Lear Jet to London
2-10 p.m.
April 18th
Monty had seen David to the plane. It was a mild spring day with a light cold breeze and yet David felt chilled walking to the steps of the white Lear jet. There were no other passengers and he sat alone with his thoughts as the jet pushed him back into his seat and rose into the sky.
He looked from the window to the map like view below. England lay below him like a child’s table full of tiny toys. It was no game though and he knew it. He thought of the flight to Scotland, he thought of Beaumont and with a sudden start he thought of his wife. He went to the back of the plane and picked up the phone.
In the Dover semi the phone rang for a good few rings. Mary was slow on her feet and waddled down the stairs to the hall. David was about to hang up when she answered.
“Hello love it’s David.”
“Oh thank god! I’ve just had a call from your father. Are you coming home?”
“Aye I’ve to go to London and collect my things. I’m on a plane.”
“My god when I saw the news today I was worried half to death. Are you okay?”
“Careworn love I miss you.”
“I miss you too. Come on home Davey.”
“I’m on my way. Early evening is when I’ll get there.”
“Okay love. You can tell me all about it.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“Are you on a plane?”
“Aye.”
“Call me when you land and then call when you get on the train.”
“Okay love.”
“Bye.”
David put the phone down. He thought about the fact that on the way out he’d had tears in his eyes when he thought of being killed and taken from his family and had then thought he would make sure he didn’t get hurt. How close had it been though? He didn’t feel like crying now. He was changed. He felt a sudden flow of strength. He’d made mistakes sure enough, but he’d shot Wheeler dead and much as it had pained him to think of having killed a man it felt suddenly good to be the one talking to his wife, sitting on the plane, going home. He felt bad about Beaumont, but at least he’d shot the man who’d wounded his partner. It could have been a lot worse. He found strength and solace in his survival and the scar across his psyche hardened, healing like the hands of manual workers, creating a first layer of tougher skin across the novice softness and making it easier for him to work at his own labour. David had his first taste of hardening from experience as far as mortal combat was concerned.