Cumhacht Eilean

CHAPTER ONE

John Freidman snatched his bare foot away from the fragments of the shattered bottle, “You dirty bastard!” Three shards had embedded themselves in the top of his foot, a foot that he had just recently broken in a recent fight. Of course he had told his wife he had tripped, no need to give her any details of what really happened.

Sucking air in between clenched teeth he pulled the fragments out, crimson beads of blood pulsing onto his flesh. John lent heavily against the work surface as he looked for a safe pathway to the kitchen chair.

Stumbling, he managed to make it to a seat without further injury, a condition that was about to be short lived. Leaning back against the rest he fought back tears of frustration and pain. His day had started off badly and was about to get a whole lot worse. I need to make this work. He thought, I need to fulfill my duty. He muttered words, incoherent and ancient, but before he could finish, he was distracted, fear instinctively taking hold.

At first, he thought the hissing sound was his own laboured breathing but as the fog of pain from his foot began to subside, he realised that something else was making its presence known.

What had initially been a faint odour, grew in intensity, the heady stench cloying at his throat, his head thrumming as the toxic fumes sucked the oxygen from his body, causing his eyes to widen in fear and alarm. Snapping his head around to find its source was the last thing he ever did. He had no time to fathom what his eyes registered before they melted from his burning skull, his body blasted to fragments like the broken bottle. A quick and merciful end to his suffering.

Jen tapped the counter in frustration, the cracked and chipped Formica smelling of detergent and polish. Why hadn’t John bothered to check for milk and eggs? She tried to quell the annoyance rising inside of her, feeling like everything was left up to her. The shop assistant, eyes like a zombie (blood-shot and zoned out) finished scanning the goods, his fashionably torn T-shirt emblazoned with a skull and some rock band Jen had never heard of. “Five pounds, sixty pence please.” The assistant’s face almost cracked into a smile as a faint odour of cannabis joined the heady mix of scents already hanging in the air. Jen shook her head at the ridiculous price she had to pay and rummaged in her purse for the exact amount. She handed it over, tucked the milk and eggbox into her bag and turned to leave.

Deep inside her a gnawing sense of dread began to eat away at her tired and harassed spirit. Something’s wrong, the thought tumbled into her brain as though trying to escape the fear and anxiety devouring her body. A split second before the sound she felt a jolt in her very core as a shiver shot through her soul. John! She heard his cry in her mind, then the rush of air followed, the roar too close to be thunder. Car alarms went off, splitting the air but doing little to pierce the shocked silence following in the aftermath of the explosion.

She watched in mild confusion as paper, ragged cloths and a faint billowing cloud of dust floated by the shop window. Then the screaming started. Dropping her bag, the eggbox fell open, spilling its fragile cargo across the chipped tile floor. The eggs cracked and leaked their viscous contents slowly along the hard surface and into the crevices. Jen staggered forwards on faltering steps, gasping, her heart racing. She stumbled through the doorway, the heart-wrenching pain in her gut telling her before she looked across the estate to the open skyline where her house once stood. No, no, no Jen shook her head, trying to shake the scene from her eyes, terror building in her.

People were running towards the settling dust cloud. In the distance the ringing sound of the emergency services could be heard as they rushed to the scene. Jen found herself running with everyone else, a strange screeching sound around her. Only when her throat and vocal cords began to ache did she realise it was her own voice screaming for John. She arrived at the devastation as the Police and Fire Services began to block off the area.

With manic speed Jen frantically pushed towards the huge crater filled with rubble that now occupied the space where John and her home once stood. A fluorescent jacket in front of her and strong arms holding her back brought Jen to her senses. “Ma’am I need you to stay back!” The voice of the officer tried to sound calm but faltered with fear. “The area’s not safe. GET BACK NOW!” The fear sounded like anger as he almost threw her away.

“IT’S MY FUCKING HOUSE!” She screamed, her hands like claws grasping at the dusty air around her, “IT’S MY FUCKING HOUSE!” Her breathing came in ragged gasps, her vision blurred with tears. The Officer blinked in shock as he registered what she was saying.

“Ma’am…MA’AM!” He gripped her arms again and shook her, “WAS THERE ANYONE IN THE HOUSE?” Jen looked at him dumbfounded, absolute devastation filled her and surrounded her. She blinked away tears, her cracked voice sticking in her throat as she nodded, eyes locked on the man in front of her.

“Y…y…yes.” The words squeezed themselves between her teeth as her heart tried to squeeze itself from her ribcage.

“How many? Who was in there?” The Policeman was now leading her to one side as his colleagues controlled the crowd that gathered. “Ma’am, I need to you to tell me.” He looked over her shoulder at a paramedic and nodded for them to come over. “Ma’am, what’s your name?”

