It never failed to amaze him that he missed her so much whenever they were apart. Now that they were together again, he felt as though he could breathe more easily, that his heart had regained its proper rhythm. He flicked the reins again and watched the muscles twitch beneath the old mare's skin as she picked up her pace a bit. It would be good to get home again, and back to his life, he thought, then it hit him that nowhere else would ever seem like home to him again now. New York City and his old life seemed a million miles away, like a lifetime ago. It saddened him a bit, but when Mavis slipped her hand into his and lifted her head to kiss his cheek tenderly, the sadness dissolved and his heart throbbed with love for her and for the life they had built together here on the tiny island he had bought on a whim so many years ago. He fe! lt as though he had awakened from a long sleep to find himself back home, and he had never been happier to be anywhere in all of his life before.

They rolled into the village and John did not have to prompt the old horse to pull the wagon behind the general store and stop in front of the barn door where warmth and supper awaited her as well. He jumped to the ground and lifted Mavis down from her perch, then undid the harness and opened the barn door, giving the horse an affectionate slap on the rump as she went inside.

"Thanks, Daisy," he said, closing the door behind the animal and grabbing his guitar from the back of the wagon. He took Mavis' hand and they hurried back to the pub. Mavis fumbled with the key.

"My hands are a little numb," she said. "I should have worn mittens, but I was in too much of a rush to see you and I forgot them."

John unlocked the door and they went inside. The fire had died down to embers, and a bit of chill was creeping into the room. He took off his coat and tossed it onto a chair, then set about getting the fire roaring once again.

Mavis went to the kitchen. It was still warm in there, and she took John's supper from the warming oven and put it on the table for him.

A moment later, he came into the room and sat down, pulling her into his lap to hug her fiercely.

"It's good to be home," he told her, nuzzling her ear until she turned her head to get a real kiss. Her closeness affected him as it always did, and when she felt his desire, she jumped to her feet.

"Now, you just get some hot food inside of you before you go getting all excited," she told him, seating herself on the other side of the table with a smile.

"Too late," he said, but he began to eat and with the first mouthful he realized just how hungry he really was.

Mavis watched him and thought of how important he had become to her. She was glad that he was working with his friends again. He seemed so happy after he'd seen them.

At the same time, she was a little afraid of how reconnecting with his past might affect his relationship with her. Would seeing them eventually make him want to return fully to his old life? Did she really offer enough for him to make him forget his wife in America? She knew he missed his children, and he spoke of them often, but he seldom mentioned Yoko since he had told Mavis that his wife was now living with another man. Mavis knew that John was a very jealous man; it was obvious by the way his jaw muscles tightened and his eyes flashed angrily whenever a customer flirted with her. He watched her carefully for any sign of reciprocation, relaxing only slightly when he saw none-- he still kept an eye on her admirers until they left and he had her to himself once again.

John finished eating and rose to his feet, heading into the common room to sit beside the fire and smoke for a while as he always did. Mavis washed his dishes and flatware quickly, dried her hands, and followed him. She closed the heavy green drapes and stroked the rich fabric lovingly, remembering the smile on his face when he had presented them to her. When she turned around, she saw that he was watching her, a gentle smile on his face. She went to him and settled herself in his lap, planting gentle little kisses all over his face.

He pulled back a bit to study her expression, concern clouding his eyes slightly.

"Whist, Mavis, love," he said softly, "What is it? Ye look to be on the verge o' tears--are ye okay, gurrl?"

"I'm fine," she replied, burying her face in the warm flannel shirt he was wearing.

"It's just that I'm so happy that you've come back."

John laughed gently.

"Where else would I go?" he asked, kissing her hair, causing her skin to break into gooseflesh with the feel of his hot breath on the nape of her neck. "Me home is here now, and yer the one I love. No matter what ever happens, it's always gonna be that way now. Don't ye know that, darlin'? I don't even feel as though I'm complete unless yer where I can lay me hands upon ye, Mavis. Now, come on an' let's get upstairs to bed. I'm gettin' sleepy, and there's somethin' else I wanna do first."

Mavis stood up and watched as he expertly banked the fire, something he'd had no idea of how to do when he'd first shown up on the island. Now he moved as though he'd been doing such things all his life. Once the task was finished, John kissed her deeply and took her hand, drawing her up the stairs behind him.

In their bedroom, John undressed quickly and watched as Mavis shed her clothes. She opened a drawer and pulled out a nightgown, and he laughed at her.

"Don't be botherin' with that," he told her softly. "I'd only have ye out of it as soon as ye'd gotten it on. Just come as ye are, an' if yer still of a mind to, ye can put that thing on later. I'll keep ye warm enough."

Mavis dropped the nightgown to the floor and slipped into his arms, her heart hammering wildly. It astonished her that he was always able to elicit such a strong desire from her with no more than a touch of his hand. She shivered, not with the cold but with pleasure, as he drew her close and began kissing her. The world fell away and ceased to exist for her, so lost was she in his passionate embrace. His skin felt hot and his hands set little fires all over her body as he caressed her, running his fingers unerringly over the places he knew would draw the deepest responses from her.

At last he found that he could not wait any longer, and he mounted her quickly, easily slipping himself into her body. Both of them caught their breath when he penetrated her, the sensation was so intense. Mavis cried out his name and he began to move, swift, strong, deep strokes driving her completely out of her mind.

Mavis opened her eyes and watched his face as he drove himself into her body again and again, meeting his every thrust with equal force. His eyes seemed unfocused at first, but as he neared his climax he fixed his eyes upon hers, and she could see the naked desire in them so plainly that it took her breath away.

His eyes suddenly closed, and she could see that he was making an effort to hold himself back. His movements hesitated and slowed, and he took a deep breath.

"I'm ready," she whispered, her voice tight, her body trembling, every nerve singing. "Don't hold back, baby, give it to me--I need you now!"

Releasing his breath explosively, John slammed into her several more times, his eyes looking deeply into hers, his mouth a tight, firm line. Her eyes closed involuntarily then, and her body arched against his as the wave of pleasure caught her up and carried her tumbling through nothingness, held her still and pulsing, then retreating slightly so that she could open her eyes again. His were closed now, and he let out a deep, hoarse groan as he emptied himself into her welcoming warmth, his hips bucking convulsively a few more times. At last, he collapsed on top of her, unable to support himself any longer, and lay there breathing heavily into her hair.

Once he could move again, he rolled off her body and took her into his arms tenderly. Mavis settled her head on his shoulder and looked out the window at the stars sparkling in the clear, black sky. She opened her mouth to speak to him again, but a soft snore stopped her...he was asleep. She closed her eyes and cuddled close to him, closing her eyes and waiting for sleep to take her away to wait for morning. She had never felt more filled with happiness.

***

In the morning, Mavis disentangled herself gently from John's arms and stumbled to the bathroom, feeling very ill. She knelt on the floor beside the toilet and vomited, her body seemingly trying to expel every organ inside of it, until she was weak and trembling. She sat there on the floor and laid her cheek against the cool tile wall, breathing heavily, trying to collect her thoughts.

Her eyes flew open and her hand fluttered to her throat as it hit her-- it had been nearly six weeks since she'd had her last period.

She got slowly to her feet and went back into the bedroom. She stood looking down at John, watching him sleep, for a few moments, then pulled her robe on and went downstairs to make an appointment with the village doctor. It was quite early, but she wanted to find out as soon as possible if what she suspected was true, and if that meant that she had to wake the doctor, then that was what she would do. If she was lucky, he would be able to see her first this morning and she would have her answer before the end of the day.

Part Four Coming Soon!



Copyright 2004, Angel Godiva

 

Nowhere Man - Part 4

By Angel Godiva

Mavis looked up when Dr. Fenity came back into the waiting room.

"Is it good news?" she asked.

Dr. Fenity sat beside her. There was no one else in the clinic so early in the morning, so they were all alone. He took Mavis' hand, concern clouding his light blue eyes.

"That's up to you and John, I suppose," he told her. "All I know is that you're going to have a baby. Is it good news, Mavis?"

The girls eyes brimmed with sudden, hot tears and she flung herself into the old doctor’s arms. She wasn't sure how she felt about the news, but it was astonishing, seeing as how she'd been on the pill since shortly after her relationship with John had become physical, and she was not prepared for this at all.

Presently she drew back and sat up, and the old man offered her a handkerchief. Mavis accepted it, dabbed at her eyes, and smiled weakly.

"I don't know what John is going to say," she said after a moment, "But it's good news to me, I guess-- I mean, I do love him terribly, and he says he loves me, too. How do you think he'll react, Dr. Fenity?"

"Well, I don't really know the man," replied the old gentleman. "He's so damnably healthy that I've never had the occasion to so much as see him outside of a few words here and there at the pub, but he seems like a nice enough fellow and I daresay he'll do right by you, my dear child. Where is he now?”

“He’s still asleep, God willing,” Mavis replied. “Hopefully, I’ll have time to shower and compose myself before I wake him and open for the day. Thank you so much for coming downstairs and opening the office so early for me, doctor. Come by tonight and I’ll give you a nice supper, on the house.”

“I’ll do that, my dear,” he said, and the girl got up to leave. The doctor held the door open for her and watched her cross the street to her own place. Once she had gone inside, he closed his shade and went back upstairs to have his breakfast.

***

Mavis let herself quietly into the pub and locked the door, then made a fire and went upstairs to have a shower. John was still asleep, and she watched him for a moment, sighed softly, and went into the bathroom.

As she stood in the stream of warm water and soaped her body, Mavis looked down at her flat belly and touched herself there gently. There's a baby growing in there, she thought, and found herself smiling a little. John's baby, and mine. Who are you, little one? Boy or girl? And what will your daddy say when he finds out about you?

Mavis finished her shower and once she had dried herself, she opened the medicine cabinet and took out her birth control pills. She stood looking at them for a few seconds, then dropped them into the waste basket and went back into the bedroom. It was nearly seven, and she decided to go down, make the coffee and start cooking breakfast before waking John. She would tell him during the afternoon lull; no one ever came in for a few hours after lunch.

***

"Ye've been awfully quiet all day, Mavis, izz’ere somethin' on yer mind?" asked John after the lunch crowd had departed and she stood washing the dishes in the kitchen.

Mavis stopped what she was doing, wiped her hands, and turned to look at him. "As a matter of fact, there is," she replied. "Why don't we go out front. We can sit by the fire and I'll tell you about it."

John followed her into the common room, an odd fluttering in his stomach. He sat down and looked at Mavis solemnly as she seated herself beside him in her rocking chair and reached for his hand.

"God's napkin, gurrl, I was half jokin' when I asked ye if there was a problem!" exclaimed John. He was alarmed by the way she'd suddenly gone so pale and looked so scared. "What the fuck is wrong?"

"I don't know how to tell you this, John, so I'm just going to go right ahead and say it," she replied. "I--that is, we-- are going to have a baby. I found out this morning."

"Jesus Christ, Mavis! Are ye sure? I thought ye were takin' the fuckin' pill! What in hell happened?" John shouted, jumping to his feet. "This is the last thing I expected to happen! What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I can't very well marry ye, I'm still married to Yoko, even though she doesn't know it, but it can't be done-- Jesus, gurrl, what were ye thinkin'?"

His heart was hammering, there was a roaring sound in his ears, and he found himself becoming suddenly dizzy. He dropped back into his chair and looked again at the girl. To his horror, she was weeping uncontrollably.

"Aw, Mavis, I'm that sorry," he apologized, reaching for her. She allowed herself to be pulled into his lap and huddled against him miserably, still sniffling. John felt terrible; he hadn't meant to yell at her, but the startling news had absolutely floored him. "I'm such a bastard," he muttered, drawing her close and kissing her head. "We'll work it out somehow."

Mavis raised her tear streaked face to look into his eyes. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I was on the pill, and I didn't even miss one. I checked. I guess they're just not 100% foolproof, because I was sick this morning and I realized that I was late for my monthlies, then I went to see Dr. Fenity. He did a test, and it was positive. I didn't know what you were going to say or do when you found out."

John held her close and sighed. "Well," he said at last, "It's all right. We'll find a way to make it work. It's not yer fault, gurrl, any more than it's mine, and it certainly isn't the child's fault. I love ye, and I'll love the baby, too. I hope it's a gurrl, and I hope she looks just like you."

"You're not angry with me, then?" asked Mavis, tightening her arms about his neck.

"Naw, I was just gobsmacked is all. I'm startin' to get used to the idea now, and I feel better about it the more I think of it. It'll be all right. Like I said, we'll make it work. Come on into the kitchen and I'll help ye finish washin' up, then we'll go for a walk on the beach. It's practically warm today--spring is in the air."

***

The beach was deserted when John and Mavis arrived there, but the sun was shining and the bitter chill had retreated to be replaced by an almost balmy southern breeze. With a sweater, it was quite comfortable.

"It's kinda nice outside today, innit?" asked John, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Another couple months, and ye'll be runnin' around out here in yer bikini again."

"Well, maybe not this year," Mavis replied with a wry smile. "I don't think my body will be looking its best this summer."

"Yeah, well, about that," John began, taking both her hands in his and turning her to face him, "I want ye to know that I really am sorry about the way I reacted back there when ye told me about the baby. Like I said, I wasn't really angry with you, I was just gobsmacked. It was the last thing I ever expected ye to say...took me completely by surprise, like, and I kinda lost meself."

"I know," Mavis said, her eyes on his. He was wearing his blue contacts, and it was a bit disconcerting to her whenever she looked into his blue eyes, but it was still John, her John, and she shook the feeling off and continued. "It shocked the bloody hell out of me, too. I was taking those pills faithfully every day. I was amazed, sitting there on the floor of the loo, when I realized that I was...late. I called Dr. Fenity at once, even though it was only six o'clock in the morning. I was going to tell you right off, but the breakfast rush was about to begin and you were sleeping so peacefully, so I figured I'd tell you between lunch and supper, when the place was quiet."

John pulled her into his arms and held her close, looking over her head at the rolling, gray-green sea. The beach was still deserted, but a few seagulls were wheeling overhead, their harsh cries the only accompaniment to the roar of the ocean. John tightened his arms around the girl, then kissed the top of her head and spoke softly into her hair.

"We'll find a way to work this all out somehow," he said. "Don't worry about a thing, gurrl, it's gonna be all right. I promise. I'll be right here, and I'll take proper care of ye."

"I know you will," Mavis answered, her voice muffled by the woolen sweater he wore. she had knitted it herself a few months earlier, working on it evenings as they sat by the fire and John read. He would occasionally come across something in his book that he felt he had to share with her, and sometimes he would become so involved in what he was saying that he would lay his book aside and just talk to her for hours. Mavis stood now in the shelter of his warm, strong arms and thought about those nights, how she'd sat listening to him as she worked on the sweater. She raised her head and looked up into his face.

"I never doubted that you would take care of me," she went on. "I was just worried because I wasn't sure that having a baby would be something you would want, and I just don't believe in--the alternative to having it."

"Are ye speakin' of an abortion, Mavis?" he asked, his face registering both shock and dismay. "Jesus, no, I would never want ye to do such as that. Like I said, we'll make it work. The more I think on it, the more I'm beginnin' to like the idea of bein' a father again. I --I really do miss me kids."

"I know, I've seen you looking at those pictures Paul and Ringo gave you. They're very handsome, your sons. Just like their Dad. I almost feel like it's my fault that you don't get to see them."

John sat down on a large piece of driftwood and pulled Mavis into his lap. "Whist, gurrl," he said softly. "It's not yer fault at all, but the fault of whoever it was who wanted me dead. The worst part is havin' to keep quiet about me still bein' alive, not lettin' anyone except the other lads and Linda knowin'. I trust me mates to keep it quiet, and Linda seems trustworthy enough, but ye know how kids are--I can't let them get wind of it. Maybe once they're grown I'll be able to contact them through one of the boys, but for now it just wouldn't be safe--for me or for them."

He kissed her cheek and hugged her close, and Mavis closed her eyes, leaning her head against his chest, feeling his heart beat against her cheek. "Even if ye weren't in the picture at all, I wouldn't be able to go back," he continued. He sighed and they sat quietly for a few moments. When at last he broke his silence, John's voice was husky with emotion.

"I was real close to Sean," he said softly. "I was the one who stayed home with him and took care of him. We were together all of the time. It might be nice to have that sort of life again, havin' a baby around. I'm really beginnin' to look forward to it, truth be told."

Mavis hugged him tight. "You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you say that," she told him. "I'm so relieved...and I'm starting to look forward to it, too. What do you think it will be, a boy or a girl?"

"It doesn't matter. I've got two boys and no girls, so a girl might be nice for a change--but another boy would do just fine as well. You just concentrate on makin' sure that our baby is healthy, no matter what he or she might be. That'll be your job. Yer gonna need a lot of rest, so I'm gonna have to start doin' more around the pub--maybe take a lunch shift off yer hands now and then. Even I can make a fuckin' sarnie, and there's really no cookin' required past warmin' up the supper leftovers from the night before for those who are in the mood for an actual meal in the afternoon. I can handle that while you take a little kip in the middle of the day."

Mavis laughed and said, "I can just see you in a frilly apron, serving lunch to the shopkeepers and the farmers in the middle of the day. Are you sure you're going to want to do that?"

"For you," he replied, letting her go and hauling himself to his feet, "I would do anythin'--except wear yer frilly aprons. I'll either get one from the butcher or just let me clothes get all filthy, whichever ye prefer."

"I'll make you a plain white apron without any lace on it whatsoever," she promised, her eyes shining, "And I won't even ask you to take a breakfast shift. I know you like to get your beauty sleep."

"Ah, but I need it, me gurrl," he said seriously. He took her hand and they began walking back towards the village. The sound of children suddenly filled the air as the school let out. "I'm that exhausted," he continued, "Ye keep me up too late at night makin' love to ye all hours."

"I'm going to get fat and you won't want to do that so much," she told him, kicking a stone ahead of her as she walked beside him, her hand still clasped firmly in his.

"Nothin' o' the sort," he replied. "Yer gonna be beautiful, and the bigger ye get, the more of ye there'll be for me to love. Besides, it's me that got ye that way, innit? I'll always wanna make love with ye, Mavis. Yer me life, and I love ye."

"I love you more," she said with a smile. "Now, let's hurry home. I have to get supper started."

