“Jesus Effie. You’ll get sheep shit all over your shoes,” admonished Elizabeth.
Effie’s brown eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really. Then you’ll be pissed. Here, wear these instead.”
Elizabeth handed Effie a pair of rubber boots that she kept on hand for guests.
“But they ruin my look,” complained Effie.
“You’re not parading up Fifth Avenue. It’s a peat road for God’s sake. Rocks. Stones. Mud. Sheep shit, and lots of it,” said Elizabeth.
“Oh all right.”
Effie reluctantly traded her shoes for the boots.
“Oh and Effie, I hope those aren’t the only rubbers you’ve got,” said Elizabeth.
Effie patted her pocket and grinned. “Hope I brought enough.”
Jimmy Mack whistled when he saw Effie.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes ma wee beauty,” he said. Effie linked her arm in his. She was at least two inches taller than he was.
“Let’s be off,” said Effie. “Let’s follow the yellow peat road.”
Giving a little skip, Effie set off, arm in arm with Jimmy.
While Effie had lost weight since Elizabeth had last seen her, her exercise consisted mostly of shopping. She was completely unprepared for the distance she and Jimmy had to walk.
“Are you sure you’ve got a house up here?” puffed Effie as she clambered along beside the Scotsman.
“Aye.”
“Are we ever going to reach it?”
“Aye.”
A stiff wind had sprung up over the top of the hills, blowing Effie’s carefully arranged hair all to hell. The sky was grey and listless. A steep vertical climb followed by a slippery downward grade led to an even steeper vertical climb. Effie felt a few drops of rain on her face.
“Christ Jimmy,” muttered Effie out of breath. “You surely can’t have built a house up here.”
“Who said anything about building? Thar she is,” said Jimmy pointing.
Effie saw a tiny caravan, like a doll house, perched on top of a hill.
“That’s it?” asked Effie astounded. “That’s the smallest trailer I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s big enough,” said Jimmy. “Big enough fer two. C’mon lassie.”
Jimmy Mack and Effie might have thought they were alone, but they weren’t. Further down the hill, flattened on grass with lenses trained on the front of the Manse Road church were Tony Sims and his partner Al Gregoris, the paparazzi who’d made the long journey from London in hopes of grabbing a few shots of Declan Thomas’s wedding. It never occurred to them they could have stood outside the gate of the church for their photos. They were so used to being shooed away and despised that sneakiness had become second nature.
“That bird in the ‘otel said two o’clock right?” asked Tony.
“Yeah” said Al. “I ‘ope she was right. We must’ve missed ‘em going in.”
“Not many guests,” said Tony as an extremely elderly couple and a few families made their way into the church.
“Suppose they want to keep it on the quiet,” said Al. “Bleedin lucky we’re the only ones here with cameras.”
“Yeah," said Tony. “Too right.”
“Shouldn’t be long now,” said Tony after twenty minutes. He raised a camera to his eye. “Here they come.”
“Right,” said Al. “These should be worth a few quid.”
The two men peered through their powerful camera lenses, fingers poised to begin shooting.
“Bloody ‘ell,” said Tony in dismay.
Shuffling out from the church, holding hands, an elderly couple exchanged a kiss as cheering guests showered them in confetti.
Al, trained on Budgie and Gertie’s wrinkled faces, sighed in frustration.
“Wrong bloody weddin'. Those two old geezers must ‘ave two hundred years between ‘em. What they doing getting married?”
“Christ knows,” said Tony. “You’d think they’d know better at their age.”
“Might as well snap a few while we’re ‘ere,” said Al. “Maybe we can flog ‘em as the world’s oldest lovebirds. Something like that.”
“Right,” said Tony, admiring his partner’s ingenuity. Within ten seconds he had several shots of the elderly couple kissing.
“Wonder where they go for their ‘unneymoon,” smirked Tony.
“Down the old age pensioners home I should think,” answered Al.
“Think he can still get it up?”
“Don’t suppose so.” Al laughed. . “Still, at that age I suppose all you want is a bit of a cuddle. I’m off back to the ‘otel. See if I can find out about the real wedding. You coming?”