“What?” Jen blinked again, her mind reeling and struggling to comprehend that the pile of rubble and dust was what was left of her home.

“What’s your name sweetheart, you need to tell me.” The Policeman was gently moving her over to an ambulance.

“My…my name?”

“Yes.”

“Jen…I mean Jeannie. Jeannie Friedman.”

“Jeannie, can you tell me if anyone was in the house?” A Fire Office had now appeared beside him, waiting for an answer.

“My husband John. He was showering when I left to get eggs and milk and…” Jen trailed off as her eyes filled with tears, sobs erupting from her soul, “JOHN! JOHN!” The pain was unbearable as the realization hit her. Her eyes desperately searched the empty air above the pile of rubble, hoping somehow, miraculously John would reappear. She collapsed into the arms of the paramedic who half dragged, half guided her into the ambulance. The Policeman and Fire Officer turned back to the crater where John had once lived. A Gas Repair Crew had arrived on scene to make sure there were no more leaks in the area.

Numbness had engulfed her, a sleepwalker going through the motions of living whilst her heart slowly died. Jen had no family, few friends and nowhere to go except a hotel paid for by the Gas Company until her insurance paid out. She had drifted through the days of the enquiry into the incident, a sleepwalker viewing those around her with a detachment and indifference. The sorrow and grief were so acute it threatened to swallow her whole, blotting out the proceedings, dulling them into meaningless words.

The funeral for John had been a farce. There was not enough of him left to merit a coffin, but convention required it. She had sat alone in the family pew, staring at a wooden box containing a few scraps of flesh and bone. The surreal absurdity of it all bare penetrated her stupor. The small service hall at the undertakers was neutral, tasteful and dull. John and Jen had not been religious but again, convention seemed to require some sort of service.

Her side of the hall was empty. Jen had no family still alive and no siblings. John had been her world. The two or three other mourners were John’s work acquaintances, showing face for his Company. They had sent Jen beautiful bouquets of flowers which now adorned her hotel room and were now dying slowly like her.

Three weeks after the funeral, the life assurances policies had paid out and were closed, leaving her bank account with a healthy sum of money to make a new start. The money meant nothing to Jen. The Gas company continued to pay for her accommodation in a four-star hotel. Something that would probably stop soon now that payments have been made.

Sitting alone in the generic room, the standard double bed, side tables, vanity table with mirrors, small TV and wardrobe, Jen felt as empty as the cupboards. She had started to buy some clothes, just to tide her over, but they barley filled one half of the wardrobe and only two drawers of the cabinets.

She felt the hopelessness rise in her once more, her ability to fight it off becoming weaker and weaker. Standing up and wiping the tears from her red and swollen eyes she stared at herself in the mirror, her slight frame tight and tense. Get a grip of yourself Jeannie. She pulled back her shoulders, John’s gone and that’s it. It’s not fair and it hurts like fuck, but you only have two choices. Go on and live your life like John would want or join him.

Her eyes strayed to the bathroom, and she could see herself lying in a bath full of blood, her wrists slashed. The likelihood of that scene was creeping closer as she struggled to come to terms with the horror of it all.

Shaking her head, she threw the images out of her mind. Think about the poor bastard that would find you. Do you want their trauma on your conscience? Grabbing her bag, she decided to get out for some fresh air, maybe pay a visit to her solicitor to see how the compensation payout from the Gas Company was coming along. The handle straps strained with the weight of the bag’s contents. I’m going to have to empty this.

Tipping the contents onto the bed she threw away the used hankies, stacked the business cards, opened her bulging purse, taking out most of the coins. She put her phone and purse back in, her hand brushing against the set of keys, keys for a house that no longer existed.

Her stomach lurched and she fought down the swell of tears building once more. Gripping them in her hand she tried to decide what to do. She knew it was pointless holding onto them but bizarrely she felt this was the only physical connection she still had with John.

Clasping the cold metal keys to her chest she felt the tears well up once more. It seemed like John’s hand was still wrapped around them, holding her. Jen knew that she would need to let them go at some point if she was going to survive this. So, she placed them gently on the bedside table, her fingers lingering for a moment on their metal surface.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her slightly lighter bag and headed out the door, down the corridor and into the foyer of the hotel. The Concierge smiled at her as she passed the desk, a smile tinged with sympathy. It seemed that everyone knew who she was and what had happened. Embarrassed, Jen pulled her hood up as she made her way out into the street, keeping her head down, avoiding eye contact.

In the days following the explosion the press had hounded her, trying to badger her for a statement, or to tell them ‘How she felt’. Finally, they seemed to give up and the gaggle of journalists moved on to another scoop. ‘Today’s front page is tomorrow’s fish and chip wrappers’ her Grannie would say, and she was right.