John smiled as they passed Dr. Fenity's office. A group of children were coming out, each of them clutching a handful of cookies. Nurse Maggie was a childless widow, and every day she was waiting when the children got out of school with a big basket of homemade cookies or fudge to hand out to them. She knew all their birthdays, as she had attended all their births, and whenever one of the children were celebrating one, she had a decorated cake ready to slice for all of them. All of the children referred to her as Mummy Maggie, and she loved them all as though they were her own. John and Mavis crossed the street to the pub, sidestepping the herd of children as they ran, laughing, down the middle of the road.

"So, Maggie's made gingersnaps," John mused. "Maybe I should go over to the surgery to get a checkup--it's been a long time since a doctor's looked at me."

"You open the door and pull the drapes back, and I'll run back and get a few of Maggie's gingersnaps for you if there are any left," replied Mavis, kissing his cheek lightly. "I want to thank Dr. Fenity again anyhow. When I get back, I'll make some fresh coffee for you to have with them, just the way you like it."

"Yer too good to me, gurrl. See ye in a few minutes. Give Maggie a kiss for me!"

***

John let himself into the pub, turned the sign in the window from 'closed' to 'open', and pulled the heavy drapes open to let some sunshine into the room. He put some wood on the dying fire and poked it to life, then sat in his chair by the hearth and lit a cigarette. He watched the street as he smoked. Another group of children ran past, cookies in their hands, their shrill voices ringing with excited chatter and laughter. John smiled and tried to imagine what a child made half from him and half from Mavis would be like. He hoped that even if it was a boy born in his exact image, the child would be more like Mavis than like himself. He had been quite a handful to manage, and he wouldn't wish that on Mavis. She had her hands full as it was.

John had been what might have politely been referred to as a lively child, less politely as a bloody brat, which is the way his Uncle Charlie was wont to refer to him when asked by fans what the former Beatle had been like as a child. He had been, in fact, the sort of child that other parents did not want their children to be involved with-- a ringleader, always first to think of some terrible mischief to get into and always able to recruit plenty of co-conspirators. Other boys wanted to be around John, wanted to be his friend and be allowed to hang around with him. He was bright and funny, and he always had plenty of naughty jokes to share. He knew a lot more about the world than the other kids his age, and they were especially impressed with his knowledge of what went on between men and women after the sun went down.

Remembering all of this, John sincerely hoped that his child would take after his or her mother instead of him.

Mavis came out of the doctors office with the gingersnaps and crossed the street. She came into the pub and smiled at him before heading back to the kitchen. "Be right back!" she called as the door closed behind her.

When she came back into the common room, Mavis had a plate of cookies in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. She placed these on the table between her chair and John’s, then sat beside him.

"Just a short break," she told him, "Then I'm off to get supper started. There were hardly any boats in the harbor today, so there are bound to be a lot of fishermen in here tonight. Most of them will just be here for a pint or two before they go home to their own suppers, but it's going to be a busy night, all told. Would you be interested in manning the bar while I get things done in the kitchen? You do pretty well at pulling a pint. You hardly spill a drop now."

"I'll take care of it," he agreed. "I'll help ye serve supper, too. Anything I can do to help, I'll do."

"You're so good to me, John," said Mavis, jumping to her feet. "But right now, I have to get supper started. Come into the kitchen and sit with me while I work, why don't you, as soon as you finish that?"

"That I will," he promised. "I'll be there in half a mo."

***

That evening after supper was over and the pub had emptied of customers, John and Mavis finished cleaning the kitchen and went to sit by the fire as they usually did.

John was reading something about reincarnation and relationships, and he had come across something in his book that especially intrigued him.

"Listen to this, Mavis," he said, pushing his glasses up, holding the book in one hand and following the lines with the index finger of the other. "What this means is that these circles of souls are constant. Your parents, your siblings, your friends and lovers--even your enemies-- are always around you no matter how often you may be reborn. Throughout the ages, each person’s circle of souls remains constant. The life force, the soul, who was your mother in your last life may be your sister, your brother-- even your lover-- in this life or the next. In any case, the same people that you love and the same people that you hate in this life are those who held a similar position in every incarnation you have ever experienced. This never changes. That is why you will sometimes feel an immediate sense of dislike for someone you have just met, or why you feel immediately drawn to a certain individual. They are part of your circle, and they always have been."

"That's pretty cool," said Mavis when he'd finished reading and laid the book on the table beside his chair. "Do you think it's really true?"

"Well, it would sure explain a lot of things, wouldn't it?" replied John. He lit a cigarette and tossed his match into the fire, his expression thoughtful. "I mean, there've been plenty of times when I've met someone new and I either hated them or really liked them before they ever said word one-- maybe it was like the book says, maybe my soul recognized theirs right off because I knew them from another life."

"I wonder who we were to each other before, if it's true," mused the girl, resuming her work on the sock she was mending.

"Maybe ye used to be me grandmummy," John replied with a mischievous grin. "She used to knit and mend socks and such."

"How flattering," said Mavis. "It really makes you think, though. I wonder who our baby used to be before beginning again."

"Dunno, but whoever he or she was, it'll be someone we both loved," John told her.

He stretched and looked across the room at the big grandfather clock in the corner.

"Look at the time, it's well past nine," he remarked. "Probably be a good idea to get ourselves upstairs and to bed soon."

"When you first got here, you never went to bed until three or four o'clock in the morning at least," Mavis said, putting her work aside. "You've changed a lot since then."

"I never had to get up in the morning," he replied, pushing himself to his feet. "I could sleep until noon back then. Now I just can't do that. Besides, I still get up and come down here for a while at night sometimes, if I have to write or I need to think. Yer just too busy snoring to notice."

"You take that back--I do not snore!" exclaimed Mavis indignantly.

"No, of course ye don't," he said agreeably, pulling her up out of her chair. "No more than I do meself."

"You're such a brat," she told him, flouncing away.

He chuckled and banked the fire, then followed her up the stairs, still smiling.

***

Mavis was in the bathroom when John got to their bedroom. He undressed and got into bed, turning his head to watch her through the half open door.

She was standing naked in front of the sink as she performed her nightly ablutions; when she finished, she studied her face in the mirror briefly, then looked down at her belly and touched it gently, a smile curving her full lips as she caressed the place in which their child was growing.

John turned his attention to the ceiling and examined the herbs hanging in neat bunches from the center beam. Yarrow, coltsfoot, henbane, raspberry leaf, peppermint, pennyroyal-- he knew which was which and what each was good to use as medicine for which malady, something he had learned from Mavis. He was fascinated by her knowledge of the plants that grew on the island and the ways they could be used to treat illnesses. Modern medicines were brought in from the mainland for use in Dr. Fenity's surgery, but the cabinets of most of the local folk were well stocked with remedies of a far more ancient tradition. Whatever did not grow here was brought in from outside-- goldenseal, valerian, and ginseng for example--and he was learning a lot about natural healing. When he had a headache, Mavis made him tea from willow bark, and it worked as well as anything that could be bought. For an infected wound, there was goldenseal, the bright yellow root dried and ground to powder. Valerian for sleeplessness, peppermint tea for an upset stomach, wild cherry bark for diarrhea...he had learned a lot from her.

His reverie was broken when she turned out the light and slipped into bed beside him. "Where were you?" she asked, pressing herself against his warm skin as he gathered her into his arms. "You looked like you were far away from here. Were you thinking about the past?"

"Yeah, but not the way ye mean, I was thinkin' of all the stuff I've learned since I've been here-- stuff I've learned from you and some of the other people here in Harmony."

"Like what?"

"Well, like about medicine, and fire, and building...how to harness a horse, shear a sheep and even card wool; just stuff that most people where I come from don't ordinarily know much about."

"I guess if I were ever to leave here, I would have to learn a lot of new stuff, too," said Mavis. "I wouldn't know how to begin to use a lot of the newfangled things I see whenever I visit the mainland to buy supplies. We live here the same way our parents did, and I've been here since I was a little girl. This is the only way I know. We must seem kind of backward to you."

"No, it's the opposite, really. I'm beginnin' to think that yer way here is a lot better. There are fewer things to distract you from the things that are really important in life. I mean, just think about it. The papers in the so called civilized world are all full of shit about killin; and stealin', rape and assault-- when was the last time anything like that happened here? The worst thing that goes on here is kids swipin' apples or maybe a pie off a windowsill. There are good values here, and I think this is gonna be a great place to raise our child."

"But what if he swipes apples or steals pies off windowsills?"

"Fine with me, as long as he saves me some," John replied, hugging her tightly.

"I love you," she whispered, lifting her face to kiss his cheek.

"I love ye more," he told her softly, sliding a hand down across her breasts until he reached her belly. He pressed his warm palm against her skin. "I wonder who's in there," he mused. "I wonder whether it's a boy or a girl, and whether he or she knows we're out here waitin' to welcome him or her to the world and into our lives."

"I was wondering the same thing, just a few minutes ago," she replied. "I'm just glad you're okay with this. I was a little scared."

"Don't be. Don't ever be scared of me. I would never hurt ye, Mavis. I'd do an injury to anyone who ever did."

Mavis put her arms around his neck and toyed with his hair. He breathed into her ear, causing a delicious shiver to run down her spine.

"Mmmm, that feels good," she whispered, rubbing her cheek against his. She loved the roughness of his beard stubble against her skin; it made her think of how he looked in the morning, tousled and unshaven, incredibly sexy.

"If ye think that feels good, wait till ye feel this," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. He turned his head to cover her mouth with his, kissing her deeply, running his hands slowly over her body.

Mavis could feel him throbbing against her thigh, and she pulled him closer still, pressing herself tightly against him. with a low moan, he slid a hand down further to caress her sex. She opened to him and he slid two fingers inside of her.

The girl moaned softly, responding to his touch with enthusiasm. He knew her body well, and it wasn't long before he could tell that she was very close. Without removing his fingers or slowing their movement, he bent his head to put his mouth on her there, just above her opening.

Mavis cried out his name and began to tremble, her hands spasmodically gripping the quilt, her legs shaking uncontrollably. John continued relentlessly, and in a moment she caught her breath and arched upwards involuntarily, an explosive orgasm wracking her body.

He withdrew his fingers and kissed her there, his own excitement now unable to be contained. "C'mon, baby, my turn," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. "I want ye--now."

He mounted her and Mavis put her hands on his shoulders, loving the way it felt to have his muscles moving beneath his smooth, hot skin. He was achingly hard, and she did not hesitate when he nudged against her opening. He slid into her easily and buried himself deeply inside of her. The sensation made both of them catch their breath and moan with pleasure.

"So good," he whispered, holding himself still deep within her, his eyes flashing with passion. "So fuckin' good."

Mavis moved impatiently, needing him again even more badly than she had the first time. "John," she whispered, her voice tight with desperation. "Now. Please. I need you!"

"Patience, lass, yer gonna get me," he told her. He was working to hold back, and his body was trembling with pent up need. "Yer gonna get me good."

He looked down at her, his eyes blazing into hers. It was all she could do to meet his gaze. He pulled his hips back slowly, teasing her, until he was almost out of her. With a tight smile, he then pushed into her, suddenly and hard, filling her completely once more. He did this several times, and she cried out softly with each powerful thrust.

When at last his need was too great to hold back any longer, he sped his pace, slamming into her body with smooth, rapid strokes. Mavis held onto him, her hips desperately keeping his rhythm, until his head was thrown back to reveal his long, graceful throat. The girl was close, and she knew that he was too, but he was waiting for her to signal her readiness. His breath came in harsh, ragged gasps, and the sight of him caught in the grip of his imminent orgasm was enough to put Mavis over the edge.

"Now!" she cried, her arms tightening around him. "I'm ready, baby, give it to me now!"

Emitting a deep groan that sounded vaguely like her name, John gave up holding back and allowed himself to finish, both of them momentarily one creature, lost and being hurled through an intense wave of pure pleasure, all but unconscious until the feeling began to subside and they found themselves tangled up in one another’s arms, breathing heavily, gentle spasms still gripping and releasing them. Both of their faces were wet with tears, they were so deeply touched by the power of what they had shared.

John held her for a long time, and finally he said softly, "I hope I didn't hurt the baby. I wasn't too rough with ye, was I, love?"

"No, you were wonderful, and the baby is safe," she replied. "It was just perfect. I feel so relaxed and happy...hold me, baby, and let me fall asleep in your arms. I feel so warm, safe, and at home when you're holding me."

"That's 'cause it's where ye belong," he whispered, gathering her close. "I feel the same way. Goodnight, gurrl. I love ye."

Mavis put her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes. "I love you more," she said softly, relaxing against him.

John tightened his grip on the girl. "Don't bet on it," he whispered, kissing her softly.

Mavis sighed and shifted slightly in his arms. He could tell by the sound of her breathing that she had already fallen asleep. He rested his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes; he was pretty tired. Besides, tomorrow Mavis was going to teach him how to make the coffee properly, and from what he'd seen, it was a lot more complicated than a person might think without an electric coffeemaker.

"Simple life indeed," he muttered. "I'd like to know who the idiot who named it that was."

He began to go over the steps he'd observed Mavis taking to make the morning coffee in his mind, but he fell asleep before he could get halfway through.
Part Five Coming Soon!



Copyright 2004, Angel Godiva

 

Nowhere Man - Part 5

By Angel Godiva

"I don't think I can put off making new skirts any longer--regardless of how much else I have to do," sighed Mavis. "Most of my blouses are okay if I leave them untucked, but the skirts are beginning to get pretty tight. It might not be too good for the baby if they get much tighter." She smoothed the velvet patchwork skirt over her swollen belly and eyed her reflection in the mirror before putting on a loose, white peasant blouse.
"I'm getting so big," she said, lifting the hem of the skirt to survey her ankles. "And my ankles are getting swollen."

"Not a bit of it," replied John. He was watching her from the bed, and he got up and came to stand behind her.

They stood together looking at themselves in the mirror for a moment. "We look good together," he said suddenly. "But then, ye'd make any man look good who stood beside ye."

Mavis turned in his arms and looked up into his face. The morning sun pouring in from the window beside him made the russet highlights in his hair shine, and his eyes were the warm, light brown color that was natural to him. They sparkled at her from behind his glasses as he looked down at her.

"You're the good looking one," argued Mavis. "There's nothing special about me."

"Oh, I beg to differ, Miss Mavis," he said in a gently scolding tone. "Yer just that beautiful with yer wide eyes and those delicious, kissable lips o' yers. C'mon, darlin', and give us a kiss."

She lifted her mouth to kiss him, and his warm, strong hands entangled themselves in her long hair. She caught her breath as he took her mouth hungrily, his tongue eagerly exploring hers as thoroughly as it had the very first time they had kissed, as it did every time.

She broke the kiss reluctantly and rested her head on his shoulder, flushed with excitement and breathing heavily. "You make me dizzy," she whispered breathlessly. "I wish I didn't have to go down to the pub to start breakfast, but people will start coming in soon and nothing's been done yet."

"Hold on, darlin', I know ye've gotta get cookin' and I have the fire to tend to, but first I've got a surprise for ye."

He released her and went back to the bed. He reached underneath and slid out a fair sized box, placing it on the unmade bed.

Mavis opened the box. Inside were four new skirts in a larger size with an elastic panel in each to accommodate her growing belly. There were several new, loose fitting blouses as well.

"This one's me favorite," remarked John, lifting out a deep green velvet brocade skirt. "It's just the color for ye."

"They're beautiful," said Mavis. "And so thoughtful! Where'd you get them?"

"Peace Masterson made the blouses, and as for the skirts, Birdsong McKinnon's mum made them," he told her. "I asked her last month at her daughter's weddin'."

"Hmmm. I'll bet Birdsong wished it was you she was marrying," said Mavis, a slight twinge of jealousy making her eyes flash. "She was always chasing you."

"Caught me a few times too, din't she," replied John. "She'll settle down now, though. Her mum says she's adjustin' to married life quite well--more's the pity for the young men on the island."

"Hmmm," Mavis responded. "Well, anyway, thank her mother for me, won't you? Preferably on the street and not in the house she shares with that free-spirited daughter of hers."

"I never looked at her again once I got me hands on ye, Mavis me love," John said sincerely. "Me only regret is that we can't get married. Yer me heart and soul, gurrl, and ye mean the world to me. I'd marry ye in a second, if I only could."

"I know you would," Mavis replied, running a brush through her hair and pinning the front of it back. "You don't have to say so."

The two of them went down to the pub. Mavis disappeared into the kitchen to get breakfast started, and John brought the fire to life again and went outside to get an armload of wood for later.

He looked down the street towards the beach where the sun was just coming up. The sky looked like it was on fire, and he wished that Mavis were standing next to him to see it with him. More than anything, he wished that he could marry the girl, but his hands were tied. He had a wife in America, even if she did think he was dead.

Too bad I didn't get amnesia when I hit me head on the root cellar door last month, he thought to himself. Then I could marry her with a clear conscience.

"Ah, well," he said aloud to the empty street. "In me heart, she's me true wife, anyroad."

He went around the side of the building to the alley and selected an armload of wood from the pile there, then hurried back inside and put the wood by the fireplace, leaving the front door unlocked. He opened the heavy green drapes covering the big front window, then went into the kitchen where Mavis was working at the stove.

"There was frost last night although it's just September," he said, seating himself at the small table and lighting a cigarette. "The window is all decorated like it's Chrimble."

"I noticed that when we were upstairs," she told him. "It's still pretty cold out there. If it wanted to rain, it would surely snow instead. It'll most likely get warm again for a couple weeks any day now, though, happens every year."

"Mavis," John said suddenly after a short silence, "I feel really bad about not bein' able to marry ye with the baby comin' and all. I really do wish I could."

"You don't have to feel badly," she replied. She took the skillet of fried potatoes off the fire and placed it on the back of the stove, then rearranged the bacon and sausages before turning to face him. "Lots of people have children nowadays without being married," she pointed out. "Just look at Willow and Jack. They aren't married, and they have five children."

"Yeah, but that's because Jack doesn't believe in marriage," John countered. "I do."

"Didn't you once say that it was just a piece of paper and not important?" asked Mavis. "I was sure I had read that somewhere."

"Probably," he admitted, "But I really am sort of old fashioned. Enough to want me baby to have me name, anyroad."