“Nah, I’m off for a bit of a stroll. Stretch me legs out. D’you mind takin my gear back?” asked Tony.
“Alright. Don’t be long,” said Al.
As Tony stood up he gave a cry of dismay.
“Look at me bleedin' elbow.”
Where Tony had steadied his elbow on the ground was a dark, oily patch.
“Fuckin sheep shit.”
Al sighed. “Fuckin country. It’s a wonder we bothered kickin all these Scottish bastards off their land during the eighteen ‘undreds. Should’ve let ‘em keep it. Good fer bloody nuthin.”
With two cameras slung over his back, Al strode off down the hill towards Kinlochbervie. Tony trudged unknowingly in the direction of Jimmy Mack’s caravan.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jimmy Mack produced a key from his pocket and unlocked the door to the tiny dwelling. Wind immediately sent the door flying backwards, smashing into the side of the trailer. Jimmy Mack let down two aluminum stairs and turned to give Effie a hand up. She had to admit the view from here was magnificent. Rolling hills cascaded away to the sea, now reduced to a thin grey line on the horizon. Kinlochbervie was no longer in view.
“This is certainly what I’d call a piece of real estate,” puffed Effie, glad to be out of the wind.
“Aye," agreed Jimmy. “We have everything we need.”
He set about pushing the windows open. Fresh air soon replaced the musty smell of the trailer’s tiny interior. It had the smallest sink and fridge Effie had ever seen, plus a single gas burner.
“Is there a bathroom?” she asked.
Jimmy Mack looked around. “Are ye wantin ta take a bath?”
“No Jimmy, I mean a…what do you call it…a loo.”
Jimmy Mack laughed, gesturing to the window.
“Aye, out there,” he said, passing Effie a tissue from his pocket.
While Effie went outside to pee, Jimmy Mack took the top off a table and somehow converted two opposite facing cushions into a double bed. When Effie returned he sat down on it and patted for Effie to sit beside him. Effie felt momentarily nervous.
“Now Jimmy. I told you it’s been a while since I was with a man.”
“So yer said. Ye canna forget, like riding a bicycle.”
“I’ve never ridden a bicycle.”
Jimmy looked surprised. “Have yer not?’
“Somehow I skipped the happy bike-riding period of childhood along with being a Brownie.”
Jimmy Mack took Effie’s hand and slowly kissed each finger.
“Then I’ll have to teach yer,” he said.
Jimmy Mack turned Effie towards him and gave her a gentle kiss. The rough feel of his stubble excited her. Effie soon overcame any nervousness. She kissed him back adding urgency to the caress. As their tongues met she felt an overpowering urge to take this man inside her. Any last vestige of hesitancy vanished. Effie pulled off his jacket, unbuttoned his denim shirt, and ran her nails gently over his chest. She pushed him backwards on the bed. Jimmy folded his arms behind his head and stared up at her with a bemused expression.
In a hurry to disrobe, Effie undid her tartan shirt and pants, dropping them to the floor before straddling Jimmy. She was wearing only a push-up bra and lace panties. She could feel his hardness beneath her.
“Set me free lassie,” he groaned.
>
Effie could see his penis straining against his fly. She undid his belt and slid his zipper down, completely unprepared for the size of his bobbing penis.
“My God Jimmy” she gasped. “You’re enormous.”
“Aye. God was kind to me when he was giving out tha willies. Ah pity the big fella that got tha one meant for me.”
Jimmy slid one hand into the pocket of his jeans and produced a condom.
“I brought some as well,” said Effie.
“They’ll no go ta waste. Put ma willie in his wellie lassie.”
Effie tore the foil package apart and rolled it down, still marveling at the size and length of Jimmy.
“Now let me see your titties woman.”
Effie undid her satin bra and leaned forward so that Jimmy could suck her breasts. He felt them tenderly then gave each nipple a firm tweak. Jimmy sighed.
“Nipples like the Queen’s footmen standing at attention.”
Effie could feel herself soaking wet. She was getting ready to ride.
“Touch me Jimmy,” she whispered.
Jimmy slid his hand down the top of her panties.
“Oh yes Jimmy. Put your fingers inside me.”
