Epilogue.
'Island News'.
Jason Gibson pulled on the hand break of his rental vehicle with a jerk and took a look around. He was in the hotel car park overlooking the harbour; it was as empty as the village he had just driven through.
Café, general store, garage hotel with pub, hall, middle of village with ubiquitous memorial of some kind; just what he had expected. From the amount of activity the place was dead. Worse than dead. It was like all places that survived on the summer tourist trade; it ceased to exist in winter.
He pushed open the door with the same force of frustration he was feeling and as it sprang back it hit his knee. Pain slammed into him with equal force and he put his head on the steering wheel.
"Perfect," he spat out has he rubbed his knee.
"What? Why?" he had argued with his editor. "The place is in the back of beyond. It's a four day round trip, including a ferry ride. There is nothing there, the fishing industry dried up years ago. It's nothing more than a summer holiday destination and its winter. It will be deader than Marley's Ghost. The locals," he did air quotes, "the 'supposed locals' are going to be long gone having scuttled back to the mainland. I can do research from my desk; draw some stock photographs taken by the tourist board." He placed both his hands on the desk and leaned forward.
A paper landed on the desk in front of him before he could continue his tirade.
"Where did you get this?" Jason picked up the paper not sure he was seeing what he was seeing.
"It's a newspaper," his editor pointed out as Jason read out the heading on the first page.
Island News.
Everything you need to keep you in touch with the local goings on.
Loads of exciting things to read about and attend.
Jason brought the paper to his nose. "Is this real newsprint and ink?"
"Yep."
"Where did you get this?"
"As you know Cathy went on holiday up there this year and brought this back as a souvenir because it's archaic. I mean who prints on paper? No one, it's all digital." His editor looked at him.
"Are you telling me this paper is still produced on paper?"
"It's the last newspaper in the United Kingdom to be printed on actual paper. Secondly the paper has been in print for two hundred years. I want you to go up there get some background."
"It doesn't need background. It's all part of the tourist trap. Only produced in the summer to fleece suckers like Cathy. How much was it, five pounds a copy?" He laughed at his own joke.
"It's free."
"What!"
"It's a free local paper. Produced fifty-two times a year and delivered by hand to points around the Island."
"You have got to be kidding me! By hand?"
"Look, we are always being accused of ignoring stories like this. We need a feel-good story for the Sunday edition. Community still keeping history alive and all that."
"Feel-good. There is nothing feel-good about this," Jason declared as the editor pointed towards the door.
"This is a job for a junior."
"You were complaining just last week you didn't get into the field enough."
"What I said was I missed my days as a member of the paparazzi pack: the chase, the thrill of the hunt."
The editor handed over a brochure. "You've been booked in at the local hotel. I hear the whiskey is pretty good."
Jason scowled at him, picked up the paper, muttering under his breath.
"See you in a week," the editor said as the door closed.
Jason pulled himself out the vehicle, his knee throbbing. As he opened the luggage compartment the cold wind snatched at him. Shivering he made his way to the hotel.
"Welcome," the heavyset woman said as he stood at the front desk.
"I have a reservation. Jason Gibson." Jason looked around what could only be considered the faux rustic interior, complete with objects reflecting the past glories of the rape of the sea. He sneered to himself.
"Oh you're the gentlemen from the mainland. Yes, your office called two days ago. I've got a nice room for you. It's on the second floor. Got a real nice view of the harbour," she rattled on.
Jason strained to understand her thick Island accent.
"Follow Maurice here and he will show the way." she indicated a young man to move forward and take his case. "We've closed the full restaurant, now the season's over but you can still order from the bar. The bar opens at six o' clock but if you need something in the meantime just call for room service."
"Where's he going Mum?" the young man asked as he picked up the small bag.
"Second floor room, overlooking the harbour," she replied handing over the key.
"Righty ho," the young man said and led the way.
Looking at the huge plate of food in front of him, Jason picked up his knife and fork. As a veteran of many hotel breakfasts he was used to the typical fare on offer. Nothing however had prepared him what had been presented to him. This wasn't breakfast; this was a major feast complete with toast, coffee, fried bread, two eggs, hash-browns, black pudding (whatever that was) four rashers of bacon, sausages, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms. He couldn't recall the last time he has seen so much food on one plate for one person. He called the waiter over.
"Er...is this is all for me?" he double-checked and looked up to see the young man from the afternoon before.
"Aye, farmers full breakfast. Do you need more coffee?"
Jason shook his head at the offer to refill his cup. "So you're the waiter as well as the luggage boy?"