"Well, he or she will have your blood, and they will be just as wonderful as you are, and that is way more important than what their name is," Mavis said, pulling the skillet of meats off the fire and putting on a fresh pan for the eggs. "Now, go see if there's anyone out front yet and tell them, if there is, that breakfast is almost ready."

"Yerokay," replied John as he stood up to leave. "I gotta admit, the way ye talk to me sometimes, all orders and such, does make me feel as if we're married."

"Go on," she said with a smile. "If anyone's here yet, just take their order and come tell me what they want."

"Takin' orders from everyone today," muttered John as he left the room. "Okay, darlin', he added out loud, "Sounds like there are at least two fellas out there."

***

After breakfast was over and the kitchen had been cleaned up, the sun was out and the ice had melted from the windows.

"It's gettin' a lot warmer outside. How about takin' a little ride around the island?" asked John. "We'll be back by eleven to make up some sarnies for the lunch crowd. Ye could probably use a little fresh air, don't ye think?"

"Sounds lovely," replied Mavis. "You go borrow the wagon and I'll pour a thermos of coffee to take along."

John went to ask Dylan if he could borrow the wagon and Mavis was on the street waiting for him when he led the horse around from behind the general store.

"Let me give ye a hand up, me gurrl," he said, taking her arm and boosting her onto the seat. He climbed up beside her and flicked the reins across the horse's back.

"Off ye go, old gurrl," he told the animal. "Once around the island, shall we?"

"I was thinkin' o' takin' a trip over to the mainland to see Paulie this weekend," said John as they rolled out of town and started along the coast road. "He sent me a telegraph message this mornin' and he says Linda and the kids are goin' in to Glasgow to do some clothes shoppin' on Saturday. I'll stick around if ye think ye'll be needin' me, though."

"You go ahead if you can get a lift out," replied Mavis. "I was thinking of going to the mainland myself on Saturday, but I can leave the pub in Mary Larson's hands. She's been asking if I could give her a few extra hours before Christmas. She needs the money and I could use a day off."

"Sounds great; there are a few things I've been wantin' to get as well. I'll make ye up a list tonight."

The leaves were in full color and the air was crisp and clean. They rode along in silence for a while, Mavis' small hand clasped tightly in John's.

"I don't think I've ever been as happy as I am right now," John remarked as they neared the beach on the eastern end of the island. "Yer the best thing that ever happened to me, Mavis. Kinda funny to think that I owe it all to gettin' fuckin' shot."

"I'm just happy that you survived," Mavis told him. She leaned against him and laid her head on his chest. "You're everything to me now. I don't know how I could possibly live without you."

"Ye don't mind that I no longer have me fame and fortune?" he asked, teasing her.

"Of course not! This way, you're all mine; I don't have to share you with the whole world. Besides, we have enough money to get by...even without the things you buy when my funds are running low, we'll get by. What more do we need?"

"Yeah, well, about that," said John slowly, "I think I might be a little more well off than most of the people here on Harmony. I've got a good amount stashed away."

"Well, good. We could probably use a little extra money with the baby coming. It will help to have a little put by."

"I don't know why I never mentioned it before to ye, Mavis, but ye know that brown case I have in the attic? There's nearly a million dollars in there. Yoko must have gone nuts tryin' to figger out what became of it."

The color drained from Mavis' face as what he'd said registered. "A million dollars US cash?" she asked, her voice a mere squeak. "Saints preserve us, John, what if the pub burns down? You'd lose everything--that much money ought to be in a bank!"

"Yeah, well, there is no bank on the island, is there...and I really don't get to anywhere where there is."

"You should take it with you when you go to visit Paul," Mavis said decisively. "He can put it in a bank in Scotland and you can draw on it if you need to through him."

"Ye may be right," John mused. "Although it's been all right so far."

"You shouldn't take any chances, darling," Mavis assured him. "You've been lucky so far, but a million dollars-- my goodness, I didn't know I had such a rich man living under my roof. That's amazing. I knew you had some money, of course-- you always seem to have some when you need it, but I would have been a nervous wreck if I'd known you had such an amount. I probably will be now until I know it's out of my attic."

"I just figgered I'd make sure I had enough to last me while I was here," he explained, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep drag. "I didn't wanna find meself penniless and alone in a strange place."

"But that's enough money to last you several lifetimes here on the island," said Mavis. "It's a fortune-- I'll be glad when you get it tucked safely into the bank. Besides, this wasn't a strange place for long. You seemed to settle right in."

"I've got news for ye, Mavis me gurrl," replied John, "Harmony is the strangest place I've ever been, truth to tell. It's like stepping back in time when you get here from the outside world. I really love it, though. I can't imagine ever livin' anywhere else, now that this has become home to me. But to anyone from the rest of the world, this would seem a very strange place indeed."

"It's starting to get late," Mavis said. "We'd better start back. I have sandwiches to make and things to do."

"Yerokay," John agreed. "C'mon, Buttercup, me gurrl, take us home," he called to the horse, flicking the reins and giving a whistle. "Get along, then."

The old horse nodded her head as if to indicate that she understood and turned in the direction John had directed her to go.

"This horse knows the way home," John said with a naughty glint in his eyes. "Wanna climb in the back and take a little nap?"

Mavis turned to answer him, but when she looked at him, John was not looking back at her. The color had drained from his face, and when Mavis followed the direction of his gaze, she saw the young man lying in the tuberoses beside the road.

John pulled on the reins to stop the horse and jumped down from his seat to the road. He knelt beside the kid and put his ear to his chest.

"Is he alive?" asked Mary, kneeling beside him.

"Yeah, but he looks bad," John replied. "Help me get him into the wagon and we'll take him into the village to the doctor's surgery."

They lifted the boy, who, as waterlogged as he was, did not weigh much. He never stirred; it was like moving a piece of wood. Mavis covered the boy with her shawl and they got back into their seats.

"Get a move on, Buttercup, it's an emergency!" called John, slapping the reins sharply across the old animal's back. The horse snorted and took off towards the village at a brisk trot. "Sorry, old gurrl, but a little faster, please," John called, giving the reins another sharp snap. Buttercup broke into a gallop for the first time in five years.

The surgery was closed when they got there, so John and Mavis stopped Dylan and Sycamore on the street and asked them to help carry the boy into the pub and get him settled into John's old room.

"Who d'ye suppose he is?" asked John. "Either of you fellas ever see him before?"

"Nope, he's a stranger," Dylan replied, and Sycamore nodded agreement.

"I know everyone on the island, and I've never laid eyes on him before," said Mavis. "He looks young; not more than sixteen, I'll bet."

"While I've got ye here, Syccie, how about a ride out to me brother's place in Scotland this Saturday mornin'? I'll pay ye for the fuel and a day on the town in Glasgow as usual if yer available."

"Fine with me, I guess. I gotta get back to work, but I'll see ya on Saturday, John."

Mavis went into the kitchen to make a platter of sandwiches for the lunch customers, and John stood outside the front door talking to Dylan for a few minutes.

"Thanks for the use o' the wagon, Dylan. If ye see the doctor, please send him over, willyer?"

"Sure thing, John. Good luck with the kid...let me know as soon as you find out what his story is."

***

The doctor came into the pub an hour later and John took him upstairs to see their mysterious guest.

"He's exhausted and suffering from exposure, but I think he'll be all right," the old man told John. "I have something that I think will bring him around. Where did you say you found him again?" The doctor filled a syringe and John averted his eyes; he hated needles.

"We found him lyin' on the side of the road by East Beach," replied John. "I thought he was dead at first."

"There we go; he should be awake in a few seconds," the doctor said, putting the needle back into his bag. The boy snapped awake and made as if to rise, but he fell back and stared at the two men looking down at him.

"Who are you?" he asked in a thick, breathless voice.

"I'm John Evans, and this here is the doc," replied John. "The bigger question is who are you, and what brings ye to Harmony?"

"I don't know the answer to either of those questions," answered the boy. "I was hoping you would know."

"We found ye beside the road down by the beach," John said. "Ye were pretty well soaked through, like ye were washed ashore by the tide and crawled up to the roadside. Don't ye remember anything?"

"No...nothing. Thanks for bringin' me here, though, wherever here is."

"This is Harmony Island," said the doctor. "We're pretty much off the map; it's a small private island and you're in the public house--Mavis owns the place, and she'll be bringing you some soup as soon as I let her know you're awake. John here runs the pub with Mavis, and I'm sure the two of them will take excellent care of you for now. You just try to relax and get some rest, and I'll be by later this evening to check up on you."

"Okay, doctor. Thanks a lot," the boy replied. "Hopefully I'll be able to remember something by then."

The doctor left the room and went down the stairs, leaving John and the young man alone.

"Is there anythin' ye need besides some rest and a hot meal?" asked John.

"I could use some water," the boy told him. "Whatever happened, it left me pretty thirsty."

John filled the water pitcher at the sink and filled a glass for the boy, who drank it greedily. "There now, take it easy," John cautioned, "No use havin' it come right back up on ye."

Mavis came in with a bowl of soup and seated herself beside the bed. "Well, hello," she said brightly. "Nice to see you're all right. Can you eat somethin?"

"I sure could. and that smells great," answered the stranger. "Did you make it yourself?"

"That I did; now, if you can sit up, I'll help you with this."

The boy lifted his head and shoulders and John placed an additional pillow behind his back to support him as he ate. "It's good," the boy said through a mouthful of soup. "I guess I was hungrier than I thought."

"Don't eat too fast; we don't know how long it's been since your last meal."

"Dunno, but feels like it's been a while," replied the boy. He put the spoon down and closed his eyes. "I guess that's probably enough," he admitted. "I think if I eat any more I might be sick."

"Ah, well, just get yerself some rest, then," John said. He took the tray from the boy and helped him lie back.

"I'll go down and let ye sleep," he said as he left the room. "I'll check on ye in a bit, and before ye know it, the doc'll be back."

***

That night after the front door had been locked, John and Mavis took their customary places by the hearth, he with his guitar and she with her knitting.

"Where do you think he came from?" asked Mavis. "He's so young."

"More than likely he's a runaway," John mused. "Probably got a knock on the head and scrambled his wits a little. He'll come around, I imagine."

"What if he never remembers who he is?"

"Then he'll be whoever he turns out to be," John said decisively. "He has years to become whoever he's meant to be. When ye go to Glasgow this weekend maybe ye'll hear of a missing kid, who knows?"

"His parents must be worried sick about him," Mavis said. "I would be, if my child went missing."

John laid his guitar aside and knelt to bank the fire. "Off to bed, darlin'." he said, taking Mavis by the hand. She put her work aside and stood up, allowing herself to be taken into his arms.

"Are ye tired, Mavis?" he asked.

"A little," she admitted, "But not too much."

"Good, cause I've got plans for ye."

The boy was fast asleep when they peeked into his room. John closed the door most of the way and led Mavis down the hall to their own bedroom.

"Do you think he'll hear us?" asked Mavis nervously.

"Nah, he's down for the count," John assured her. "The doc gave him a shot of summat to help him sleep."

Mavis changed into her nightgown as John watched her appreciatively. "If I get any larger, I won't be able to get into my nightclothes," she said.

"Nonsense, the thing's absolutely voluminous. Two of ye could fit into it. Besides, yer just that beautiful, darlin'. Ye've never looked better."

"You're just saying that because you love me," she told him. "But thank you."

"I'm sayin' it because it's true. Come here, baby, and let me show ye how much I love ye."

She got into the bed with him and he gathered her close, kissing her deeply. Mavis lost herself in his kiss, the rest of the world receding, then finally falling away.

***

Saturday morning was bright and clear, but there was a touch of winter in the crisp sea air. John left early to meet Sycamore and fly to the mainland, but Mavis elected to take the ferry. Soon it would be too cold to do that, and she loved watching the island grow smaller and smaller as she stood on the deck at the rear of the ferry, and even more beautiful was watching her home appear in the distance and grow steadily larger on her trip back in the evening.

On her approach to the mainland, she noticed the many smells wafting out from the port city, mingling with the clean, salt air...fast food restaurants, bus fumes, and a hundred other, less obtrusive scents. The sounds of the city grew as well, gradually drowning out the sound of the waves lapping against the sides of the ferry. By contrast, Harmony was nearly silent.

Finally the ferry made port, and Mavis disembarked and became part of the crowd headed for the marketplace.

***

John could see Paul outside of his house, throwing a ball for his big sheepdog to run after and bring back to him. The plane taxied to a stop at the far end of the south pasture and he climbed out and stood back, waving to the pilot as he turned the machine north and began to head towards the trees, lifting unto the clear, blue sky seemingly at the last moment.

Paul was running down towards the pasture to meet him, easily jumping the stone wall. It was hard to believe that his old friend was now forty years old, to see him make that leap.

"John!" called Paul as he ran up to his friend. "Something pretty bad has happened. You won't like it, but I think you ought to know."

***

When Mavis arrived home on the evening ferry, she was surprised to see John sitting on the dock waiting for her. She knew it was him long before she could make out his face, and something about the way he was sitting there watching the boat approach was disquieting. She drew her cloak about her body tightly, her stomach fluttering.

Once the ferry nosed into the dock, she hurried to disembark and ran to him. He caught her in his arms, and she was alarmed to find that he was trembling.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's happened?"

"I'm so fuckin' angry I can barely stand it," he told her. "It's Yoko; she's done summat terrible, and I can hardly believe that she would-- Mavis, she's thrown me sisters out of the houses I bought for them and sold them. I left her over two hundred million dollars! I don't know what she could have been thinkin'."

"That's awful! How did you find out?"

"Paulie told me. He said he didn't want to tell me in his telegraph message; he thought I should hear it from him in person. I've gotta calm down, Mavis. I'm only glad she's not here, because I don't know what I would do if she were. Let's go home, gurrl. I have to be home with ye right now. I feel as if I'm about to burst."

He was silent as the walked through the village and to the pub. There were still some men at the bar drinking, and he replied curtly to their greetings and disappeared up the stairs.

"Could you close up, please, Mary?" asked Mavis. "John's had some upsetting news concerning his family, and he needs me."

"No problem. See you tomorrow, Mavis, good night."

Up in the bedroom, John was pacing anxiously, muttering to himself. He sat on the bed and lit a cigarette with shaking hands.

"I can't believe she's done this," he said as Mavis sat beside him and took his hand. "What the fuck-- two hundred million dollars wasn't enough for her? She had no right to do this. Mavis, I feel as if I don't even know who she is! I have to do summat about this. I'm gonna tell Paulie to buy some new places for them out of the money I brought him today to put into the bank for me. At least she let them take the furniture...I bought that as well; maybe she didn't know that."

"That's a fine idea. We can send a message to him in the morning and have him do it right away. Calm down, baby. I'm afraid you're going to have a stroke."

"I just might. Hold on to me, Mavis. I just need to hold on to you right now."

Mavis climbed into the bed and he lay down beside her. She held him in her arms and his body trembled against hers. He began to weep softly, all the tension, anger, and pain draining from him as she stroked his hair and soothed him as she would a small child.

At last he stopped trembling, and his breathing told her that he had fallen asleep. Mavis sighed and kissed him gently, her heart full of love for him and anger against the wife who had betrayed his trust.

She felt a little guilty for this last emotion; she knew John loved Yoko, and she was sure she loved him too, but it was hard for her to imagine what had driven the woman John had cherished so to do such a thing to his family. She didn't think she would ever be able to understand why people sometimes did the things they did.

John sighed gently and pressed closer to her; she tightened her arms around him and closed her eyes, falling asleep with her nose in his hair, breathing in his scent. In the morning he would make things right. Taking care of the people he loved and looking out for them was as natural to John as breathing; it was what he did. It was who he was, and Mavis was so happy that a man like that was the father of her child.

***

"That boy Joshua has a terrible crush on ye, Mavis. How long's he been here now, anyroad?"

"Nearly two months now," Mavis replied. "He still doesn't remember anything, though. I'm beginning to think that his memory of his past is gone for good. I’m glad we found him, though. He’s a big help around the place, and he’s doing well in school.”

“Yeah, he’s made a lot of friends amongst the local lads, too. It almost seems like he grew up among them.”

“I wonder if his family is still looking for him,” Mavis said thoughtfully. “Seems as though he doesn’t mind much, though. He never seems to wonder about where he came from.”

“Perhaps he wasn’t treated well at home, or he may be an orphan. I can identify with that. At least if that’s the case, not remembering it will keep him from being angry about it. I know it was hell on me.”

“Well, at least you had your aunt and uncle to raise you, so you were never all alone.”

“Yeah, and I appreciated that, but it still wasn’t the same.”

“At any rate, he’s adapted well. I’ll miss you while you’re gone to the mainland to see Paul tomorrow, but at least I’ll have him here to help out.”

“Right enough. Well, let’s be off to bed then, Mavis. I think he’s asleep by now. You go on up, and I’ll bank the fire and join ye directly.”

***

"I don't wanna hurt the baby, darlin', so let's try somethin' different," John said gently after they'd lain in bed kissing for a while. "Get up on yer hands and knees here and I'll get behind ye. It works real well in late pregnancy."

Mavis' heart was pounding as usual when she was in his arms, and she eagerly complied, pressing herself close against him, loving the feeling of his hardness throbbing hotly against her skin.

John moaned softly and entered her, sliding himself deep inside of her welcoming warmth. She caught her breath as he penetrated her fully, holding very still for a moment. The sensations were a bit different than she was used to, but very nice.

Before long, they were deeply engrossed in their lovemaking. Neither one of them noticed the door opening a crack, or the boy Joshua watching them intently from the dark hallway. Before they were finished, the boy closed the door silently and went back to his room, trembling with excitement, a half formed plan already taking shape in his mind. He would be alone with Mavis the next day, and with John out of the way, he would make sure that she noticed him.

Part Six Coming Soon!



Copyright 2004, Angel Godiva

 

Nowhere Man - Part 6

By Angel Godiva

"Din't wanna wake ye," John said softly as he prepared to leave in the morning. He lay beside Mavis and took her into his arms. "The coffee's ready, the fire is up, and the lad is in the kitchen preparin' to burn the place down or cook the potatoes, whichever happens first. Are ye feelin' all right this mornin',. Mavis? Ye were tossin' and turnin' all night."
"I'm just fine, never you worry," she replied, kissing his cheek. "The baby was just restless. I'm up now, you go on ahead and roll Sycamore out of bed and be off with you. Have a good time with your friend, and tell him I said hello."