She was expecting him to do as she said but abruptly he stopped, withdrawing his hand as if it had been bitten. A look of alarm crossed his face.
“What’s the matter Jimmy?” she asked.
“Yer bald as a hen’s egg.”
“Oh my God Jimmy,” she said. “Are you kidding me?”
Jimmy was still looking startled.
Effie climbed off him and removed her panties so she was standing completely naked in front of him.
“Sweet Jesus” said Jimmy, staring between her legs, “ya look like a wee girl.”
“I get the hair removed. Pulled off. With hot wax.”
Jimmy shuddered. “Bloody hell woman. That must be fuckin painful.”
Effie laughed. “You get used to it. They do it for men too. It’s called ‘manscaping’.”
“Ah’d kill any fooker that came near ma balls wi hot wax ah can tell yer.”
Effie took a step to pull off Jimmy’s jeans. He certainly was a hairy fellow, his enormous penis now wilting slightly in a silky forest. . She kneeled and took the tip in her mouth, sucking gently at first and then harder until it was restored to its former glory.
Jimmy was moaning now. He suddenly reached down, grabbed her under the arms and hoisted her up so that she was straddling his face.
“This is ma first time with a hairless cunny. Let’s see what it tastes like.” His tongue quickly found the centre of her pleasure zone and licked til it became hard.
“Right woman,” he said. He was about to push her over and switch positions but she stopped him.
“I want to stay on top this time.”
Jimmy grunted in assent and relaxed back, ready to let Effie do all the work. She maneuvered backwards until she felt the beginning of Jimmy’s treetop pushing into her yard. It’s a good job she was so wet. Jimmy was big, but no bigger than the largest dildo Stevie had used on her. She relaxed her muscles, slowly working her way down over his shaft until it filled her. Jimmy began to move, thrusting up and down as she complemented his rhythm. She fell forward, pushing his strong shoulders down onto the foam mattress.
“Yer sweet,” cried Jimmy but Effie was lost in the approaching wave of orgasm. Through the plexiglass windows of the trailer she could see onto the lonely hills surrounding them. They were two people alone in the world.
“Aaaah!" she cried closing her eyes. "Aaaaah.” She felt Jimmy come beneath her in a shuddering gush. As their orgasms slowly begin to ebb away, Effie opened her eyes, imagining the remote scenery. The last thing she expected was to see the peeping eyes of Tony, the paparazzi photographer, staring at her.
Effie let out a piercing scream. At first, Jimmy didn’t respond. He supposed it was part of this foreign woman’s sexual ritual. But when Effie screamed a second time, louder and more urgently, eyes wide with fright, Jimmy pushed her off. Grabbing a tea towel, the condom dangling from his penis, ,he covered himself and flung open the caravan door.
Tony, who’d been touching himself as he watched Effie and Jimmy, didn’t stop to do up his fly. He took off over the grass. In a flash Jimmy Mack was on him.
“Ya bastard,” yelled Jimmy. “What tha fook do ya think you’re doin?”
Tony didn’t have time to explain before an enraged Jimmy, still holding the tea towel to cover himself, head butted Tony on the bridge of his nose.
“There’s a wee Glasgow kiss fer yer, ya bastard.”
Tony dropped to the ground, blood gushing down his chin.
“Take it easy man,” he gasped. “I didn’t know there was anyone in there. I was looking for a place to piss.”
“Aye. Is that what you were doing with yer fly open? Ya perv.”
Tony looked terrified. In disgust, Jimmy tossed Tony the T-towel, along with the condom, the contents of which spilled onto Tony’s jacket.
“Get the fook outta here,” growled Jimmy. “An dinna let me see you round here again or I’ll give yer another nuttin.”
Holding the bloody T-towel over his nose, Tony scuttered sideways while pulling up his fly.
“You’re mental, you know that?” yelled Tony.
“I’ll gi yer mental,” threatened Jimmy, bobbing his head forward as if he was going to deliver another Glasgow kiss. Tony reared back in alarm, then scrambled to his feet and ran. When he was far enough away he shouted towards the trailer. “Fuckin Scottish bastard. We shoulda killed all of you when we ‘ad the chance.”