"I'm just here between semesters. My mum owns the hotel so I help out whenever I can," he added.
"University? What you studying? Maurice, isn't it?"
Maurice nodded. "Hotel management and tourism."
"So hoping to take over from your mother? Not much of a life for a young man stuck here," Jason waved his knife indicating the room.
Maurice bristled. "My sister Maggie will take over the hotel. However it doesn't hurt to have two people with a business background. And anyway I have some ideas of my own."
"Good for you; find a way to escape. I expect you're looking forward to cutting lose," Jason said as Maurice attempted to leave.
"Actually I'll be glad to get back here full time."
Jason looked up at him in disbelief. "Trust me...a young person like you should be on the mainland not stuck in this dead hole of a place."
"But I wouldn't be here. This is my place," Maurice creased his forehead trying to explain.
"Well if the hotel had been in your family for a while I can see why you would want to keep it going..."
"I'm an Islander. This Island is my place," Maurice interrupted, correcting him. "I want to come back."
"It's great that you could get to University. The costs have become ridiculously prohibitive. This hotel must be doing very well to send both you and your sister." Jason took a drink of coffee disregarding Maurice's previous statement.
"Actually I was granted a scholarship."
"Really, that was very lucky."
"There's no luck about it. Any person here on the Island finishing senior school can get one on the condition that they have to study a discipline that will benefit the Island. That and pledge to return once they've completed their degree and put their ideas into action."
"That easy ha!"
"Not so easy. You have to make a case for exactly what you have to offer, "Maurice replied trying to keep the offence out of his voice."It took a lot of hard work. I had to make a formal presentation."
"And you chose Tourism," Jason said in disgust.
"We have this problem, see; lots of visitors in the summer. Come winter how do we attract people here in the cold short days? Not so many visitors like the summer but just enough to keep things turning over? It would help a lot."
"I see," Jason wiped the last slice of toast around the plate. "Now young man can you tell me where I can find the offices of the Island News?"
"Connie Williams."
Jason shook the extended hand. "I'm Jason Gibson of the National Gazette."
"An honour. We don't get the attention of the big papers up here. I'm afraid you will be very disappointed; no scandals to report up here. Just us little locals doing our local things," Connie said.
"Now Williams...that is not a Scottish name."
"Well, my family originally came from Wales."
"And you don't have a name that begins with 'M'," Jason pointed out.
Connie chuckled. "You've noticed in true journalist fashion."
"It's hard to miss. Have you any idea how many people's names here start with the letter 'M'? I thought it was an anomaly then I had a look in the phone book. Quaint how you have the first and last name of everyone listed."
Connie laughed, not taking offence; she had been well warned. The man before her had been noted for his disdain since he had disembarked from the ferry. Given Maurice a right interrogation over breakfast. "With so many people sharing similar initials it's more practical than quaint."
"Right," Jason replied. "But how did it get started? It must be a bloody nuisance at times."
"It's become a bit of a local tradition. I think it started out as a joke and got a bit out of hand. And before you ask my middle name is Matilda."
"How quaint," he said putting emphasis on the letter 't'. "Anyway I'm here to do a background piece. Your little newspaper is having its two hundredth anniversary and it's the very last paper to be produced on news print. So to start I thought I would like to take a look around your print shop."
"This way." She moved aside.
"As you can see the equipment is getting on," she pointed out.
"Getting on? It's ancient! This should be in a museum," Jason spluttered. "What happens if it breaks down? How do you find parts? What about the ink and the newsprint?"
"Luckily for us we have someone who is very good at fixing things. And despite the age of the equipment we have never missed an issue and there are ways and means of getting the supplies," she explained, not taking offence.
"Eventually you will have to modernise."
She stifled a smile. "Don't you let the owner hear you say that."
"Maybe that would be a good start. How do I meet him?"
Connie looked at her watch. "Around now he will be in his garage. It's three doors down from the General Store next to the butchers." She led him out of the print shop, through the main office to the front door and pointed down the street.
"I'm looking for Ianto Jones?" Jason asked the mechanic who looked up from the bonnet of the car she was working on.
"He's around the backyard with Jacob," the woman said, "just go through the back door."
Twisting his hip he slid between the vehicles. Reaching the door he pulled a tissue from his pocket and placed it over the handle. Turning the handle he stepped into an open space to find a shed to one side, surrounded by old engine parts stacked up neatly. He took a sniff and his nose filled with the odour of old oil.
Before him was a man in what looked like his late twenties and a young boy of about twelve.
"I'm looking for Ianto Jones?"
"That's me. I'm Ianto Jones." Ianto held out his hand. When he saw Jason did not return the gesture he looked at the offered hand.