"I hate to do that," replied John. "He always says it back and tells me to give ye a kiss from him, but I'm not about to deliver kisses to ye from any other man. He's his own wife to kiss, if he's a mind to."

He kissed Mavis again and was out the door.

Mavis sighed and got out of bed. She removed her nightgown and surveyed her naked body in the mirror.

"Big as a house, I am," she said softly. "Hurry along, little one, before I absolutely burst! I certainly feel as if I could."

She went into the bathroom and started the shower, waited shivering for the water to warm, then stepped into the tub. When she came out, she dressed for the day and went down to see to the eggs.

Joshua was waiting in the kitchen for her. "Mornin', Miss. Are ya feelin' pert? John said ya didn't sleep well last night, so he wanted to let ya sleep in this mornin'," he said, stepping back from the stove to make room for her.

"Yes, I'm just fine, Joshua, only you don't need to keep calling me 'Miss'. I'm not your mistress, I'm only your friend, just as John is. You don't call him 'Sir', do you?"

"No, Miss--I mean, Mavis," replied Joshua, looking at his feet. His cheeks burned bright red.

Mavis was touched by the boy's discomfiture; apparently John had been correct in saying that he had a crush on her. She supposed that he would get over it once he made friends with some of the island's girls.

"Well, come ahead then, Joshua, and help me tend to breakfast. With John away, you're the man, so you go on out and check on the fire and open the door. It's the weekend, so we've a busy morning ahead of us."

***

After the breakfast rush had been cleaned up, Joshua made Mavis a cup of tea and had her sit by the fire. He sat beside her and the two of them discussed Mavis' plans for Christmas, which was by now only a few weeks away.

"I've been wondering what to get John for Christmas," Mavis confided. "What do you think he might like? He talks to you a lot."

"I don't know, but next time we talk, I'll see if I can find something out," Joshua promised. He tossed another log on the fire and looked closely at Mavis. "Are you all right?" he asked. "You look really tired."

"Now that you mention it, I am sort of sleepy," she admitted. "It must be the baby. Maybe I should go lie down for a---"

Mavis' head slumped forward and her breathing deepened. Joshua smiled and took her cup to the kitchen, rinsed it out, and came back into the front room. He touched Mavis' shoulder and bent close to her.

"Are you quite all right, Miss?" he asked. She did not reply; she was deeply asleep.

Joshua wrapped her in a thick quilt and carried her out the back door and down the path to the root cellar.

He laid her on a pallet he'd prepared a few days earlier and secured her legs to two posts he'd pounded into the earthen floor, her wrists to two others. He hated to treat her this way, but he was sure that if he could just keep her away from John for a while, he might be able to win her heart for himself. After all, she would be completely dependent upon him...for food, for water, for conversation--and for love.

Joshua sat beside the sleeping woman for a while, then he locked her inside and went back to the pub to see to the lunch crowd.

***

Mavis awoke a few hours after being left alone. She did not know where she was; there was not a sound, she couldn't lift her hands beyond her face, and there was not a sliver of light to be seen.

The root cellar, built for winter food storage, was built eight feet underground and covered by a hill of turf. The heavy oaken door fit tightly and locked only from the outside. It was located thirty feet from the seldom used back door of the pub, and John never went down there unless she asked him to.

"Joshua?" she said into the darkness in a tentative voice, "Are you there? Joshua?"

She tried to rise and found that her legs were also bound. Panic crept into her mind as she considered the implications of her plight.

"JOSHUA!" she screamed, struggling vainly against her bonds. "JOSHUA, HELP ME!"

A dog passing through the back yard cocked its head and approached the door of the cellar, whining questioningly. Mavis did not hear him and had fallen silent. The animal sniffed at the door again and wandered away.

Mavis was breathing hard, her eyes wide with terror in the darkness. She could hear her pulse pounding in her ears, but there was no other sound. She struggled valiantly against her bonds, but she could make no headway. Desperately, she gnawed at the thick, leather straps until her teeth ached. At length, she began to cry. There was nothing else she could do but wait for John to come home and find her.

The sun was setting by the time Joshua returned. Mavis was dozing, exhausted from crying in the darkness. The door opened, and the dim light poured through the door and at last Mavis could see where it was she was lying.

"John?" she called softly. "John? Is it you? Help me, baby, I can't move."

"John's not here, Miss. He should be home any minute, though. I've brought you some food and water, and I'm going to the airfield to tell him that I don't know where you are."

"Joshua, why? Why are you doing this? Please, just let me go, and I promise I won't tell John. I won't tell anyone."

"Sorry, Miss, can't do that. I don't have a chance with him around. I have to keep you here for a while. You need to learn to rely on me and then you'll see. You'll see how much I love you, how much I need you--and you need me."

"I do see that. You're the one who came to save me. How could I not care for you?" asked Mavis. "But you have to untie me, honey. I have cramps in my arms and legs, and I really need to pee. Come on, sweetheart. Untie me and we'll go to the airfield and tell John that he has to move out so that you can take his place."

"Sorry, Miss, but I can't do that. I've read about this, and all the books say it takes time. You're just trying to fool me. I'm not stupid, Miss. I'm not. I left a pail for you to use as a toilet and the food is right beside you. You just try to relax and I'll be back to check on you later, after John is sleeping. He'll sleep real good tonight, just like you did this afternoon. I have to go now. See you later, Miss."

He climbed up the stone stairs and closed the heavy door. Mavis heard him swing the bar into place to lock it securely, then set the chain and attach the padlock.

She began to cry, and the baby inside of her moved restlessly. "Don't you worry, my little one," Mavis whispered, "Your daddy will come for us. He just has to."

She managed to use the bucket to relieve herself, and she drank the water, but she had no stomach for food. She closed her eyes and curled up on her side, protectively cradling her belly in her arms.

***

Joshua was sanding in the field when Sycamore's plane landed and the two men disembarked.

"Hey, Joshua! Where's me gurrl?" cried John, running towards him. "I thought she'd be here to meet me!"

"I think she's taking a nap," replied Joshua. "I haven't seen her since after we cleaned up after breakfast."

"Poor baby," John said, climbing into the wagon. "She must have been exhausted. Let's get home and I'll wake her. I have some stuff to tell her."

Sycamore climbed into the back of the wagon, John snapped the reins, and they began rolling towards the village.

As soon as they got to the general store, John unhitched the horse and led her into her stall, then he and Joshua went around to the pub. Mary was behind the bar serving supper to the customers seated there.

"Hello, sir," she called to John.

"Hello yerself, Mary--thanks for fillin' in for Mavis while she's nappin'. Now if ye'll excuse me, I'm gonna go and check in on her."

A few moments later, he came bounding down the stairs, his eyes wide with alarm. "She's not up there!" he cried. "Joshua, she's not fuckin' up there! We've gotta find her--where the hell could she have gone?"

Mary came from behind the bar and stood before John, her face white. "Did she leave a note?" she asked, her voice quavering. "That's not like Mavis--I've known her all her life."

John shook his head. He had gone dead white, and he was trembling. "No note, nothing. She didn't even make the bed. Where is she, Joshua? Where the fuckin' hell could she have gone?"

Joshua shrugged. "I don't know," he replied.

"Whattayer mean, ye don't fuckin' know?" roared John. He switched immediately from fear to fury.

Joshua stepped back a few feet and mumbled, "Calm down, man, I told ya I don't know where she went. She was here at breakfast--wasn't she, Mr. Moore?"

The gentleman in question nodded affirmation. "That she was," he said. "I spoke to her this mornin'. The lass didn't mention havin' any plans of goin' anywhere."

John grabbed his coat and stormed out the door. "I hafta find her," he called over his shoulder. "It's gonna freeze tonight, and she's gotta be out there somewhere. Her cape is hangin' in the bedroom, and she'd not go far without it."

He banged the door shut behind himself and tore down the street, calling Mavis' name as he went, stopping to knock at the door of every house with a light in the window.

No one had seen Mavis since morning, and many of the men joined him in his search, fanning out across the island on foot or on horseback. Before long, every man in the village was out hunting for the lost girl, but to no avail. It was nearly dawn when John returned, exhausted and beside himself with worry and fear, and dropped into his seat by the fire.

Joshua brought him a cup of coffee, and he drank it absentmindedly. He lit a cigarette and sat trembling, staring into the flames with tears in his eyes. Joshua sat quietly at the other end of the room watching him. At length, John’s eyelids drooped and his cigarette fell from his fingers to the hearth. He began to snore softly.

Joshua got up and went out the back door to the root cellar.

***

Mavis tried again to sit up when the heavy door swung slowly open. "Joshua? What time is it?" she asked. "Have you come to let me out?"

"It's morning, and no. I closed the pub due to a family emergency and John's asleep. I thought I'd come spend a little time with my best girl."

"Joshua, I think I need to see the doctor," Mavis said in a small voice. "My water broke about an hour ago and the baby is coming."

The boy knelt beside her and put his hand on her belly. Mavis let out a cry of agony and her abdomen tightened as another pain gripped her. "I'll help you," said Joshua, his voice shaking. "I think we can do this alone."

No, we can't. I've never had a baby before, and I'm scared," whispered Mavis. "I need the doctor. Please, Joshua, let me go. I'm afraid for my baby. Please, Josh. Untie me and take me to the surgery." Mavis cried out again, doubling over in pain.

Joshua stood up and backed up the stairs. "I've gotta think about this," he said, his voice trembling. "I gotta think about what to do."

He was just about to back out if the door when something hit him in the back of the head from behind. Joshua slumped over and fell down the steps into the cellar and hit the floor with a sickening thud.

In the doorway stood John, weaving slightly on his feet. Mavis was sobbing with relief. He came unsteadily down the stairs and knelt beside her, fumbling with the knots in the leather cords that bound her hands and feet. Freed at last, she threw her arms around John's neck, her face pressed against his chest. He soothed her, caressing her hair with one hand, chafing her wrists with the other.

"Whist, now, gurrl. It's all right, I'm here now," he murmured. "Let's get ye out of here."

Another pain struck Mavis, and she cried out and doubled over.

"What is it, darlin', have I hurt ye?" asked John in alarm.

"It's the baby...it started hours ago. I think it's coming now!" groaned Mavis.

"Jesus," moaned John. He lifted her skirt and looked at her, tentatively touching her.

"I don't think there's time to get the doctor," Mavis whispered. "I think I need to push."

"D'ye think ye can hold off till I go get the doc?"

"No, baby, I can't--it's happening too fast. You'll have to help me."

John threw Mavis' skirt back and watched as the child's head emerged. "I can see his head! He's almost here! Yer doin' a great job, Mavis, push some more!"

"You don't have to tell me," she groaned, pushing as hard as she could. One shoulder came out, and John took hold of the baby and pulled gently as Mavis pushed as hard as she could with a loud scream. The other shoulder came and the rest of the little body came sliding out into John's waiting hands.

"God's wristwatch, Mavis, he's fuckin' beautiful. Just look at him! A beautiful little lad, all our own!" He handed the baby to Mavis and kissed her softly, then kissed their son's downy head. "Ye should be all right for a few minutes now," he said softly. “I’m gonna go get doc Fenity now and have him make sure yer all right. I’ve got nothin’ to cut the cord, and our boy is gonna need a wash and a checkover.”

He grabbed the unresponsive Joshua by the arm and hauled him into the corner, binding him securely with the leather straps he’d used on Mavis.

“That’ll hold him. Be right back, love,” he said as he left the cellar and closed the door against the chill.

***

"C'mon, Doc, she's right down here," John said urgently. His voice was still slightly thick and he was a bit unsteady on his feet, but he made it back to Mavis' side, dragging the old doctor behind him.

"That thankless little bastard drugged me just like he probably did to Mavis, but I have a lot higher tolerance than she does. I took stuff like that for years before I came here," said John as the doctor examined Mavis and took care of the new baby. "Me poor gurrl nearly had to have our baby down here in the dark all by herself without so much as a candle's light," John added. "Still, she did a bangin' job, didn't she just?"

"She certainly did," the old man agreed. "She did a perfect job. Go get me the stretcher from behind the door in my office, and we'll get her into the house and put to bed."

John hurried off to get the stretcher, and the old doctor turned his attention to the boy bound in the corner.

"Is he all right?" asked Mavis, looking up from her child for a moment.

"I'm afraid he's dead, poor boy," replied the old man. "His neck's been broken."

John returned with the stretcher, and together he and Doctor Fenity loaded Mavis and the baby onto it and carried her into the pub and up the stairs to their bedroom. Once they were settled in and the baby was nursing, John turned to the doctor.

“I s’pose ye’d better see to that boy,” he said, “But don’t bring him back here. I’ll not have him in me house. Again after what he’s done to Mavis.”

“He’ll not be hurting anyone again,” the doctor replied as he packed up his things. “The boy’s dead, John. He broke his neck in the fall.”

“Jesus,” breathed John. “Does that make me a fuckin’ murderer now? I knocked him over the head and made him fall down the fuckin’ stairs, but I thought he was just sparkied.”

“Not a bit of it, lad,” said the old doctor. “You did what any man would have done, and you had no intention of killing him—did you?”

“Well, I’m not sorry he’s dead, but no, I didn’t;t mean to kill him. I only meant to keep him from hurtin’ Mavis.”

“There you go, then. It was an accident. I’ll make out his certificate to say so and he’ll be buried on the far west end of the island in the village cemetery. Never you worry, son. Just take care of your wife and baby, you hear? Things will be just fine.”

“That I will, sir,” John replied. “Thank ye, doctor. I’ll come by later on and settle up with ye.”

***

Once the doctor had gone, John climbed into bed with Mavis and watched as she nursed their child.

"Did ye hear what the doctor said?" he asked, touching the baby's little hand. The tiny fingers gripped his tightly.

"Yes. He told me when he sent you back to his office. Don't blame yourself, John. It wasn't your fault. You were only trying to keep him from harming the baby and me. I know you. You never meant to kill him."

John, though, was never a man to let himself off so easily. He knew that he would carry the guilt for that boy's death in his heart for the rest of his life. He, at least, would never be able to absolve himself of it and would be haunted by it just as he was for the many other things he'd done and people he'd hurt throughout his life. He tried to push it back into the darkest place in his mind so that it would only torment him in his loneliest hours, and once that was done, he curled his body around Mavis' and allowed himself to sleep at last.

***

They named the baby Adam, after Mavis' father. In the days after his son's birth, John ran the pub with Mary's capable help, and Mavis and little Adam held court by the fire as everyone in town came to admire the newest little member of their village.

Joshua was buried at the outer edge of the island's cemetery without mention or ceremony, and it was supposed that there would be no reason to consider the matter of his existence again.

As often happens, however, the ghost of the dead was invoked and he did not stay forgotten for long.

"Look here, John," said Dylan one morning just a week before Christmas. "The paper says they're lookin' for a missin' kid from Glasgow; if this isn't that boy Joshua, I don't know me own name. Except the paper says his name is Danny MacTavish, and his dad is a big shot in Scotland Yard."

John felt sick as he snatched the paper from Dylan's hand and scanned the article. The picture was, indeed, of Joshua, smiling and wearing a school uniform.

Master MacTavish's absence was discovered when he did not return home for Christmas break after the Academy closed for the holidays, the article said. The Headmaster told the boy's distraught parents that Danny had left months earlier, citing as his reason a family emergency. A search for the boy is under way, but it is being supposed that he has run away and may be hiding from authorities.

"Well, at least it doesn't sound as though they'll look very hard for him," Dylan said. "More's the pity that his parents will never know he's lyin' in the cemetery here on Harmony...on the other hand, they're spared knowin' what he done that put him there."

"Yeah...well, thanks, Dylan. Can I take this?" asked John. His hands trembled as he tucked the paper under his arm and stood in the wind watching Dylan hurry back to his shack on the dock.

John went back into the pub and sat at the bar, opening the paper and laying it out in front of him. He reread the article, folded the paper, and went to sit in his chair by the fire.

Every instinct made him want to shred the paper and feed it to the flames, but instead he tucked it under the cushion of his chair and sat smoking, staring into the flames.

***

Christmas morning dawned bright and cold; a light snow had fallen the night before and sparkled now on every outdoor surface. There were only a couple of single men who came into the pub for their breakfasts this morning; most of the villagers were at home with their own families. John enlisted the men who did come to help him distribute his gifts of fresh fruit baskets for every family in the village, promising them Christmas dinner with himself and Mavis later that afternoon in exchange for their cooperation.

Fresh fruit was a rare treat during the winter on the island, and everyone was touched by John's thoughtfulness and generosity. Quite a few of the villagers insisted upon his sharing a cup of eggnog or a drink of whisky with them, and by the time he returned home, he was more than a little drunk.

"Home at last, Mavis, me gurrl!" he called as he stomped his boots free of snow just inside the door.

Mavis was sitting in her customary spot by the fire, nursing the baby, and the room was redolent with the scents of the goose roasting in the oven and several pies.

"Smells like Heaven in here, Mavis," John said cheerfully as he dropped into his chair and lit a cigarette. "And you look like an angel."

"You're certainly in a fine mood, sweetheart," she replied, closing her blouse and lifting Adam to her shoulder. "Are you having yourself a happy Christmas?"

"Never had one happier," he told her. "It's freezin' cold out there, though. As soon as I warm up a bit, I'm gonna drag in enough wood to last us the rest of the night. Is there any coffee in the kitchen?"

"There is indeed, and if you'll take your son and look after him for a few minutes, I'll go get some for you and you can have it here by the fire," said Mavis. She handed the baby to John and disappeared into the kitchen to check on dinner and get his coffee.

John and Adam regarded one another solemnly. The baby looked exactly like Julian had at this age, except for the color of his eyes, which were a soft shade of gray, slightly greenish, just like Mavis' were.

"Ye've got yer mother's eyes," John said gently. "Other than that, though, yer me spittin' image--more's the pity for ye. I hope ye've got her lovin' heart as well."

Adam, of course, did not reply, but it seemed for all the world to John as if the child had understood his words. He cradled the baby in the crook of his arm and touched one of his tiny fists; the child grabbed hold of his father's finger and held on tightly.

"Quite a grip ye've got on ye, me lad," John told him in a soft voice. "Make sure ye keep hold o' me for as long as ye can, and I promise I'll do me level best to see that yer always safe, warm, and fed. Have we got a deal?"

