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.

Part Three Coming Soon!

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