"Silly me, I'm all covered in grease." He wiped his hand down his overalls and held it out again. Seeing he couldn't avoid shaking hands Jason placed the tissue on his palm making sure the tissue was between himself and the offered hand as he shook it.
"This is Jacob, we're working on our entry for the annual go-cart rally," Ianto introduced the boy. "It's going to be real good. Jacob has been helping me with the wheels. The rally is down the main street towards the harbour. The street goes off in a curve and if you're not careful you end up getting wet. This year I'm making sure we have good steering and real good brakes because last year we ended up in the harbour," Ianto laughed.
"Uncle Ianto had to come in after me," Jacob added.
"Sorry, I was looking for Ianto Jones who owns the local newspaper," Jason looked around disdainfully.
"That's me. I own the local paper," Ianto said proudly.
"Did you recently purchase it or did you inherit it?" Jason asked sceptically considering the man looked no older than twenty-six.
"I don't know that word?"
"Was it left to you by someone after they died?"
"You mean like this garage. Mac left it to me because he said I was like a son to him. And he was like a dad to me. He gave me a gold watch which I keep special. I don't wear it here because it might get damaged. I'm going out for dinner tonight so I'm going to wear it then. Jack's taking me on a date to the hotel. We still date even though we got married. We're eating at the hotel because the café closed now the season's…"
"So did you inherit the paper from someone like the garage or not?" Jason interrupted impatiently trying to remove some of the grease which had gotten onto his hand.
Ianto laughed. "No, I bought it with my own money."
"Recently?"
Ianto frowned as he thought. "Sometimes it's hard for me to remember so far back but Jack would know. I'll ask him."
"Right," Jason said feeling himself heat up. "Well, thank you for the great hilarity and for wasting my time today," Jason spat out and left, slamming the door behind him.
"Why was he so rude, Uncle Ianto?" Jacob asked as stood looking at the door in surprise at the outburst.
"I'm not sure. Maybe he's had a bad day. Sometimes I get rude when I'm having a bad day."
"I've never seen you have a bad day Uncle."
"Oh I do, sometimes when I have to go and pick up a ferret and find it's not been looked after proper I have a bad day. Last time was when I picked up 'Suede'. She was half-starved, covered in fleas, and had a burnt tail. I got in right mood."
"I like ferrets," Jacob said trying to screw the nut on the wheel.
"Me too," Ianto announced. "They are so naughty."
Jason stormed back into the newspaper office and slammed the door.
"Well you've had your little joke. I'm sure you all had a great laugh at my expense. Not sure what kind of person you people think you are dealing with. I'm here on a serious journalist exercise and you send me off to see the village idiot. I'm attempting a serious story on your laughable pathetic little paper…"
Connie felt her face heat up and she pulled herself up and launched herself forward before he could finish. "Well Mr. High-and-Mighty, turn your nose up with a sneer since you arrived on the Island, newspaper man. Maybe we're just country hicks, who have an out-dated newspaper still being printed on newsprint. But I'm proud to be part of a newspaper that is owned by someone who sees it as more than just a vehicle for reporting the latest sex scandal between morally bankrupt politicians or the pointless lives of the rich and vacant."
Jason backed up as she moved forward both of her fists clenched.
"I'm honoured to work for a paper that still reports the goings on of ordinary people. Maybe to someone like you, Mr. La-De-Da newspaper reporter, who won the local cake competition is just trivia, but it matters. Someone like you, full of your own sense of importance, couldn't possibly understand what it is to love something so much you would save it so it could continue reporting on the lives of those who live here." She thrust her face, twisted with fury, into his. He staggered back and hit the wall by the door and realised he was standing on tip-toe in an effort to escape.
"One last thing: you were right, my family is not from around here and you're lucky my great-grandmother isn't here because she was Welsh and if she had heard you call Ianto Jones the village idiot she would have knocked your teeth down your throat." She pointed to the door. "Get out!" she thundered.
Fumbling for the door handle he turned it and fell backwards out the door.
Swirling the dark amber liquid around the glass Jason took a deep sip. The smooth earthy smoky flavour invaded his senses. At least the whiskey was up to scratch; he needed this to recover from his encounter with Connie Williams. He was still shaking. She was wasted up here, with her passion she should be working on a major daily. He could see her now, microphone in hand, chasing down the latest celeb. He threw the liquid into the back of his throat and called for another. What a waste of his time. If nothing else he could report that the local bush telegraph was unsurpassed on the western hemisphere. From the sullen looks and the way the proprietor of the hotel had slammed his key down on the front desk his encounter with Ianto Jones and his altercation with the Connie Williams had made it that far.