The baby placed his other fist into his own mouth as far as it would go and continued to regard his father with the same solemn, slightly unfocused baby stare. John lifted his son to his shoulder and put his cheek against the boy's little head, his heart swelling with love, his head spinning slightly with the heat of the fire and the effects of the whiskey he'd consumed. He closed his eyes and breathed in the intoxicating new baby smell he recalled from when Sean had been new and his throat constricted painfully as he thought of the children he'd likely never see again. He kissed Adam's soft, reddish gold hair and promised himself that he would never be separated from this child. He wouldn't let anything like that happen to him ever again. He just couldn't.

Mavis came back into the room, placed his coffee mug on the table beside him, and took the baby from his arms. "My goodness, John, what on earth is wrong?" she asked, concern creasing her forehead. "You look as if you'd just lost your best friend." She placed the baby in his cradle between their chairs and knelt in front of John, taking his hands in hers and searching his face with worried eyes.

"I was just thinkin' o' Sean and Julian," he told her, making his face smile as well as he could.

"It's nothin' for ye to worry about. And I was thinkin' o' poor Joshua out there under the snow up at the cemetery...he won't be at home with his parents for Christmas, will he."

"No, but that's not really your fault, baby. There was something wrong with him, John. Whoever he really was, something had happened to hurt him inside before he ever fell down those cellar stairs. The boy he'd been was already gone. I could see it in his eyes. Please don't keep blaming yourself for what happened to him."

John looked down into her eyes, and this time his smile was genuine. "I know, and I'm that sorry, love," he said, lifting her into his lap and holding her close. "Let's not let anything spoil our mood today. How long before that goose is cooked--the lads are comin' back at half past four; will it be done by then?"

"Yes, or slightly thereafter," Mavis told him. "Maybe we could put the baby down for a nap and you could get one yourself before they come back."

"As tempting as that sounds, I think I'd rather stay down here and help ye out with yer work," he replied. "There's quite a bit to do yet, I'll bet. Put our little lad into the cradle, and I'll rock him to sleep, then I'll come out into the kitchen and give ye a hand with whatever I can, then I'll drag some more wood in here."

"Well, I guess I could use some help in the kitchen," Mavis admitted. "All right, that sounds good to me." She put the baby down and tucked him in, and John began to rock the cradle gently.

Mavis went to the kitchen and he went on rocking the baby for a few moments, but gradually his movements slowed, his chin dropped to his chest, and he began to snore softly. When Mavis came back to find out if he wanted more coffee, both John and Adam were fast asleep. She smiled at them and reached out to brush John's hair away from his eyes. He didn't move, and she sighed gently.

"Looks like I'm on my own as far as dinner is concerned," she said softly, "But I guess it's better that way. You go on and sleep it off, my love. I'll wake you when I really need your help."

She returned to the kitchen to prepare the vegetables for cooking, and after more than an hour had passed, she went back into the front room to find John lighting a cigarette, blinking sleepily.

"Sorry, love, guess I drifted off for a minute or two," he said apologetically.

"I'll get you some more coffee," said Mavis. "How are you feeling, darling?"

"Better," he told her. "The room's stopped spinning, anyroad. I guess I had a few too many while I was out this mornin'."

"At least you recover quickly," Mavis replied. "You just wait there, and I'll get your coffee, then you can help me straighten up a bit before the men arrive for dinner. I'll start the vegetables cooking, and everything will be done in two shakes. It's a bit messy in here...there's a newspaper or something sticking out from under your chair cushion, for goodness sake!"

She went into the kitchen, and John looked down and pulled the paper out from under himself. He opened it and looked at the photo of the boy they'd known as Joshua one more time before he tore it up and tossed it into the fire. The flames rose and devoured the paper hungrily, brightly, and quickly. He would tell Mavis about what he'd learned soon, but not today. He wasn't going to let anything spoil her Christmas.

Mavis returned with his coffee and placed it on the table beside him. "You're a bit flushed from sitting so close to the fire, love," she said.

He pulled her down into his lap and kissed her deeply, and when he finally broke the kiss, she was as flushed as he. “Happy Christmas, Mavis,” he said softly, his face in her hair, his breath at her ear.

“Happy Christmas, John,” she replied, her voice trembling slightly. “I’ve never been happier in all my life.”

“Neither have I,” he said, “Even though I miss a lot of people, I really am happy here with you—and of course, our sweet boy here. I have to admit, y’know, that when I first came here, I never expected it to work out the way it has, but I’m that grateful that it has.”

***

After dinner was over and most of the men had gone home, John went to take a shower while Mavis and Dylan finished cleaning up. When he came back downstairs, Dylan had gone and Mavis was sitting in her chair by the fire. She was pale and shaken, and in her hand was a copy of the same newspaper that John had burned.

"Dylan had this," she told him, showing him the familiar page with the missing boy smiling out from the middle of it. "John, this is Joshua. His parents are looking for him, and his father is a policeman."

John sank into his chair and looked into Mavis' white, worried face. One look at his calm, steady gaze told her that it was not news to him.

"You knew about this," she said softly. "John, why didn't you tell me?"

"I din't wanna spoil yer day," he replied. "I was gonna tell ye, just not on Christmas."

"What are we going to do?" she asked. She was wringing her pale, slender hands and John caught hold of them and held them in his own.

"I don't know," he answered. "There's a pretty good chance that nobody would ever find out if we don't say anythin'."

"But think of his mother and father! Think of how we would feel if this was Adam, John. To think of never knowing what had become of him, and him lying dead somewhere--"

"Whist, Mavis, calm yerself. If ye think we have to tell someone what happened, well, then, that's what I'll do.Let's not think about it for right now, though. Let's just try to lay the matter aside until tomorrow, can't we?"

"All right, John. I'm sorry; I won't mention it again. We'll talk about it tomorrow. I'm sure you'll be doing the right thing. You always do."

Adam began to fuss, and Mavis lifted him from the cradle and opened her blouse to feed him. John watched her, his heart melting with love and concern for them both.

She's right, he thought, lighting a cigarette and leaning back in his chair. I just wish that just this once, I didn't have to do the right thing. I just wish I could wake up tomorrow and this would all turn out to be a dream.

He sighed and gazed into the fire, consciously letting his body relax. For now, at least, everything was all right. He was here, safe with Mavis and Adam, and it was still Christmas. The problems of the outside world were where they belonged, outside in the swirling snow, across the water on the mainland. They would talk about it tomorrow, and he would do what he had known must be done from the moment he'd seen that newspaper. He only wished that it all could have waited just a little while. It frightened him to think of going to the police with the truth. It frightened him especially to think of the rest of the world discovering that he hadn't died that night in New York after all, and that was almost sure to happen--wasn't it?

Although he thought this was quite likely, John told himself that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be just fine.


Copyright 2004, Angel Godiva

 

Nowhere Man - Part 7

By Angel Godiva

"Jesus, Mavis, I'm so fuckin' nervous I feel sick," John said miserably as he emerged from the bathroom.
She knew it was true; the sound of him vomiting his breakfast had been very clear. Mavis finished dressing the baby and laid him in his bassinet, then turned her attention to John.

"Don't worry, baby," she said softly, adjusting the collar on his coat. "It will be fine. You didn't kill him on purpose; it was an accident, and you were only trying to protect me and Adam. The police will understand that. They just have to!"

"Yeah, well, we'll know soon enough, won't we?" he replied, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands. His face was pale and drawn after his sleepless night, and the flare from the match accentuated the dark circles around his eyes. "They'll be here any time now. I hafta go out and get a bit o' wood for the fire. I'll meet ye downstairs as soon as yer done up here."

John went slowly down the stairs to the main room of the pub, automatically stopping to poke the fire into full life before going out to fetch more wood from the neat pile in the alley. As he selected an armful, he wondered what would happen to him once the detective from Scotland Yard arrived. He had sent a telegram there the day before and had received a reply later in the afternoon informing him that a detective would be sent to speak with him the following day, but no particular time had been specified. He just wished the man would hurry and arrive so that the whole matter could be over at last. To be honest, he hadn't had a decent night's sleep since the night of the accident which had taken the life of young Danny MacTavish.

John knew that the people of Harmony Island would all stand behind him and affirm that what had happened had most assuredly been no more than a terrible accident, but if he had to be completely honest, John had to wonder if perhaps there had been more to it than that. He'd been incensed when he found out that the boy had tied Mavis up and imprisoned her in the root cellar, and it had been a vicious blow he'd given the boy, fueled not only by fear, but also by a mixture of murderous rage and mad jealousy...IF he had to be completely honest. He told himself that he hadn't meant for the young man to die, that it was just a mistake, but when he searched his heart and really looked deeply into his own soul, he was tormented by the idea that he had experienced a kind of primitive exultation when he'd been told that the person who'd threatened the lives of his child and the woman that he loved had died at his hands. He'd felt...somehow elated for just a moment before his sense of remorse had kicked in.

Of course, John knew that he would never tell the police or anyone else outside of Mavis that he'd ever felt anything but grief and dismay concerning what happened. It would remain one of the many things that he'd already filed away in the back of his mind; things that lay still and quiet during the day when there were people about and only came to life to disturb his sleep and taunt him during the small hours of the morning when it seemed to him that there existed no one else in the world save himself.

At times like these, he would sometimes awaken Mavis and she would listen to him as he spoke of all the regrets he had over all his faults and sins, real or imagined. She would assure him that he wasn't a wicked man, as he sometimes imagined, and that he should really let go of all those demons that infested the corners of his mind. He would hold her close, make frantic and purging love to her, then allow sleep to overtake him once again, safe in the arms of someone who believed in his goodness and worthiness, who saw him even now as the man he truly longed to be.

He carried the wood out of the alley and balanced it as he opened the door, went inside, and kicked the door closed behind him a little harder than was really necessary. Mavis was in her chair by the fire and looked up to smile at him as he crossed the room and placed the wood beside the hearth.

"What did that poor old door ever do to you?" she asked.

John smiled in spite of himself and leaned to kiss her before removing his jacket. "I was just wonderin' when the hell that detective was gonna be showin' up," he replied, dropping into his chair beside her with a sigh. "I was just goin' over what happened in me mind," he told her as he fished through his pockets for his lighter. "I was thinkin' that I might not be as fuckin' blameless as everyone thinks I am."

"Nonsense," Mavis told him, getting to her feet. "It was just an accident, John. Everybody knows that except, of course, for you. You're always too hard on yourself, love; you take the blame for everything that happens to anyone that you care about, but I know you, and I know you're not to blame. So do all your friends. You're the only one who thinks that you're even remotely responsible for Josh--I mean Danny's-- death. He brought it on himself. There was something wrong with him. It couldn't be helped, and you really must try to realize that."

She bent to kiss him and told him she'd go to the kitchen and bring him a cup of coffee.

"I'd rather have a whiskey, truth to tell," he replied. “But I know that’d be a mistake, so don’t worry; I won’t. I do wish the fella would hurry up and get here, though. Me insides are all in fuckin’ knots. When’s the next ferry due?”

“In about an hour, and then no more till tonight, so I’m sure he’ll be on that one,” Mavis called over her shoulder.

***

As Mavis had predicted, the detective arrived on the afternoon ferry. Even though he was expecting the man, John had to dash to the downstairs bathroom to vomit when he saw the stranger coming up the street toward the pub. When he emerged from the bathroom, Mavis was talking to the detective, and John squared his shoulders and approached them, making his face look relaxed and calm.

"Hello, sir," he said softly. "I'm the one yer lookin' for."

"You have information regarding young Master MacTavish?" asked the detective. He was a man of perhaps thirty, pale and thin, with a struggling, pencil thin mustache. His eyes were a deep, warm brown, and just now his brows were arched quizzically.

"Yeah--I mean, yes, sir," John replied. "C'mon and sit down at the bar, and I'll tell ye all about it."

"Very good," the man said, following John and seating himself beside him.

"Fancy a drink?" John asked, and Mavis felt that his tone was decidedly hopeful.

"Not while I'm on duty, thank you, but I smell coffee, and I'd love a hot mug of that, if you'd be so kind, madame," the policeman replied, shrugging out of his overcoat. He folded it, laid it across the bar on the other side of him, and turned his attention to John.

"Well, y'see, sir, Mavis an' I were takin' a little ride about the island...this was several months ago, mind-- and we saw someone lyin' alongside the road on the other end, by the beach. He was soakin' wet an' didn't seem to be in such good shape. We tried to wake him, but we couldn't get a rise outta him at all, so we loaded him inta the wagon and brought him home with us."

He paused as Mavis brought the officer's coffee, then lit a cigarette and continued with his story.

"Anyroad," John continued, "Mavis and I got him out o' his wet clothes an' settled in an upstairs room and piled blankets on top o' him until he began to get warm, The doctor wasn't around just then, but he came along in a while and looked him over good."

"What is the doctor's name?"

"Doc Fenity," John replied. "I dunno his first name, that's what everybody calls him. Well, the doc told us that he seemed none the worse for all his experiences, and asked us to call him back when the lad awoke. The trouble was that once he did, he couldn't remember anything about who he was and where he'd come from."

"How did you come to realize his identity?"

"I saw him in the newspaper a week or so ago. It said he'd run off from school and was bein' looked for by his mum and dad. But since he didn't remember who he was, we just sort of called him Joshua."

"I see," said the policeman, writing something down in a little notebook he'd taken from his pocket. "And do you know where Joshua is now?"

John looked down at the bar sadly. "I do," he replied. "He's lyin' in the graveyard at the southern end of the island, dead these past two weeks."

"And how did he die?"

"It was an accident," John said, taking a deep drag on his cigarette and forcing himself to meet the policeman's eyes. He looked directly into them and added, "It was me who killed him, but as I said, it was an accident. Y'see, he kinda took a shine to me Mavis, and one day when I was away he sort of kidnapped her."

"Kidnapped?"

Yeah, well, it's a small island, so he didn't go far... I doubt he really understood the gravity o' what he was doin'. He had her tied up in the root cellar out back, an' she was pregnant--ready to deliver. All the things that happened to her made her go inta labor, and by the time I found her, she was havin' the baby. Young Joshua--that is to say, Danny--was at the top o' the root cellar stairs, and he was sayin' somethin' to Mavis. I came up behind him and hit him in the back of his neck with a piece o' wood, and he went sprawlin' down the stairs. I was a bit cabbaged because he'd drugged me earlier, but I swear it never entered me mind that he was anythin' more than sparkied. I went past him and helped Mavis deliver the baby, then I tied him up and went to fetch the doc. Once he came, Doc Fenity told me that the lad was dead.

Since no one had any clue as to who he actually was, we buried him on the far side o' the island in the cemetery. It was a couple weeks later that I saw him in the paper and realized who he was, but I figgered it was best to let the holidays pass with the lad's folks havin' the hope that they'd see their son again."

"Why didn't you notify the Yard as soon as the boy arrived here, or at least once you found out that he was dead?" asked the policeman, watching John's eyes.

"Well, we thought he was of age; he seemed at least twenty, and other than that, it just didn't occur to us."

"We'll be exhuming the body as soon as we can," the officer said after a short pause. "Thank you for coming forward, Mr.--what was it your last name was, did you say?"

John hesitated. He felt it would be wrong to give a false name to a police officer, but he didn't want the world to know that he was still alive. The detective's mouth twitched at the hesitation, and he allowed himself a smile.

"Never mind. I've been a particular fan of yours for some time, and I know who you are. Perhaps, though, you would be kind enough to tell me why it is that you've allowed the entire world to believe that you've been dead for more than two years now?"

John exhaled slowly; it was actually a relief to have his secret out to someone other than Mavis, Linda, and his three ex-bandmates.

"Don't worry," the officer continued. "If this was all an accident as you say, and I'm inclined to believe that it was, your secret will be safe with me."

"Thank ye, sir," John said with heartfelt sincerity. "I was afraid for me wife and family. After I was shot in New York, I was terrified that the American government had been behind the whole thing. Me phones had been tapped, and I felt as though I was bein' watched. Once I was shot, it seemed sensible to let whoever was responsible believe they'd been successful so that they'd forget the whole thing and leave me family alone."

"I see...and what of your wife and son in America?"

"She's with someone else. She's gone on with her life, and as long as I stay dead, the two of them will be safe. In the meantime, I've been here with Mavis, and we've built a life of our own here together on the island."

"Does anyone else know that you're still alive?"

"Yeah, well, me friends Paul, George, and Ritchie--ye know of them, I'm sure-- and Paul's wife Linda. I was with Paul in Scotland when Mavis was taken."

"I'll be speaking with him," the detective said, rising to his feet and gathering his coat. "In the meantime, I'll be needing a room for a day or two. I need to speak with some of the villagers, and the doctor, of course."

"That's fine," Mavis said, relief in her voice and upon her face. "And it'll be on the house, of course. Stay as long as you need to. I saw what happened, and it was just as John told you. It was all an accident."

"I believe you," the detective assured her. "Still, I need to finish my investigation before I can close the book on this incident. I'm sure you understand."

"Yes, of course. The doctor's office is just down the street a bit on the opposite side. We'll see you later, Officer, for supper."

***

As soon as the detective left, John turned to Mavis. "How d'ye think it went?" he asked, lighting what was perhaps his tenth cigarette in the past two hours.

"Pretty well, I think," replied Mavis, gathering the coffee mugs to take them into the kitchen for washing. "He seems to like you a great deal. I'm sure he believes you."

"Did ye catch his name at all, then, Mavis?" John asked, following her into the kitchen. He sat on the edge of the counter and watched her was out the cups and start a new pot of coffee.

"No...I don't think he ever said what it was. I'll make a point to ask him when he comes back later, though. Why don't you go up and check on the baby, sweetheart? He should be awake any time now. I really feel as though I need to nurse him."

"Will do, me gurrl," he said agreeably. He hopped off the counter and went to check on the baby. He seemed much more himself now that the worst of it was over.

***

"Remarkable community you have here," said Detective Douglas (this was his name; he had shared that information with John and Mavis over supper earlier in the evening). He was sitting in John's chair in front of the fire, while John sat cross-legged on the floor at Mavis' feet, rocking the cradle to lull the baby to sleep. Mavis was knitting a sweater for John, listening to the two men as they spoke.