Effie had watched the whole fracas through the trailer window. A completely nude Jimmy now strutted back towards her. He was certainly a muscular little fellow. His massive penis had shrunk to the size of a normal man’s. It now bobbed comically, his balls swinging as he walked.
The whole scenario struck Effie as being extremely funny. She started to giggle then dissolved into gales of laughter.
When Jimmy entered the trailer, he joined in.
“What are the chances?” gasped Effie, catching her breath. “In the middle of nowhere. A peeping Tom?”
“Aye,” laughed Jimmy. “Ah gi him a good sendoff. He’ll no be back.”
“This has to be the strangest place in the world.”
“It is that,” agreed Jimmy. “There’s more here than meets the eye, or can be explained by the heart.”
Effie noticed Jimmy’s penis beginning to swell. She pulled him towards her.
“I think it’s time for another ride Jimmy. You might get me on a bicycle yet.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
With Effie gone on her romantic jaunt, Declan working on a new song, and Bridie away at a dental appointment in Inverness, Elizabeth decided to take the twins on a trip to the beach in Durness. Unlike the local beach with its daunting sand dunes, Durness could easily be accessed through a low cattle gate.
Elizabeth bundled the twins and her lab Django into the Range Rover and made the drive in thirty minutes. At first, driving in these remote parts had terrified her but now she knew exactly when to pull into a lay-by to let another car or massive fishing truck pass. She waved to several villagers receiving a friendly honk of the horn in return.
Only two cars occupied the beach car park, so Elizabeth and the children had the vast expanse of white sand to themselves. Rock pools enticed the children to splash around while Django raced up and down, barking at seagulls. Elizabeth set a picnic blanket down and gazed serenely over the receding tide. This was surely one of the most beautiful places on earth and she the luckiest woman in it.
In just over three years she’d gone from being a lonely, workaholic executive to a contented mother, soon-to-be wife, and now soon-to-be publisher. Declan was irresistibly handsome, an exciting lover, and devoted father. He was all hers. Life surely couldn’t be any more perfect.
A cloud swiftly obscured the sun, reminding Elizabeth how rapidly the weather could change i
n this remote part of the world, one reason it was a constant topic of conversation in the village. But it wasn’t just weather that was unpredictable. Elizabeth knew all too well the cruel strokes of fate that could transform a life from happiness to misery in seconds. Surely it was tempting fate to sit here in a mood of self-congratulatory bliss.
Her mother had died in an accident when she was four. Jack, her father, had passed away unexpectedly of a brain aneurism. Natasha, a vicious ex-girlfriend of Declan’s, had tried to stab him and had inadvertently plunged her knife into Elizabeth’s neck. Strange that someone had once found the fresh scar beautiful. She’d almost forgotten the incident but now it floated into her consciousness like an old-fashioned photograph developing in a bath of chemicals.
Elizabeth thought back to a day almost four years ago, just shortly after she’d been discharged from hospital and was dealing with the shock of discovering she was pregnant. She’d been sitting in Starbucks trying to figure out her life when a middle-aged man approached and handed her his card. He’d told her he was a photographer doing a series about scars on the body and had noticed the one on her neck. Elizabeth had flushed in embarrassment.
“Please forgive the intrusion,” he’d said. “I understand this a somewhat unorthodox request but should you agree, call my assistant and she’ll set up an appointment. It will just be your neck,” he added. “You won’t be recognized.”
Elizabeth had looked the photographer up on the internet and learned he was a well-regarded artist, not a crackpot. His request had taken her aback but then everything in her life had been turned upside down. Why not? she thought.
She made an appointment for the next day and showed up at the expected hour. His studio consisted of an open concept loft space in the Distillery, a chic area of Toronto with cobblestone streets and expensive stores.
One area of the photographer’s living space was divided into a workspace by a series of exquisite, and clearly expensive, antique Japanese screens. To the right of them stood a large scrim with a group of lights and a stool on which Elizabeth was to sit. He handed her a terrycloth wraparound robe and directed her to the bathroom. He’d asked her to wear the robe so that he had full access to her neck and shoulder. After arranging the lighting so that she was half in shadow, he’d taken a series of shots of her scar.
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