He snorted. Petty small minded bunch of retards; they would be duelling banjos next. Thank Providence he was leaving tomorrow. He looked over his glass to see a couple pass by him. One was a very handsome individual with film star good looks, and holding his hand was Ianto Jones.
"Welcome. I have your favourite spot right by the window," the manager greeted them, a huge smile on her face.
"Thank you. Jack and I like looking out at the harbour," he heard the man say.
"I'll send the menus over." She scurried off and a few moments later was replaced with Maurice.
"Maurice," Ianto said standing and throwing his arms around him.
"Sir, it's good to see you," Maurice said when they pulled back.
"How's university?" he heard the handsome man ask to which the young smiled shyly.
"Oh it's grand, but I can't wait to get back here to the Island. I can't tell you what a wonderful opportunity you both have given me."
"Your ideas were wonderful and Ianto and I can't wait to see them in action," the handsome man said with a dazzling smile. "And I hear you and Mandy McDougall…" he winked.
Ianto looked excited. "Will there be a ribboning?" Jason noted the young man blushed.
"Not this year, need to get back first set up the project. Get settled; that sort of thing."
"Well if you need any help or seed money you just let us know," Jack winked.
"I will, Sir." He handed over the menus. "I'll leave these with you."
"Who are those people?" Jason asked the barman who refilled his glass.
"Which people?"
"The couple by the window."
"That's Jack Harkness and his partner Ianto Jones."
"They seem to very popular. Are they normally greeted like royalty?" Jason pointed out the subtle reaction of the others in the bar as the couple had entered then settled down at their table.
"They live up in Rose Cottage. Jack has the most fabulous garden. It's a pity you arrived so late it's only open three weeks every summer."
"And Jones?"
"Oh, he has his interests."
"Doesn't sound much...a garden and some hobbies."
He heard the barman give a quiet laugh. "Well, not all gardens and hobbies are created equal."
"Like…" Jason encouraged and the barman leaned forward and began to speak softly. Jason leaned forward thinking he was going to be told something in confidence.
"With you being a big newspaper reporter from over the mainland who does important serious stories I'm sure nothing we provincials do within our pathetic community will be much of interest to you." Jason flushed as he heard his own insult thrown back at him. "You just run off back to reporting all about those petty scandals and know nothings. I'm sure there are millions of people as shallow as you who can't wait to devour every word. Trust me there's nothing of interest here for the likes of you." The barman smiled and leaned back and said more loudly. "Another drink sir?"
"Is that the man?" Jack asked as he saw Ianto glance across the bar.
"He was very rude, he didn't say good bye. Not good manners not to say good bye," Ianto pointed out as he looked down the menu, searching for his favourite: sausage, egg and chips.
"Don't worry I have it on good evidence he will be leaving tomorrow," Jack said taking Ianto's hand.
"I didn't like him. I don't think he believed I owned the newspaper. It's mine; I bought with my own money. I love the newspaper. I bought it because I wanted to make sure everyone could keep up with what was going on. And I would have nothing to look forward to Thursday afternoons if the paper closed. It wouldn't be right with no newspaper. And I saw Billy the first time in the newspaper."
"I know," Jack squeezed his hand in support.
"It's important everyone gets to hear about all the news on the Island and Connie does a great job. She even came to the Ferret Fun Day and we had loads of photos taken. And she visits regular to take pictures of the ferrets that are up for adoption so we can find good homes for them. And she's my friend."
"I know she does wonderful coverage…so what do you fancy?" Jack looked up from the menu as Ianto narrowed his eyes at Jack. "I meant for dinner." Ianto chuckled as Maurice appeared.
"Are you ready to order?
"I'll have sausage, egg and chips; my favourite," Ianto said.
"Chef's special," he wrote down. "And you Sir?" He looked at Jack.
"Tell the chef I would like that man's head on a plate," Jack pointed to the man at the bar nursing a whiskey. "If not, I'll have the steak medium rare." Maurice took the menus stifling a smile.
Reaching the lounge area Jason saw a fire had been lit. He had taken a turn around the mostly deserted harbour to ease his overindulgence of the local whiskey the night before. As he had passed the front desk he saw the Island News had been delivered. Taking a copy he ordered a coffee to be delivered to the lounge.
Settling down near the roaring fire he scanned the front page.
"I wouldn't be bothering with that rubbish, full of nothing but pathetic drivel." He looked up to see it was the hotel manager who dumped his coffee on the table beside him causing the contents to spill into the saucer. "Is there anything else I can get you, like make up your bill?" she offered, her lips pursed.