"I think so too," John replied. "I bought this island to build a retreat back in the late 60s, but at the time, I decided that a warmer climate would be nicer and never built it. Instead, I signed the land over to a bunch of hippies to build a commune here, and as ye can see, they've done a bang up job of it. Mavis here has lived on Harmony for most of her life."

"Does your whole family live here, Miss?" asked the young policeman, turning to Mavis.

"They did," she replied, "But my mother died when I was quite young--she had cancer-- and a few years ago my father was killed in a storm while he was out on a fishing expedition. My da left this place to me, and I've always been happy here, so there was never any reason to leave. Then two years ago, John came, and after a while it became clear that we belong together."

"You make a lovely couple. John, no one I spoke with today seemed to have any idea about who you really are. Do you ever plan to let anyone else in on your secret?"

"Probably not. I really do appreciate yer keepin' it for me, too, Officer Douglas. I want ye to know that."

"Please, call me Robert," replied the gentleman with a warm smile. "I've been a fan since I was a wee lad, and it's been a pleasure meeting you. Both of you. I'm terribly glad to learn that you're still alive, even though I can't tell everyone I've met you."

"Will you be speaking with Paul, Robert?" asked Mavis.

"Yes, but I'll keep his name off the record. You seem happy here, John. You look well."

"I never saw meself livin' in a place like this," John said, "But yer right; it's a remarkable place and I don't believe I've ever been happier. I am sorry about what happened to young Danny, though. He seemed a nice enough lad, but summat must've gone wrong in his head those last couple of days. I knew he had a crush on Mavis, but it never entered me head that he'd ever do anythin' to harm her."

"I think he just couldn't think of any other way to get me all to himself," Mavis offered, laying her work aside and bending to take the baby from his cradle. He was awake and beginning to fuss.

"Let me get him for ye, darlin'," John told her. He lifted the child and laid him in Mavis' arms.

Officer Douglas averted his eyes politely as she opened her blouse and began to feed Adam. She covered her breast with a soft towel. "How long do you think you'll be staying?" she asked.

Officer Douglas turned back to her. "I'll be going back tomorrow to make my report," he replied. "But I'll be back in a few months to oversee the exhumation after the ground has thawed."

A couple of fishermen came in and sat at the bar, and John rose to draw their pints.

"How's it goin', Johnnie?" asked one of the men. "Got everythin' all settled regardin' young Joshua?"

"Yeah, I've explained the whole situation to Officer Douglas there, and I guess they'll be movin' the lad in the Spring so that he can be buried in his family plot."

"Hmmm...well, too bad about the boy, but ya didn't mean to hurt him, John, we all know that. If there's anything I can do for ya--anythin' at all, you'll let me know, won'tcha?"

"Me, too," said the second man.

"Yeah, I will, and thanks, lads. I appreciate it. Can I get you anything else?"

"I wouldn't say no to a sandwich," replied the first man.

"Comin' up. Ye'll both have one on the house--am I right, Jerry?"

"Sure, I'll have one too, thanks," said the second man.

After the customers had gone, John brought in a last load of wood and locked the front door. Mavis had excused herself and had taken the baby upstairs to go to bed, so John sat in her chair beside the young policeman.

"You've made a lot of good friends here, haven't you, John," said Robert, stretching his feet towards the fire.

"Yeah, they're great," John replied. "No one here worries about much of anything, money's not really important, and it's more like bein' part of a big, extended family than a village of unrelated folks. Everybody knows everybody else, and everyone pitches in."

"Lovely. A great change compared to New York City in America, I daresay."

"Oh, yeah--worlds apart-- I used to miss it sometimes, but not anymore. This is more the way a man was meant to live, I think."

“You’re a lucky man, John, but I’m sure you’re well aware of that.”

“Definitely. Well, if ye’ll excuse me, Officer—I mean, Robert—I think I’ll be bankin’ the fire and headin’ off to bed. Yer room’s the first on the left at the top o’ the stairs, whenever yer ready to turn in. Breakfast is at seven, and mornin’ comes early here.”

“Very good. Thank you, John, and goodnight. I believe I’ll sit up just a bit longer. I’ll see you in the morning.”

***

The next morning, Officer Bob, as John had renamed him (a sure sign that the young policeman was now considered a friend) ate breakfast with John and Mavis, spoke to the fishermen who came by for the morning meal, and finished his tour of the island. John took him to the cemetery and together they stood over the grave marked simply, JOSHUA.

“Ach, the poor lad,” said Robert sadly. “I don’t look forward to having to tell his parents what’s become of him.”

“Yeah...he just sort of went off his head there toward the end,” John replied. “Maybe it had to do with whatever made him lose his memory in the first place.”

“Could be. Well, at any rate, I’m convinced that it was all just an accident.” The young officer looked up at the steel gray sky; snow seemed imminent.

“Guess I’d best be I’ ye to the dock,” John said at last. “The afternoon ferry’s due in an hour or so.”

“Right,” Robert answered, turning to go back to the wagon. “I’m already packed. It’s been a pleasure spending the last couple days with you. I’m a bit sorry to go.”

“Yeah,” John said with a smile as they climbed into their seats. “This place has that effect on ye.”

***

John saw the young officer off on the ferry, and he and Mavis resumed their quiet lives...for a few days.

They had just opened for lunch that Friday when the grocer came running up with a telegraph message for John. The smile died on his lips when he scanned the paper. Mavis watched him thank the grocer, then cross the room and drop into his chair, a stricken look upon his handsome face. She hurried to him.

"John," she said softly, "What is it?"

John handed her the message, his face white, his fingers shaking.

"It's from Paul," he replied , his voice quiet and tight with pain. "Something's happened to Yoko. She's been taken to hospital--she's been shot."

Copyright 2004, Angel Godiva

 

Nowhere Man - Part 8

By Angel Godiva

John's face had been drained of all color, and his hands shook uncontrollably. The message slipped from between his numb fingers and he all but collapsed against Mavis, who helped him to his chair.

"I don't know how I'm gonna manage it," he said at last, "But I have to go to America."

"Of course you do," Mavis agreed in a soft voice. "Let's send a wire back to Paul. Maybe he can help you get there without being noticed."

***

"There ya go, Johnnie-San," said Paul as he stepped back to admire his work. "No one would ever take ya for anything less than a proper old Japanese gentleman. Have a look at yourself."

He handed John a mirror, and his old friend stared at his reflection with wonder.

"That's me, then, is it?" he asked, and the old gentleman in the mirror said the very same thing.

"Yeah--pretty good, huh. I always knew I'd be glad I learned all this master of disguise stuff someday. And to think you used to laugh at me for this!"

"Yeah, well, I was wrong," John told him, setting the mirror aside. "Yer a wonder, Paulie. Now, get me to yer plane and outta here. I don't know how long I've got."

"Okay. Now, here are your papers. Remember, walk bent over and most important--you don't speak English."

"Right. Well, sayonara, Paulie. I'll see ye when I get back. Have ye heard anything more about her condition?"

No...they say she's critical but stable for now...good luck, John."

***

John watched the landscape recede; everything upon the ground grew smaller and smaller until they had ascended above the clouds, and still he looked out of the window. The tops of the clouds stretched out below them like a vast, pillowy mattress. It seemed to John as though if he were to step from the plane onto them, he would be able to walk across their soft, fluffy surface. It would probably feel very good against the soles of his feet, he imagined.; soft and cool as the sand on the beach early in the morning...

He began to drift off into sleep, and in his dream he saw Mavis standing upon the beach at Harmony, their baby in her arms, the wind blowing her long hair about her face and gently raising her shawl as she watched him go with large, sorrowful eyes.

"I'll be back," he called to her, and she tried to smile. "I promise--I'll be home as soon as I can!"

The beach receded until she was no more than a speck upon it, and he closed his eyes wearily only to have them snap open again as he woke with a start.

"It's just some turbulence; nothing to worry about," said the pretty nurse sitting beside him.

He hardly recognized Linda himself in her short, dark wig and full makeup.

"Thanks for goin' with me," he told her. "I know I was never all that kind to ye, Linda, but I hope ye'll forgive me for that."

She smiled at him and patted his hand. "Of course I do...but it's Peggy, remember?"

"Yeah. Peggy. How much longer until we get there?"

"We'll be landing in New York at around eight o'clock in the morning, so we've a while yet. Try to get some more sleep. You've had a shock."

She looked with amusement into his lap and added with a grin, "Fortunately, I've brought along a wheelchair to sit you in when we get there...with a blanket over your lap. All of a

sudden you're not so believable as a frail old man."

John looked down at himself and couldn't suppress a grin. “Yeah, well, I was havin’ a dream earlier,” he said. “It was a pretty good one.”

Linda chuckled and opened her book again, and John smiled for the first time since he’d received the telegram, looking out of the window into the darkness outside. He was sure he would never sleep again during this flight, but within moments his eyelids drooped and fell once more.

***

"Here we go," Linda said quietly as she bent over to arrange the woolen blanket around her elderly charge, " They said she can have visitors, but only one at a time. You can go in as soon as the nanny comes out with Sean."

"He's in there now?"

"Yes, but remember, you don't know him. You're his great-granddad who has never met him before."

As if on cue, the door opened and a middle-aged Asian woman came into the corridor leading a solemn little boy. The child peered curiously at the old man in the wheelchair being attended by the pretty, dark haired nurse.

"Who are you?" the child demanded to know, and it was all John could do not to reach out and take the boy into his arms.

"You must be Sean," said the nurse in a warm, friendly voice. "This is your great-granddad. Your mother is his granddaughter, and he's come to see her."
"I've never heard of you," said Sean suspiciously. "Why don't I know you?"

"I'm afraid he doesn't speak English," explained the old man's nurse.

Sean darted forward and said something to the old man in Japanese which made his eyes widen with surprise. Recovering quickly, the old man gave the little boy a wink and a shaky smile.

"Goodbye, Great-Granddad!" the child sang, skipping away.

The Asian woman scurried after him, giving the nurse and her charge a polite nod. "Please wait, Master Sean!" she called as she went.

"What did he say? Did you understand him?" asked Linda.

"He said, 'I love you, old Father'," John replied in a whisper. He took a deep breath and let it out in a deep sigh.

"Let's go in," he said.

Yoko looked very small in the white bed, her hair cut short, her eyes closed, and her breathing shallow. Wires and tubes crossed back and forth between her body and the blinking, beeping machinery surrounding her and a pair of IV bottles on a stand at her head.

John felt his heart skip a beat, and his throat constricted painfully as he looked at her.

He got up out of the wheelchair, heedlessly allowing the blanket to fall to the floor. He stepped close to the tiny figure in the bed and bent close to her.

"Yoko," he whispered. "Can ye hear me? I'm here."

There was no response, so John took her small hand between his. His vision blurred as his eyes filled with hot, stinging tears.

"Wake up, Mother, please," he said softly. "If ye can hear me, please let me know."

It seemed that her fingers had moved slightly in his hands, and he leaned closer still. There was no other indication that she was aware of his presence. He laid his head against her body and his shoulders shook as he wept.

"I'm going to step outside," Linda told him gently. "I'll be right in the corridor by the door if you need me."

"Thanks," John whispered, his voice catching. "It feels as if she's gone, but I do wanna talk to her."

Linda left the room, and John sat up, his eyes upon Yoko's thin, pale face.

"I'm sorry I left ye, darlin'," he said softly. "I really didn't feel as though I had a choice. I thought it was the only way to protect you and Sean, but look what's happened. I feel like this is all my fuckin' fault. I should've been here with ye, but I've been hidin' out on a fuckin' island livin' me own life. Please forgive me for not bein' here for ye, Mother. I'll promise ye this, though...I won't let anything happen to Sean. I'll protect him with me own life." John sat looking into the face of his wife for what seemed like a very long time, but her eyes never opened, nor did she give any indication that she was aware of his presence at all. The heart monitor beside her beeped and her ventilator continued to breathe for her. John closed his eyes and though of how she had looked on the day he'd married her. She'd been wearing a big hat, and between that and her masses of jet black hair, her face had looked very small, but her dark, almond shaped eyes had shone with love for him, and she had scarcely stopped smiling the whole day.

He thought of the first time they had made love, in the house he'd shared with Cynthia. He'd been so nervous when she had arrived, wondering what he would say or do, not at all confident or self-assured. He'd ended up sharing some experimental tapes he'd been working on with her, and then they had recorded some stuff together. After they were through, he'd set up a camera to take the pictures of the two of them naked--the ones that had been featured on their Two Virgins album--and finally, after watching the sun rise, they had gone to bed together for the very first time.

He remembered how small she had felt in his arms, and how frail she had seemed, but the steely stubbornness and sheer strength of will of the tiny woman had made her seem much more like a hawk than the sparrow she appeared once her back was against the wall.

One time, he recalled, shortly after they had married, a group of girls had approached them, carrying a mass of roses. Well, he'd thought, how about that. Someone is gonna do something nice to her for a change. It's about bloody time.

At the last second, however, the roses were thrust at Yoko stems first, and they were filled with thorns! Yoko bit her lip and did not cry out, but her small hands were bleeding in several places.

The girls ran away laughing, and John had never been more fiercely proud of his wife than he was at that moment...nor had he ever been so deeply hurt by his fans.

The behavior of many of his so-called fans puzzled and angered him even as it mystified him. Here was someone he'd found in the world who he believed he could be happy with--someone who seemed to him a soul mate. Why weren't the people who claimed to care for him happy that his loneliness had been eased at last? There had been some resentment when it had been discovered that he'd married Cynthia back in his Beatle days, but it was nothing like the simmering, barely restrained atmosphere of fury and disgust that seemed, like a living entity, determined to end his relationship with Yoko and destroy their solidarity. Of course, with John being John, rather than to drive a wedge between the two, the fire only served to forge, purify, and clarify what had become an unbreakable bond between himself and his new love. It seemed to them that it was now the two of them against the rest of the world. The pair of them had clung together out of pure desperation at times.

They had been separated for a while, and John had even found new love, but in the end he'd returned to his wife, deciding to try to make it work despite all the odds... then Sean had come, and their relationship was strengthened by becoming a triple cord that bound them together.

It had taken a bullet from an assassin's gun to break that bond; that and John's determination to protect his family. He'd thought his loved ones would be safe with him out of their lives, but now even that fragile peace had been dashed, and his wife, the mother of his youngest son, lay dying in front of him.

"You are dying," he said softly, his voice filled with wonder. He suddenly knew it as sure as he was sitting there beside her. "I can feel you going. Don't be afraid, love, it's not so bad...I almost went meself, and it wasn't what I expected. It was peaceful and kinda warm. Don't be scared, darlin', I'm here, and I'll protect Sean, I promise."

Yoko's eyelids fluttered, and for an instant, he knew she saw him, but her gaze traveled through and beyond him, her eyes fixed upon something or someone only she could see.

Her mouth curved slightly into the shy smile he'd always loved, and her eyes closed for the last time. She exhaled slowly, and her heart monitor began to emit a flat, monotone squeal.

John closed his eyes and leaned to kiss her cheek, then he watched as some doctors and nurses came running into the room. One of the nurses wheeled him out into the hallway and told Linda that they would do everything they could, but John knew that Yoko's spirit was now beyond their reach.

The hospital room door closed and John looked up at Linda, his face wet with tears.

"We have to find Sean," he told her. "She's gone, and I'm all he has now."

As if on cue, the child came running around the corner, hurtling towards the door behind which the doctors were struggling to save his mother's life.

John plucked him out of mid-leap and whispered something to him, and the boy looked up into his face.

"I'll come with you," he said in a soft, sad voice. "Mummy says you'll take care of me."

Linda quickly wheeled both of them away as they heard the doctor call the time of death.

No one seemed to notice or tried to stop the nurse pushing the old gentleman out of the hospital with the solemn little boy seated in his lap.

As soon as they reached their rented van, Linda's elderly charge leapt from his chair and tossed it easily into the back of the vehicle, grabbed the boy up and swung him into the rear seat, then hopped in himself.

"Step on it, Nurse Linda! Let's get outta here before the nanny finds out he's gone," the old gentleman man said in a remarkably young voice with a Liverpudlian accent.

Sean looked at his 'grandfather' in astonishment. "Daddy," he said wonderingly. "It is you!"

John's eyes twinkled, and he smiled above the wispy beard which had been glued onto his face. "It's me, right enough," he said to his son, "And I've come to take ye home with me."

***

The van reached the small, private airfield without incident, and the trio boarded the little plane quickly. Barely an hour had passed since they'd left the hospital before they were airborne and headed back to Scotland.

Sean was thrilled to be with his father once again, but he was slightly subdued, sobered by the knowledge that his mother was gone and would never return.

"But, Daddy, you came back," the child argued, "Why can't she?"

"Mummy is with God now," John explained. "She can't come back, but she'll be happy forever, and she'll be lookin' out for us from Heaven, ye can be sure o' that. No one will ever be able to hurt her again, and between the two of us, her up there and me down here, we'll take the very best care o' ye."
"Where are we going?" asked Sean, looking out of the window at the clouds below.

" First we're goin' to yer Uncle Paul's house, then we're goin' to yer Daddy's home," John explained. "It's an island called Harmony, and ye've got a little brother waitin' there to meet ye."

"Who is his mama?"

"A very nice, very pretty lady named Mavis," John replied. "She owns a kind of restaurant, and she's been takin' care o' me since I was shot back when ye were little. She's gonna just love ye, exactly as she would if ye were her own little lad."

"If you say she's nice, then I'll let her take care of me," said Sean, stifling a yawn. "But I'm still really gonna miss my own mommy."

A tear slipped down his little cheek, and John kissed it away, lifted his son onto his lap and held him close. "I know ye will," he whispered into the boy's silky hair. "So will I, but after a while it won't hurt as much as it does right now."

Sean slept for the greater portion of the trip to Scotland, exhausted emotionally by all that had happened to throw his young life into complete disarray. His sleep was fitful when dreams of what had happened to his mother encroached upon his subconscious, but a hug and a gentle kiss fro his father, who held him for most of the trip, quieted him whenever he stirred, and he settled back into more peaceful dreams.

***

Mavis was making breakfast for a group of fishermen and farmers when the telegram arrived telling her that John had arrived in Scotland and would be home that afternoon.

An unexpected turn of events, the message went on to say. My son will be coming home with me.

Astonished by the news, Mavis spent the rest of the morning getting a room ready for Sean.