Making her way onto the High Street Jen kept her eyes down. Her Solicitor’s office was just around the corner and although she hadn’t made an appointment, she knew they would be happy to see her. Afterall, whatever she was paid out they were getting twenty percent of, so she was their number one client.

Jen’s eye was distracted by a glint on the pavement. She smiled to herself as she picked up the one-pound coin, rolling it between her fingers. John would have laughed at me. She thought, always finding money because my eyes are always on the ground, never looking ahead. Jen seemed to recall something she had heard, ‘if you find a coin it’s a gift from a loved one that’s passed’ The saying popped into her head.

Well John, if this is from you, I’m going to do something reckless, something that would have made you shake your head and laugh. Turning to the small Newsagent Shop she grinned to herself, why not. Pulling down her hood and walking up to the counter she placed the coin down, looking at the girl tidying the shelves.

“Can I help you?” The shop assistant smiled her professional smile as her eyes narrowed slightly looking at Jen’s face. She paused for a second, “Do I know you?”

“Maybe, I was in the papers, the house explosion.” Jen was impressed that her voice didn’t catch in her throat, she supposed she was getting used to saying those words. For once the choking grip of grief hadn’t strangled her.

The assistant’s eyes widened and filled with sympathy, “Oh! Yes, I remember, I’m so sorry for your loss.” She had the good grace to look a bit embarrassed. “What can I get you love.”

“I would like a lucky dip lottery ticket please.” Jen shoved the coin over and waited for the machine to randomly select her numbers.

“There you go.” The shop assistant hesitated, “You know these are two pounds now?”

“Oh! No, I didn’t, sorry.” Jen started to rummage in her bag.

“Hey, it’s alright, don’t worry.” The assistant dipped into her tips bowl and stuck the extra coin in the till, “I hope you get lucky; you bloody deserve it.”

“Thank you. Are you sure?”

“Yes of course. See you later then.”

“Yes, thanks again.” Feeling slightly giddy at her recklessness, Jen stepped out and slipped the ticket into one of the many zip pockets in her handbag, continuing her journey to the Solicitors.

CHAPTER TWO

“I wouldn’t worry Mrs Freidman. These things must run their course and travel at their own speed.” Mike Johnson leaned back in his chair and smiled at Jen. “They know they don’t stand a chance; we’ll get them soon. I’m pushing for the court date in three weeks’ time and I’m pretty sure they will be contacting me next week looking for an out of court settlement.”

He looked at her sympathetically. “Why don’t you take a wee holiday somewhere? Book a cottage and relax.” Reaching into his desk drawer he pulled out a leaflet, “Here, my wife and I booked this cottage last year and I can highly recommend it. There’s a hot tub, secluded fenced garden and you’re only a few miles from the local village. There’re some lovely shops, a harbour and sailing tours to the Inner Hebrides.” He handed it to Jen who nodded and sighed.

“Thanks Mike, I think I will. There’s more than enough money in the bank now from the house insurance and I need to decide what to do with my life. I just can’t go back to working in the shop. It’s too close to where… well you understand, I need to relocate somewhere else and start afresh.”

“Of course, Jen. I should think your payout from the Gas Company will be enough to buy a property anywhere you want with a bit left over to see you through.” He stood up indicating their meeting was over. “I’ll be in touch if there are any further developments.” She nodded and made her way out, back onto the street.

Unwilling to return to the hotel Jen decided to pop into a café for a cup of tea and lunch. As she sat gazing out of the window, munching on her cheese toasty and sipping her tea, Jen came to a decision. She could almost hear John daring her. Picking up her mobile she dialed the number on the leaflet Mike had given her.

“Hello Cottages and Chalets Breaks how may I help you?” The professional voice made Jen sit up straight.

“Hi, yes, I’m interested in booking one of your cottages for a few months, would you be able to do that?” There was a long pause as the assistant took in this rather unusual request.

“Well, we’re not a long-term leasing company, we only do holiday breaks as such.”

“Yes, I know that, but this cottage has been highly recommended. I’m flexible and I don’t mind paying the normal weekly rates, I’m not looking for a discount or anything.” Jen was now dead set on getting this cottage.

“Which cottage are you thinking of leasing?” The assistant was getting on board with the concept.

“The one just outside the village of Selidrochid.” Jen felt hope rising, “I’m flexible on dates so no rush.”

“Well… the tourist season is coming to an end. How long did you say you wanted it for?”

“If I could have at least three months that would be great.” Jen was impressed at her impulsiveness; she would never have done anything like this with John.

“Give me your contact details and I will have a chat to the manager and get back to you.” The assistant didn’t want to commit, and Jen could understand why. So, she gave her details and hung up.