Jason placed a fake smile on his face. "Everyone is making me feel so welcome. I thought I would stay a few more days. See what I could dig up." His smile dropped when he saw his barb had missed the mark.
"Och, you're so full of yourself. They way you've behaved you'll be lucky if the pebbles on the beach will pass the time of day with you," she laughed. "So if you want to do some digging? I suggest you get yourself a bloody great shovel." She turned on her heel and left.
Shaking out the paper he returned on the front page. Thirty minutes later he finished the back page. Drivel...the contents were complete and utter drivel. Reports from the various committees and clubs, of which there appeared to be a large number. Farming news and weather, ferry time tables, shop opening hours, interspersed with the comings and goings of every resident, followed by the usual births, deaths, and classified section. Why would anyone keep this paper going? What had Connie Williams said? It was reporting ordinary goings on of ordinary people. Very ordinary if this was what was on offer. Who cared to read the minutes of the local church hall council or if Mrs Mackie's sister was better?
He drained the now half-warm coffee. Enough of this nonsense, and time to get back to the mainland. He had enough information to write copy and put a good spin on it. With the 'community still preserving their heritage' angle he was sure he could make it the feel-good story of year. He smiled to himself; all he needed now was some archival information. He looked at his watch as a potential head line sprung to mind: 'Today and Yesterday, the Island News: A Retrospective'. He had the most recent copy all he needed was a copy of the first edition. Now where to find the archives...he saw Maurice heading towards him to collect the now empty cup. He grimaced; Connie Williams was his best source of information but after his altercation yesterday he doubted even he had the balls to go back there. So where to start? He pulled out his pocket laptop.
"Which year do you want?" the librarian asked.
"1919," Jason replied.
"Sorry we don't go back that far. The Island News only started being archived electronically when the paper was sold. All the copies previous to that are in the main office in Island Bay. Connie Williams is the current reporter, if you give her a call I'm sure she will be most helpful. Let you have full access. I'm sure she will be only too willing…" the librarian said trying to keep a straight face.
"Well, give me as far back as you go?" Jason interrupted and was handed a set of discs.
"Machine?" The man pointed to the small desk to the side.
Muttering about the local malicious effectiveness of the bush telegraph Jason turned on the machine and he took a look at the date 2049, seventy years ago.
Several hours later he leaned back to ease the tightness in his neck. Reading this newspaper was like being stoned to death by cotton balls. Why this paper was still being churned out? When all other small newspapers had long gone why was this one still going? If he could find out who really owned the paper at least he could get some insight into why they had kept to such an antiquated system. No one did anything for nothing these days; everyone had a motive and expected a payoff. 'Free' community newspaper...he didn't think so, there had to be something going on, someone was profiting somehow. Change of ownership, something that big must be there somewhere. Once he had a name it would be a simple matter of tracking them down. Maybe there was a story here after all and he was just the man to expose it. He skipped back to the first edition on the disc.
There it was. The fears the newspaper would be closed down or bought by an outside interest were now over. It had been bought by a local man who remained anonymous! The new owner assured the readers he pledged to continue and keep it as a free community paper. He was about to move on to the next edition when a name caught his attention along with a photograph. It was a report on the local summer solstice festival. It was the typical list of those who had won in various competitions and the events of the day he had come to expect. Jack Harkness from Rose Cottage it was noted had shown his new hybrid rose called 'Perfect Heart' for the first time to much applause. He had never thought about it before but Harkness was not that common a name. He took a closer look of the man in the picture.
Laying back on his bed back at the hotel Jason's mind was whirling as he looked at the document in his hand. It was the culmination of five days' of hard work. It was the sales deed for the purchase of Rose Cottage. The cottage had been bought in 2011. The deed was in the name of both Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones. Jones it was noted hadn't signed the deed but had been signed and held in trust for him under the Ianto Jones Trust of which Jack Harkness was the sole trustee. He had been curious to how much of the Trust's money had gone to buy the cottage and was even more perplexed when he found all the funds had come entirely from Harkness.
That Jones, he was still coming to terms with the possible implications, had apparently been committed to the 'Sunnyside Institute', a refuge and treatment centre for the survivors of torture. Jones had been released into the care of Harkness. On leaving Jones had been brought here to the Island.
What that torture was or how it had come about, where Harkness and Jones had come from prior to this he had not been able to find out because all information was locked. He had only ever come across an X notice once in his career as a journalist. Every journalist knew what it meant, that it was government-sensitive and was unobtainable. No amount of bribery, coercion or other means could gain you access. He knew from bitter experience how pointless such a pursuit was. What he did understand was only those matters held most secret were covered by an X notice. He recalled the moment, when he knew he had hit pay dirt.