The poor baby, she thought as she waited with the wagon for the plane to land, coming to a strange, new place on the heels of losing his mother. She looked down at her own child sleeping in her arms as the little plane circled the field and began to descend.

She would love him, she knew. He was John's child, blood of his blood, and she could do no less than to care for him as though he were her own little boy.

The little plane rolled across the field and came to a stop about fifty yards from where Mavis was standing, and she held her breath as John disembarked and turned to lift his young son from the plane and set him on the ground before grabbing his suitcase and several bags of clothes given to him by Linda for Sean.

He handed one of the bags to Sean, who struggled valiantly to carry it across the field.

John and Sean had discussed the need to keep their true identities a secret, and it had been decided that Sean would be introduced to the people of Harmony and enrolled in school as Peter Evans, John's son from a previous marriage to a Vietnamese woman who had decided that her son would do well to grow up with his father rather than in her village, where he had been treated as a pariah. It seemed like fun to the child to play at being someone else, and together he and his father had invented an intricate backstory for Peter.

John tossed the luggage into the back of the wagon and took Mavis into his arms at last, relieved to finally be home again.

When he had released her, Mavis handed the baby to John and knelt before Sean. He looked at her with dark, solemn eyes for a moment, then threw himself without hesitation into her outstretched arms and clung to her. Mavis stroked the boy's silky hair and kissed him fiercely on the top of his head, whispering that everything was going to be fine.

John was astonished by the way his son latched onto Mavis, refusing to be pried away for what seemed like a very long time. At last, the child heaved a deep sigh and loosened his hold upon Mavis' neck, and John took him from her and set him upon a pile of hay in the back of the wagon.

John helped Mavis climb into her seat on the wagon and handed Adam back to her, then climbed aboard himself and whistled to the horse. "That's a good girl," he said as the animal started towards town. "Take us home."

'Peter' buried himself in the warm, fragrant mound of hay until only his face was visible and watched as the countryside rolled past. “Is it far to where we live?” he asked.

“No,” Mavis called over her shoulder. “It’s only a little way. We’ll be there before half an hour has passed, then I’ll show you your new room, and you can tell me what you’d like to make it all your own.”

“Don’t you and Daddy have a car?”

“Nobody in town has a car,” she replied, “That is, except for the doctor. Some of the farmers have vans, though, and there are even some tractors and a couple of trucks on the island. I expect it’ll be quite a difference compared to what you’re used to in America.”

“You mean in Vietnam,” the boy told her. “Sean was from America, but Peter is from Vietnam. There’s a jungle there, you know, and everyone was very mean to Peter, so his mama decided to let him go live with his Daddy on this island.”

“Oh, I see…well, you’d better explain all of that to me, in case anyone asks,” Mavis replied.

“Oh, you’ll catch on, it’s easy, like being part of a story—but we are all part of a story anyway, so it won’t be hard at all. You’ll see,” the child assured her.

***

Sean Lennon's disappearance went unnoticed by the people of Harmony, although John and Mavis held their breath whenever it was mentioned on the radio or in one of the few newspapers that found their way to the island.

No one questioned the boy concerning his story, accepting him at his word, and the little family was left in peace until one morning nearly a year later when a damning photo which had been left inside a teenager's camera came to light and found itself on the front cover of a well known paper.

John was sitting at the kitchen table when he opened the large envelope from Paul and saw what his friend had sent to him.

It was the front page of this popular, so-called 'scandal sheet'; there was a photo of Linda--her face thankfully partly obscured by her dark wig-- dressed as a nurse and pushing a little old Asian man in a wheelchair out the front door of a hospital in New York City, a solemn little child seated in the old gentleman's lap.

Sean Lennon's Kidnappers Caught On Film, the headline said. Authorities Begin Search To Locate Abducted Child.

Sean Lennon, the article said, only son of the late John Lennon and avant garde artist Yoko Ono Lennon, disappeared last year from Roosevelt Hospital in New York City on the day his mother died there after being shot by an unknown assailant.

There have been no leads concerning the whereabouts of the child--until now.

This photo was taken by fifteen year old Sarah Jacobsen while she waited for her mother to come out of the hospital on the day Sean disappeared. The film was left in the camera until it was rediscovered and developed today, nearly a full year later. The boy in the photo was recognized as Sean Lennon by an alert Photo Mart employee, who notified authorities.

"I didn't know who those people were," Miss Jacobsen replied when she was questioned by police. "I just thought it was kind of funny the way they came bursting out the door and across the parking lot. They looked like they were being chased, but no one came running out after them. Right after I took the picture, my mom came out and we went home. I just sort of forgot about the picture after that, and last week I finished the roll at a friend's birthday party and turned it in at Photo Mart. The next thing I knew, you were at the door asking me about when I took the picture."

The nurse and her elderly charge have yet to be identified, but police are working on the case and information will be released as it becomes available.

If you have any information concerning these people, please contact the New York City Police Department.

John crumpled the paper and threw it immediately into the fire in the kitchen stove.

"If anyone on the island sees this picture, they're going to recognize Sean right away," he said softly. "It won't take a genius to put the rest of it together once that happens."

Mavis was stunned; she didn't say anything for a few moments, then suddenly she looked at John and her face went white.

"Peace Masterson gets that paper," she said at last. "After she reads it, she usually leaves her copy on the table in the doctor's office. God knows how many people may have seen it if it's there now!"
Part 9 Coming Soon!



Copyright 2005, Angel Godiva

 

Nowhere Man - Part 9

By Angel Godiva

The street was disturbingly empty as John and Mavis walked towards Peace Masterson's small cottage. There seemed to be no one around at all-- even though this was normally a fairly busy time of day in Harmony. There was no one to be seen anywhere other than the schoolyard, where the village's two teachers stood talking together as the children played.

"I wonder where everybody is," John said, raising a hand in greeting to the teachers. They gave him a perfunctory wave before going back to their apparently engrossing conversation.

"That's strange," Mavis remarked. "They usually come over to talk a bit when I pass the school during their break time."

"Yer right, they do. Look how they're watchin' us, too, like they're hopin' we don't notice the attention. Somethin' about the whole atmosphere in this town is givin' me a nervous feelin' this mornin'."

While she would ordinarily have laughed away his paranoia, Mavis said nothing, which made John more nervous still.

As they passed the sturdy brick building which served as the council house, they were surprised to see half a dozen wagons squeezed into the empty lot next to it.

"This must be where everyone is," Mavis said. "Did you hear anything about a town meeting this morning?"

"Not a word," John replied. "Maybe we oughta go in and see what it's all about...although somethin' tells me I don't really want to know."

As soon as they entered the building, which was indeed filled with everyone in the village except for the children, it became clear that the meeting did have something to do with them. One of the village elders, Jerry Carmody, was at the front of the room, and as soon as he saw them come in, he stopped speaking. In the moment of silence that followed, every head turned in their direction, and no one spoke a word.

In an effort to break the suddenly palpable tension, John spoke up.

"What's goin' on?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light, although it betrayed him by shaking slightly. "Talkin' about us, were ye?"

Jerry ran a hand nervously through his waist length blond hair and offered a nervous cough before speaking. "As a matter of fact, we were," he said at last. "We were just trying to figure out how to tell you about something we've all just recently learned."

Even though this man had been a regular visitor to the pub and usually joked easily with John, he was now plainly ill at ease, looking for all the world like a bearded child, caught with his hand deep in his mother's cookie jar. His gentle blue eyes searched John's face, and he added softly, "Of course it is you. How could I not have seen it?"

Another of the village elders stood up and approached John and Mavis. By now, both of them felt as though nothing would be nicer than if they had been able to sink into the floor and disappear, but this man's eyes were also kind and when he saw how uncomfortable they both were, he smiled gently at them.

"Don't worry," he said softly. "We're all your friends here, just as we always were, although we do wish you'd trusted us enough to be more honest with us from the beginning. Come on up front and sit down. We were actually just getting ready to send someone to get you."

John seated himself at the front of the room with Mavis beside him, the baby in her arms. John's stomach was decidedly unsettled; he felt just as he had years earlier whenever he went on stage to do a show. He made himself smile, hoping desperately that he would not vomit. The man who had brought them up to the front of the room stood and began speaking to the crowd.

"We are all agreed, then," said Jerry after a moment, "That Brother John did the only thing he could do under the circumstances. If he wanted to bring young Sean here without having to reveal who he really was, he had no choice but to simply take the boy and bring him home to the island. Since he is the child's father and his only surviving parent, taking the boy was justified."

"Yes," called a woman from the back of the room. "But why did he have to pretend to be someone else? Why let everyone in the world believe that he's been dead for the past two and a half years?"

John recognized the speaker. She was Becky O'Dell, and he had shared her bed several times before he had become involved with Mavis. Now she looked at him with an uncharacteristic shyness, her cheeks coloring, finally dropping her gaze to the rough, wooden planked floor in response to his eyes upon her face.

John looked across the audience in front of him. It was very small compared to most in front of which he had stood to perform during his lifetime; there were perhaps a hundred people in the little council house, and every eye was upon him, every face expectant, every voice hushed.

That was the difference. No one was screaming, there was no hysterical weeping-- but it was more than that. As he looked at the people, he really saw them. This was no sea of anonymous, contorted faces. These were people he knew, some to a greater extent than others, but every one of them was familiar to him. There were men he joked with in the pub, women he had flirted with--some he had done considerably more with before becoming involved with Mavis--and those he had merely a nodding acquaintance with, but in at least some small way, he knew them all. There was no need for him to feel pressured to perform. He was among friends and neighbors, people he cared about and who cared in turn about him. As they sat there, quietly waiting for him to speak to them, he felt his apprehension melt away.

"This is a lot different from what I'm used to," he began. "For one thing, nobody's paid to get in here; at least not that I know of. If ye have, please let me know, 'cos if that's the case, I'm owed a percentage o' the take."

There was a ripple of warm laughter, and the people seated in front of him smiled encouragingly. Any residual apprehension John had felt was gone.

"I guess ye all know by now that I haven't been exactly honest with ye, but I've had me reasons, and in a few minutes ye'll all know what those reasons are," he told them. "One of 'em is over in the schoolyard right now, playin' with all of his new friends. Another, his mother, in fact, is dead now, recently shot the same way I was over two years ago; before I came to live here."

John paused to take out a cigarette, and continued speaking after lighting it.

"When I woke up in that hospital in New York, I wasn't as surprised as ye might imagine," he said, taking a deep drag and letting the smoke out slowly. "I'd been noticin' things for years. There were funny noises--little clicks and such--on me private phone line, and I'd been noticin' that wherever I went, there was always some fella wearin' a suit and sunglasses about; not always the same one, but the same type. It didn't take a genius to figure out that I was bein' watched. I had an idea of why. I'd given some money to the Cause in Ireland, and the American government didn't care for that. They also considered me a bad influence on their young people."

A few of the men nodded sympathetically. They agreed that it was high time that Ireland should be returned to its own people, and they knew they would have done the same had they been in John's circumstances. Besides that, many of them had been influenced by John's ideas about peace and wholeheartedly endorsed his belief system.

"For a while," John continued, "I'd been in a sort of retired state. The monitoring seemed to let up a bit, but once I decided to go back to work again it started up even more intensely than before. The noises were on the phone every time I used it, and those fellas in the suits, who'd I only been seein' from time to time for the last few years, were everywhere again, sometimes even in pairs.

It was makin' me fuckin' nervous, believe me. I even told me doctor that if anything ever happened to me unexpectedly and I survived, I wanted him to pretend that I hadn't pulled through, just to get these people off me fuckin' back and to protect me wife and child."

John crushed his cigarette out and closed his eyes briefly, remembering the night he'd been shot.

"It finally happened," he went on, "And I had me face slightly altered and decided to come here. As many of ye know, I used to own this island. I bought it to build a retreat here, but I decided against it and signed it over to a group of folks lookin' for a place to call their own. Some o' ye were there that day, includin' me own sweet Mavis, though she was nobbut a child at the time.

The funny thing is that now I think of this as so much more than what it meant to me at the time. It's not just a place to retreat to any more. It's become me hearts' true home, and many o' ye here are like family to me. I kept up the story I'd come here with to protect ye, not outta distrust but outta concern. If nobody knew who I really was, nobody would feel as though they had to lie for me if it ever came down to it, and despite the way I've deceived ye, the truth is very important to me."

Mavis reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. John smiled at her and faced the audience once again.

"Now that ye all know the truth, I hope ye won't think less o' me," he said, getting to his feet. "If ye think I've done summat wrong and ye feel the need to inform the authorities, please just let me know so that I can have the time to get meself and me family away from here. Thanks for listenin'. We'll leave now and go home so that ye can decide what to do without havin' to feel like yer bein' pressured."

Mavis followed John from the front of the room, and as they made their way down the center aisle and out of the front door of the council house, each and every eye followed their progress. No one said a word, but some of the older women brushed tears from their eyes, and more than a few men felt compelled to clear their throats as the couple passed through the crowd and exited the building.

"I thought that went well," John said as they headed for home. "At least I hope it did. I don't wanna have to take ye away from yer home, me love. Hell, I don't wanna leave here meself; I've never been happier."

"You have to trust the people of Harmony," Mavis replied. "They'll understand that you were only doing what you needed to do. They really do care about you."

"Yeah, all but that guy on the farm nearest the cemetery, that Josiah Masterson," John pointed out. "He doesn't like me at all. He fancied ye before I came here, and ye know he expected ye to marry him as soon as ye came of age. Every time he comes by the pub, he gives me that look--it'd strike me dead if looks could kill. Imagine our sweet Peace havin' a son such as that one."

"Ah, but John, he loves his mother so-- and he knows how much she loves you. He wouldn't hurt her that way, I'm sure. Besides, I think he's getting over it. He's been hanging around with Dawn Fairweather lately, and I think he's practically forgotten about me."

"Then he's even stupider than I thought. Yer worth ten o' Dawn, Mavis," he replied.

They had reached the pub, and John opened the door for Mavis and followed her inside.

"Put the baby down for a bit, whydontcher," he suggested. "Sit down here by the fire, yer cheeks are all red from the cold. Hard to believe Spring is nearly here. I'll get us some coffee while we wait for the verdict. I feel as though I'm on trial and waitin' to hear me sentence."

***

As a matter of fact, as John and Mavis sat drinking their coffee, Josiah Masterson was addressing the villagers in the council house.

"I just don't see why we should go along with his lie," he said sullenly. "My mother trusted him, and she nearly had a stroke when she found out who he really is. Besides, if we don't turn him in, that makes us accessories to kidnapping. Have any of you even thought about that?"

"Josie, hush," Peace interjected. "If it wasn't for John Evans, this village wouldn't even exist. He gave this island to us, and he should be able to live here in peace for as long as he wants to stay."

"You mean John Lennon," Josiah pointed out. "There's not even any such person as John Evans. Besides, he only gave this place away because he didn't want it anyway. It wasn't good enough for him then, but now all of a sudden it's a fine place to hide from the police, isn't it?"

"He reason he gave the island away isn't important," Peace replied to her son. "And he'll always be John Evans to me, no matter who he may have been before he came here. If anyone from the Yard asks me, I'll tell them that he's John Evans, and so will you, if you know what's good for you. Shame on you for acting so! You're with young Dawn now, and I'm only glad that she's at the school with the children and not here to see how you're behaving. Do you think she's so stupid that she won't realize you're acting this way because it pisses you off knowing that Mavis chose John over you? It's about time you let that all go and concentrate on Dawn, or you're going to lose her too. It shames me to hear you talk this way."

Josiah stared at his mother, but her eyes never wavered. At last he sat down, looking at his shoes. "I'm sorry, Mum," he said softly. "You're right. We should let him stay."

Peace sat beside her son and put her arms around him. "That's the son I love," she said gently.

"A show of hands, then," called Jerry Carmody, who had led the meeting. "Who thinks Mr. Evans should stay and receive our support?"

It was a unanimous vote this time. John would be invited to stay on Harmony for as long as he liked.

Jerry dismissed the villagers, and they dispersed slowly, congregating in small groups at the side of the lane before reluctantly returning to their respective homes and businesses.

Jerry did not go home, but headed instead for the pub to tell John and Mavis what had been decided. As he walked he thought about the day that John had shaken his hand after handing him the deed to the island. He'd been a much younger man then, slightly star struck at finding himself standing so close to a music icon. It had been John and his band who had inspired Jerry to take up the guitar, and before that day he had scratched out a meager existence singing about peace in coffee houses frequented by other idealistic, 'hippie' types. There had been so much in his heart that afternoon, so much he wanted to say to the famous musician and his enigmatic, diminutive wife, but his mouth had turned dry and he had found himself practically unable to speak.

Jerry had been the leader of the small commune in which he then lived, and his head was filled with the vision of what Harmony could become. His idealistic dream had been more than realized since then, and it seemed to him that Harmony Island had become the utopia he had envisioned despite his initial, clumsy attempts to bring it to life. He had advertised in several newspapers, petitioning those with similar visions of a peaceful world, exhorting them to join him in his efforts to make this place a reality. In the end, about thirty people had come here with nothing but the most basic necessities, and they had pooled their meager funds to buy the supplies needed to start this small community. They had built the village with their own hands, had tilled the soil and erected the cottages, continuing to invite others and have children until now they numbered well over a hundred souls. There was little need for Jerry's leadership these days, and meetings like this one had become a rare occurrence. For the past several years, the council house had mostly been used for occasions such as weddings and funerals, since Harmony had no church building.

Jerry opened the familiar door and let himself into the pub. John and Mavis were sitting by the fire, their eyes intent upon his face as he entered.

"So, Jerry, what's the verdict?" asked John in a casual voice. He pushed himself to his feet and went to the bar. "Before ye tell me, let me pour us both a drink," he added. "Ye look as though ye could use one, and God knows I could as well."

Jerry slid himself onto one of the well-worn stools and accepted the glass John handed him, tossing the whisky back with a well-practiced hand.

"You're welcome to stay," he replied, and John refilled his glass with hands that trembled slightly.

"I appreciate that," John said softly. "Yer sure everyone's agreed to that, then?"

"Everyone," Jerry assured him. "As far as everyone here is concerned, you're John Evans, and John Lennon is dead, rest his soul. We'll all stand behind you no matter what happens. I think it's unlikely that anyone will look for you here, though. We're pretty much off the map and have been mostly ignored except for that business with young Joshua a few months back."