From a more careful scrutiny of other sources it would appear that Jones had inherited a quarter of the Island and immediately handed over the greater portion of it back via a newly created trust. The trust was in the name of the previous owner of the tatty garage and owner of the land. That trust was the Jessie (Mac) MacDonald Island Scholarship Trust. The sole trustees were...surprise, surprise, Ianto Jones and Jack Harkness.
Since its inception it had granted over 783 scholarships. Even doing simple calculations made it clear that not all the money could have come solely from the trust which had begged the question from where it was getting its funds. The records had given him the answer. A vast majority of the money were royalties from a book on engineering and spatial concepts still considered the single most important work on the subject that had led to the colonisation of Mars. The second was a patent for an ingenious device which had revolutionised transport. Curious to see who was the author he found a familiar name. Apparently the man he called the village idiot had two PhD's: one in engineering and the other pure mathematics. He had been puzzled briefly at the name of the inventor of the patent: John Jones. A search indicated that Ianto was the Welsh variation for John. The device was not all Jones work; it was also attributed to a T. Sato. And for once his investigative skills failed him because he had failed to find out who this was.
What the royalties did mean was the trust could literally grant scholarships into perpetuity. What was so perplexing was that on the mainland these people would be seen as major celebrities courted at every turn. Jones in particular could make a killing as the writer of said book and inventor of the subtron matrix on the lecture circuit. Yet there were no plaques or memorials to Jones or Harkness yet the information was available to anyone who looked. So why hadn't they been exposed? They lived very simply, and despite being able to travel anywhere on Earth or join a space junket to visit First Light City on the Moon neither Jones nor Harkness had left the Island since their arrival.
Jack Harkness' only indulgence appeared the ever-increasing size of his garden which now covered four acres, and his obsession with hybrid roses. Roses which he noted were very much sought after. Every year or two he presented a new hybrid. The latest' Purple Beauty' would be on sale this spring. Ianto spent his time running the local garage and the newspaper. He employed four people: Connie Williams, a print technician the mechanic he had seen, and a young lady who did the garage books. He also appeared to be heavily involved in his other passion: ferrets. A special facility had been built just for their care next to Rose Cottage, which included a substantial court (a secure outdoor pen). Aside from his own pets he ran a ferret rescue service. It was noted that he cared for the odd sick otter for which an outdoor pool was also constructed. This was run in conjunction and support of the local vet Meiko Harper, another passionate ferret owner. Thinking this was also not an Island name even though it began with the letter M he had found she was the great granddaughter of Doctor Owen Harper who came to live on the Island in 2020 along with his wife Toshiko Harper and their two children. Doctor Harper had served for many years as the local General Practitioner and specialist in emergency medicine who had been tireless in his support of the local volunteer ambulance service. That had led him to thinking about Connie Williams. Her great-grandfather had set up an inter-island haulage company called 'Island First' still being run by Connie's brother, Ifan. The only connection he could fathom was they had all at one time all resided in Cardiff. It was curious they had come here at all because so few outsiders settled on the Island. Considering how ferocious the locals were in protection of their own and if his own experience was anything to go by it was understandable.
Now he had to contemplate the incredible. Were the people who were the trustees of the trust the same Harkness and Jones who had bought Rose Cottage? From what he could tell neither had aged since their arrival and yet they lived here without comment as if this was an accepted part of Island life. It was incredible, this story would make him. He felt a rush of anticipation. It was time he paid a visit.
"I'm dead-heading," Jack said pulling off his gardening gloves.
"Jason Gibson, National Gazette." Jason looked down at the mound of spent rose blooms on the ground. He opened his mouth to ask a question to find it being asked for him.
"You are here to find out if Ianto and I are still the same people who arrived on the Island in 2011."
"How do you know?" Jason took an instinctive step backwards as the control of the conversation slipped from him.
"So far you've looked through several discs from the digital archives in the library over in the big village. Searched the Births and Deaths records from National Registry and gained copies of Ianto's birth certificate and our civil partnership certificate. Failed to find mine...birth certificate, that is. Called up the deeds and legal documents pertaining to the sale of this cottage; sourced and retained a copy of the last Will and Testament of Mac MacDonald. Its contents most probably came as a big of a shock to you as to us." Jack replaced his gloves "We had no idea he had brought huge swathes of the Island over the past few years. He was not a gambling man but he played the stock market like a pro. And he left the lot to Ianto." Jack moved to the closest unclipped rose bush and snipped off a sagging head. "Ianto found himself owner of one fourth of the Island, a bank account, stock portfolio worth hundreds of thousands of Euros and a cellar full of the finest bootleg whiskey the Island has ever known." Jack threw the bloom at Jason's feet.
"Sorry I digress. Looked into my personal bank records and those of both Trusts. Requested our Tax records. Discovered how many scholarships have been awarded and to who they have been granted. You also tried but failed to secure Ianto's medical records from the 'Sunshine Institute'. At the same time found Ianto's educational records and about his achievements. Your efforts to go further back than 2011 were blocked invoking an X notice of which I was given notice of via a video call." Jack smiled grimly at the look of shock on Jason's face.
"On a more personal level, you insulted Connie Williams, the integrity of the entire Island community and called my partner the village idiot." Jack snipped a head. "And you're here now because you want to double-check if you've uncovered two immortals hiding away in some isolated community."
"So you're not denying that you are Ianto Jones are immortal then."
"I am, he's not. Ianto has extended life whereas I am cursed." Jack turned towards Jason.
"So you're not denying it then?" Jason repeated as he recovered slightly and he felt a rush of excitement that he was right.
"No to the contrary I going to tell you everything. That's why you're here or have I misunderstood what journalists do?" Jack saw him get out his recording device.
"We both belonged to an organisation called Torchwood. I was leader of Torchwood Three…"
"Why are you telling me all this?" Jason asked when Jack finished speaking. "You must know you've just given me the biggest story to hit the news in fifty years."
"I'll make a prediction. That you will never publish a word of what you've discovered here." Jacob looked stubborn and raised an eyebrow.
"Firstly, because I'm going to appeal to your better nature. Ianto loves it here. He and I have found a peace and happiness we never expected to find. Ianto despite what you might think is a kind and wonderful man who is in fact very smart. He bought the newspaper for only one reason: he wanted to see it continue because he loved it. It is part of the constancy he craves. We set up a trust for young people because they are the future of this place. He runs the garage because he loved Mac and he was the first true friend he made here. There is no other motivation for his or my actions. Aside from that you would expose a man, a hero who withstood months of torture to keep humanity safe to all sorts of outside attention he has neither looked for nor wants."
"And if I choose to publish?"
Jack looked serious. "When you get back to the hotel you will find a recall from your editor. He needs you for a major story that is about to break and it's only someone of your calibre who can be trusted to handle it If after you return you try and submit any story containing the information you have uncovered in relation to myself or Ianto you will be re-assigned. I imagine that assignment will be considerably less prestigious and comfortable than your current position."
"So even after all your pretentions money still speaks!" Jason felt himself go cold at the intensity of anger he saw in the gaze that captured him as the words left his mouth.
"I can see how you would come to believe that but you need to weigh your cynicism with the nature of who we are. Leaving that aside you should know I will do everything in my power to protect Ianto and our life here. I love him beyond words. I will also do anything to protect the people who live here because they are important to both of us. I know this will be difficult for you to understand considering the world you inhabit. The Islanders took Ianto and myself under their wings. They have done nothing but share themselves with us, opening their hearts. We in turn give back in equal measure."
"Even if I never publish someone, a local even, will eventually put two and two together."
"Some know, most suspect, others have no idea," Jack replied.
"So why hasn't someone spilled the beans?"
"What did you learn by reading the Island News?" Jack asked him.
Jack answered before he could formulate a reply. "Let me guess: trivia and mundane things, Mrs Mackay left for a holiday and she will be back in three weeks. Who's been elected chairperson of the war memorial committee? Which pig came in fourth at the local fair?" Jason nodded. "How much crime news was there?"
Jason couldn't reply then realised he couldn't recall any.
"You missed so much because your mind is locked into the shallow world you come from. That's what you're here doing today; you've uncovered a story but missed something far more important. This paper is reporting local people doing the local things. It's about community. That's what counts. Ianto and I are part of that community. An old friend told me that once you become an Islander you are an Islander for life. No one here will ever betray our trust for that very reason."
"That is one hell of a lot of trust."
"This is not about trust it's about people living together, finding ways to move forward. Celebrating the good times, helping each other out in times of bad. Laughing, crying, and celebrating together. There is so much about us, and I mean us as in Islanders, you don't know about. All you've seen is on the surface like a tourist because that's who you are, someone who comes then goes. It's who remains that counts and for those that do there is a richness of culture unsurpassed."
"I see."
"No you don't because you read that newspaper and missed it."