John had been feeling nothing but relief, but as soon as Jerry said that, his heart nearly stopped. How could he have forgotten? He wavered slightly and sat down hard on the stool beside Jerry.

"What is it, John-- you look as if you'd seen a ghost!" Jerry exclaimed.

John looked back at him miserably. "That policeman who was here askin' after that dead lad," he said in a quiet voice. "Detective Bob Douglas-- he knows who I am. He's sure to come back now. What if he says summat about me bein' alive and living' here?"

"Are you sure he knows?"

"Yeah, he knew almost right away and said as much. He's gonna figure out it was me who took Sean with no trouble at all, and he'll show up here lookin' for him. What the fuckin' hell am I gonna do now?"

"Maybe you won't have to do anything. Maybe he'll keep quiet about it. If he knew back when he came here before, he might not be willing to admit that he saw you here, since he obviously didn't tell anyone on the mainland your secret then," Jerry offered.

"Maybe, but he's a policeman, Jerry. He's a detective. Even if he doesn't say anything to anyone else, he'll come back here. He's gonna feel as though he can't rest until he knows whether or not it was me who took Sean away from that hospital."

***

As luck would have it, Robert Douglas had seen the paper two days earlier and was indeed wondering if the Japanese gentleman in the wheelchair might not have been a younger man in disguise. There was something about the way the old gentleman held the boy as the nurse wheeled them away from the hospital that made him examine the photograph more carefully, something about the way the elderly fellow curved himself protectively around the child, who indeed seemed quite content to let himself be hurried away by two supposed strangers. There was something about the old gentleman's hands, too. They looked young and strong, not frail and thin-skinned as one would imagine they ought to be.

Detective Douglas decided that, as soon as he had a day off, he would pay a visit to John and Mavis on Harmony Island and see whether there had been another little boy added to their family. If he had to be completely honest, he would have had to admit that he hoped he was right. If Sean had been taken by his father, the little boy was in no danger. Still, there were a lot of people looking for him, and he was the sole inheritor of an awful lot of money and property.

Detective Douglas wasn't at all sure that anyone, even his own father, had the right to simply make the child disappear without a trace. He wasn't keen on letting the world know that John was still alive, especially since he'd covered up the information after his investigation concerning the dead boy, but he just didn't feel as though he could just dismiss his suspicions and ignore the matter of the missing child. There were no two ways about it. He would have to go back to the island and see to the matter himself, and he had to go as soon as he possibly could.
Part Ten Coming Soon!



Copyright 2005, Angel Godiva

 

Nowhere Man - Part 10

By Angel Godiva

It was nearly a month before Detective Douglas was able to free himself for a trip to Harmony.

Sean's name had faded from the news media, and it seemed as though the child had vanished. Yoko's relatives in Japan had been questioned and authorities had been satisfied that they knew nothing of the boy's whereabouts. No ransom demands had been made, and while speculations had run wild for a time, not once had anyone suggested that his father could have had anything to do with his disappearance. After all, as far as the world knew, John was long dead.

On the day Detective Douglas arrived on the island, John and Mavis were hosting a wedding reception at the pub for a young local couple. The celebration was in full swing when Robert walked in unnoticed. The first thing he saw was Sean, dancing happily with a group of children his own age. The little boy did not appear to have a care in the world.

Robert scanned the room until his eyes came to rest upon John, who was laughing at something a young man with waist-length hair had said. John's eyes were sparkling when he turned his head and saw the policeman, but as soon as he recognized Robert, the glass slipped from his hand and the carefree smile died upon his lips. His face drained of all color and he grabbed the edge of the bar to steady himself. Excusing himself hurriedly, John went quickly to the men's room. The detective followed him.

"Hullo, John," Robert said as he closed the door behind himself.

John was leaning over the sink, rinsing his face with cold water, looking wan and shaken.

"Hello to ye, Robert, what're ye doin' here?" he replied.

John pushed himself back from the sink and met the detective's eyes levelly. He leaned against the wall beside the open window and waited expectantly for the policeman to speak. For a long moment, Robert said nothing, so John cleared his throat.

"I've sort o' been expectin' ye, truth be told," he added, wiping his hands on his sweater before reaching to shake with the younger man. "I suppose I know why ye've come, but why don't ye tell me just the same, to make sure we're clear."

"I came because I thought I might find your son here, John. I saw him out in the barroom -- he looked happy enough. That was a nice disguise you were wearing when you took him from the hospital, by the way. Very creative, I didn't know you were so talented in the art of makeup. You did forget to age your hands, though--plus I knew you were alive and living here with access to a private plane. That all made it pretty easy to put together. I take no credit for figuring the situation out," the detective said.

He looked at John and smiled. "Do you happen to have an extra cigarette?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure," John replied, producing a pack from his pocket, "Here ye go, Robert."

Both men lit their cigarettes and smoked for a moment in silence.

Finally, John asked, "So what're ye gonna do, Robert? Are ye gonna take the lad from his home, or will ye just go back to the mainland and leave things as they are?"

"Well, I guess I have to say that it all depends upon you, John," the detective answered slowly. "I suppose it's my duty to solve the case, but I can't help thinking that it wouldn't really help anyone if I was to do that." He crushed his cigarette out and tossed it through the open window over John's shoulder.

"Then, of course, there's the rest of your family, and Yoko's, too. They're worried about the lad and want to know what's become of him. That's never going to change, and do you really think it's fair to let them just worry and wonder forever? Plus, there is the little matter of more than two hundred million dollars. If Sean isn't found, I don't know what happens to that. Yoko made him her sole heir."

"Money doesn't matter to me anymore, Robert," John said. "I brought enough with me to easily last the rest o' me life, both for meself and Sean, for Mavis and Adam and any other children we may have. Ye don't need a lot o' money here."

"I'm glad to hear it, and that's all very fine for you, John, but what if Sean decides he wants to leave this island when he grows up? He'll need money to live in the outside world. Are you sure you want to take his inheritance away from him?"

"O' course I don't wanna do that, but what choice do I have? He's best off here with me and Mavis, Robert, ye've gotta be able to see that. I'm his father, and he needs me, now that his mum is gone."

"He needed you before that happened, too, John, but he got along all right without you, didn't he?"

John nodded. He was clearly miserable. "But he's me son," he said softly. "I know yer only tryin' to do right by him, Robert, but so am I. I really believe that he's best off here with Mavis, Adam, and me. He doesn't even really know any of his other relatives. Isn't it better for him to be here with people who love him and less money than he would be with millions of dollars among strangers? Especially since he's now grown to think of the island as his home-- isn't this better for him, Robert, honestly?"

John's eyes, which had been brimming with tears as he spoke, now overflowed and he uttered a hoarse, choked sob. "I missed him so much for these past few years," John went on, struggling for control. He wiped his eyes and drew in a long, shuddering breath. "Now we're together again, and we've been happy here--the whole family. Sean adores his little brother, and Mavis loves him as though he were her own. He has friends here, and more than enough of everything he needs. I take him with me when I go to see Paulie and the lads, and they all love him, too. Except for all the money, there's nothing he doesn't have--and there's nothing he needs. Please, Robert, don't say anything about finding him here. Just let our family be."

"I'm inclined to listen to you, my friend, but I'll need some more time to think about it. I'm taking the ferry back to the mainland tonight, and I'll get back to you as soon as I make my mind up. Meanwhile, how about a pint? I'm a bit parched."

John allowed himself a slight grin and opened the door. "Sure, come on and join the party," he said. "I expect they'll be carryin' on for a few hours yet. And thanks for not sayin' anything yet, till ye have the time to think it over. Just remember this--if it comes down to it, I'll fight for me lad. No one's gonna just waltz in here an' take him from me."

"Fair enough. We'll both do whatever it is we have to do."

***

That evening after Robert had gone and the children had been put to bed, John and Mavis lay awake in the darkness.

"What do you think is going to happen, John?" she asked, laying her head upon his chest. His heart beat steadily beneath her cheek, and he was silent for a time.

"I dunno," he finally replied. "He did promise to call when he'd made his decision, though. He didn't say as much, but I suspect that's to be his way of givin' me a chance to get away before the police come in case he decides he has to tell them where Sean is."

"Baby, if you have to go, you will take me and Adam with you, won't you? You wouldn't leave us behind?" Mavis' voice trembled as she asked

John turned and took her into his arms, holding her close against himself.

"Mavis, love, o' course I would," he promised. "I was separated for so long from Sean and Yoko; I wouldn't want to put you and Adam through that-- or meself either, for that matter. No, darlin', whatever happens, we're gonna stay together. Things'll work out somehow."

Mavis put her arms about his neck and pressed closer still, and despite the worry and the fear in his head, John could not help responding to her. He kissed her deeply, his hands running almost of their own accord over her lush softness.

Mavis caught her breath, astonished by the heat and desperation of his lovemaking. Before she knew it, she was more ready for him than she would have ever dreamed possible under such conditions. She moaned softly and opened herself to him with eager abandon.

John slipped easily into her warm, hungry body and together they fell into the familiar rhythm of the most ancient dance. She clung to him, trembling with pleasure and anticipation, and he drove himself deep again and again, seeking to put everything out of his mind except for the mad joy of their furious, all consuming coupling.

There was suddenly nothing else in all the world but the two of them and the feelings they were experiencing. Everything receded and they were alone in the cosmos, two desperate, ecstatic creatures slamming together again and again, each seeking to please the other, and in the process spiraling upward towards ecstasy together, breathing hard, losing their minds.

At last, he could wait no longer. Mavis felt his body tense and a deep growl resembling her name tumbled from his lips. His face was unbearably beautiful in the slice of moonlight coming through the curtains, and the sight of him sent her over the edge upon which she had been balanced so exquisitely. She cried out and let the wave of pleasure sweep her away and leave her to join him in the delicious feeling of satisfaction now overwhelming both of them.

His weight, now relaxed upon her, was comforting, and he covered her face and neck with kisses. Both of them sighed happily, and Mavis felt a small pang of loss when he softened and slipped from her. With a final kiss, he rolled away and settled beside her. She resumed her place with her head upon his chest and listened to the sound of his heartbeat as it gradually slowed to normal. Finally, his breathing told her that he had fallen asleep, and she looked at the slice of moonlight on the wall.

What would it be like to live somewhere else, she wondered. Mavis could not remember her life in Ireland, she had been so young when her parents had brought her here. Harmony was her home, and the only people she really knew were here.

She was still thinking about this when her eyes drooped and she slipped into sleep.

***

Days passed, and there was no word from the young officer who held their fate in his hands.

John did not mention anything to Mavis, but every night when he slipped into bed he felt more and more certain that everything was going to be all right.

A month passed before Sycamore came into the pub one evening and pulled John aside. "Hey, John, ya know that police detective who was here to see you, the one who investigated that kid Joshua's death? Well, I was over on the mainland this afternoon, and I saw him on the telly."

"What was he sayin'?"

"Not a thing, and he's not likely to ever say any more," Sycamore replied, smiling at his own cleverness. "He's lyin' in the hospital over there at Campbelltown as we speak, his head bashed in proper. He's in a coma, and he's not expected to live."

John stared at the young man, almost unable to believe what he'd ben told.

"Who hurt him?" he finally asked.

"No one in the world. He was goin' into an abandoned building-- in pursuit of a suspect was how they put it-- and the stairs gave way when he was up by the fifth story of the fire escape.

He grabbed the rail and hung on, but it broke away in his hand, and down he went to the back garden. His head hit a big rock and they took him right to the hospital, but he never woke up and they don't think he's gonna. Ever."

Sycamore finished his pint and rose to leave. Tell Mavis my goodnight," he said as he headed for the door. "I need to get some sleep. I've gotta fly to the mainland again tomorrow, and I'm leavin' early."

John was numb. He raised a hand to Sycamore in response and just sat there as the younger man left. He could hear Mavis upstairs putting the children to bed, and he resisted the impulse to fly up the stairs and tell her what he'd just learned.

When she finally came down, Mavis went straight to her chair by the fireplace.

"It's almost too warm for a fire tonight," she said. "Just a slight chill in the air. Pretty soon it will be summer again, and I'm looking forward to it, short as it is."

John wandered across the room and sat beside her, his face solemn as he fished his cigarettes out of his pocket.

"Officer Robert is dyin'," he told her as he selected one and lit it.

Mavis stared at him, stricken. "Dying! Whatever do you mean, John? Who told you that?"

"Sycamore. He was in Campbelltown today and he saw it on the telly. He fell off a fire escape and hit his head on a rock, and he's in the ‘ozzie with a coma he's not expected to wake from."

John took a deep drag on his cigarette. "I can't decide how to feel about it," he said softly. "I'm inclined to feel relieved, but I'm uneasy about that. First off, he was sort of me friend. I liked the guy. Then there's me concern that he might have had somethin' about me down in writin', and what if someone finds that? Do ye think he might have done that, Mavis?"

"I doubt it," she replied. "He told me that he worried sometimes about how dangerous his job was, and he said that he wondered if he shouldn't be more concerned for his soul. I think he was a lapsed Catholic--or he is; I suppose it's wrong to speak of him as if he were dead when he's still alive, even if he never does wake up. Did Sycamore say anything else?"

"No, just that he needed to get to sleep 'cos he's goin' back to the mainland tomorrow mornin'."

"John, I want to go with him. You can manage here without me and take care of the children, and I'll get Sarah to take the breakfast and lunch shifts. I'm going to that hospital to talk to Robert's doctors."

"Are ye sure that's such a good idea, Mavis? They might not tell ye anythin', seein' as how yer not a relation o' his." He tossed his cigarette butt into the fire. "In fact, I doubt they will."

"Who's to know I'm no relation?" Mavis countered with a mischievous grin. "I think he's my uncle on my father's side."

"Oh, it's a naughty wench ye are, Mavis," he told her. "Right then, ye go on and do what ye have to do. I'll hold things together here."

***

Mavis was nervous as she entered the hospital the next day. It was midmorning, and there weren't many people in the lobby.

"I'm here to see my uncle," she said, approaching the desk where a pretty, young nurse sat looking at her questioningly.

"And the patient's name?" asked the nurse.

"Robert Douglas," replied Mavis. "He's in a coma."

"Oh, I'm sorry, but Mr. Douglas passed away early this morning," the nurse said. "Just the same, I'll call his doctor for you, and you can speak to him."

Mavis nodded and sat in the nearest chair. The man who held their future in his hands was dead. She turned the information over in her mind and didn't notice the tall man standing in front of her until he cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, Miss-- I was your uncle's primary physician," said the man.

"Oh, I'm sorry-- I was just thinking about him. This was rather a shock," Mavis told him. "My name is Mavis; did you know my uncle before his accident?"

"Yes, but not well. He didn't really have any health problems in general. I'm so sorry for your loss, Miss--"

"Evans," Mavis supplied without thinking. "Mavis Evans."

"Miss Evans. No one else has been to see about his personal effects. Might I hand them over to you?"

"Oh, well--yes, I suppose so," she responded. "I hadn't really thought of that."

"Just wait here, and I'll collect them for you," said the doctor, and off he went.

Mavis sat quietly, wondering whether she dare carry out the plan now forming in her head. By the time the doctor returned and handed her the large plastic bag marked 'PATIENT'S BELONGINGS', she had decided that she would.

Mavis thanked the doctor and left the hospital. Outside, she sat on a bench and opened the bag. Robert's wallet was on top, along with a set of keys. She opened the wallet and took out the driver's license.

"231 Willow Terrace," she whispered. She put the wallet back into the bag and went to a nearby phone booth to call a cab.

Twenty minutes later, Mavis was standing outside the door of Robert Douglas' modest house, his keys in her hand. She took a deep breath and let herself in.

The house was spotless, the furnishings sparse. There were few ornaments, but there was a full wall of heavily laden bookshelves in the sitting room. Mavis set the bag from the hospital on the couch and went to the desk. She rolled back the front and began to shuffle through the papers inside.

It was dark by the time Mavis left the little house and got into a second taxi, which took her to the docks. She waited there alone for the ferry back to Harmony, which was predictably late.

There was no one else going to her island, but there was a family headed for Goatsglen, a neighboring island, and she smiled as she watched the children play on the deck as their parents talked quietly together.

When she stepped off the ferry at Harmony, John was seated at the edge of the pier waiting for her.

"Where are the children?" she asked.

"With Sarah. She stayed through the supper shift and I put them to bed. She's knittin' by the fire now with an ear out for 'em." He tossed his cigarette into the sea and patted the wood beside him. Mavis sat and nestled her head on his shoulder.

"Did ye find anything out?" he asked.

"He died, John. Early this morning, before I arrived."

"I'm that sorry to hear it. Why were ye gone so long?"

"I went to his house, John, to see if I could find anything he might have written down. His little house was so empty, neat, and sad. There wasn't anything about you, though. After I'd gone through all his papers, I had missed Sycamore, so I took the ferry home, and here I am."

"Yeah, he told me he'd left word at the airport for ye to come back on the boat. He waited for ye for a while. I guess we're in the clear, then, me gurrl. I've been thinkin' o' what I would do if things turned out this way, and I've made me decision."

John got to his feet and pulled her up beside him. Mavis stood looking up into his eyes.

"What decision?" she asked, her heart turning over in her breast. There was something about the way he was looking at her, something in the intensity of his gaze, that frightened and excited her at the same time.

"I'm gonna make an honest woman of ye, Miss Mavis. That is, assumin' ye'll do me the great honor o' becomin' me wife."

Mavis swayed in his arms, and he caught her to himself firmly.

"I wondered if you were ever going to ask," she said, her voice wavering. "I'd begun to lose hope."

"Let's go home, darlin'," he said softly. "We'll work out all the details, set the date, then we'll really celebrate."

She nodded, her heart too full to allow her to speak.

John put a warm arm about her waist, and together they walked home through the sleeping village, home to their children.


Copyright 2005, Angel Godiva








About the Author


Angel Godiva was actually was given that nickname by John Lennon, whom she met in L.A. in 1974 on her 21st birthday. She had yards of hair back then. She lives in Northern Connecticut with her second husband, and has been a Beatles fan since 1964, when she was 11. The high point of her life was meeting and getting to know John (though she never saw him again after he returned to NYC). She also writes poetry, and is currently working with an editor friend on her first novel.

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