"Okay what I miss?" Jason replied instinctively.
"There is a fierce neighbourhood watch on this Island. If we know who is going their home will be watched. Their garden will be watered, mail picked up, animals fed. All those committees. They may have some fairly normal names but each one disguises an actual local event celebrated only by the locals. The Solstice festival for example has been celebrated every year for nearly two thousand years. On the surface it's a big farming event but afterwards a huge dance is held nearby to celebrate the highest point of the sun in the year. It gets a bit saucy which is helped along by the local whiskey I might add. There is another festival in midwinter, a ceremony of lights tempting the sun back with a massive bonfire in the centre of the Island next to the henge. Everyone brings torches which are lit and a huge circle formed. There's one being organised right now called 'Harvest Festival'. As well as meeting together to celebrate the harvest everyone brings a contribution small or large for the central food bank. That is used for all or any families who are in hardship. After the end of the fishing industry here due the collapse of the ocean, it was put to good use. I could go on but there's one very month in one form or another. It shows people here are involved with each other on a fundamental level centred on the yearly cycle of life." Jack nudged the young man. "And you also missed how competitive everyone is. Everyone is trying to outdo each other. It's a matter of pride to get top cake, or longest runner bean, or best preserve."
Jason smiled for the first time. "So getting your name in the paper is kind of an honour?" he checked out.
"More than an honour. It's a form one up-man or woman-ship. And if you want scandal there is no lengths some people will go to gain an upper hand or sabotage. Every year the rules have to be dated to cover every possible cheat like adding 'Power-Grow' to your vegetables. I mean fights have broken out." Jason looked disbelieving. "Some of the women here can throw a damn good punch."
"That I can believe," Jason said thinking of his encounter with Connie.
"Now," Jack said. "Enough of this let me show you my garden."
"Is that rude man gone?" Ianto asked as he joined Jack in the greenhouse.
"Yes and tomorrow he really will be well on his way home."
"Good, he was very rude and upset Connie," Ianto said.
"I think Connie held her own very well. Mrs MacDonnell told me they heard her shouting from inside the General Store."
"She gave him a right telling off."
"Gwen would be very proud to see her great-granddaughter keeping her outspoken nature alive. Although personally I would have paid to see her deck him one," Jack added.
"I liked Gwen and Rhys. I'm glad they came and lived here. And Tosh and Owen. I miss them," Ianto said looking sad.
"Me too."
"That's the hardest bit about living on you have to say goodbye to people you love," Jack drew him into a hug.
"But just think because we live on, they live on with us in our memories. So they will never be forgotten," Ianto cheered.
"You're right; I will never forget Billy or Mac, Morag, Mr MacDonald or Marigold. They helped me so now I can help others. "
"Exactly," Jack took his hand and kissed it.
"I was busy today helping out at the hall. Fred has made a huge bread shaped like a fish and one like a load of wheat all stacked up and he's going to make one in the shape of a cow. It's huge. Everyone is decorating with orange, gold, and red. We got all the drums out so we could make a big noise for when the sun goes down so it doesn't forget to come back next spring. Oh I almost forgot Megan who is in charge of doing the harvest festival decorations wanted to know if the ladies could come and take some flowers for the hall."
"Of course," Jack gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "How is the go-cart coming along?"
"We had a test run, we need better brakes," Ianto laughed as they now headed back to the house.
"Let me help you with that," Jason heard a voice say behind him and groaned when he saw it was the local police officer.
"Don't tell me you're here to ensure I leave the Island."
"Och no, you're well on your way. I was sent to give you this". The officer handed Jason a large bottle of golden liquid. "It was noted you had taken a liking to the local whiskey."
"And to what honour do I owe this to?"
"Well today is the harvest festival and while we were all doing the preparations some of us got to talking. You sort of upset a few people shouting your mouth off and in turn those you met acted in kind. We're a proud people and to insult one of us is to insult all. Ianto and Jack have given everything they have to live here. We keep them safe from whatever it was they needed to escape from and we get a bit overprotective. And I think some of us were a bit put out you didn't ask us how important our little newspaper is to us. With all the technology out there, digital this and that, the paper acts like a sort of glue holding us all together. But the reason I'm here is because we wanted to give you something to say that your apology to Ianto and Connie in person didn't go unnoticed."
Jason accepted the bottle and saw the hand-written label.
"It's not as good as Mac's finest which I have on good account a few bottles lay deep in the cellar at Rose Cottage."
"Mac MacDonald?"
"Aye and just so you know, not everyone believes that rubbish about him making his money on the stock market. He was a well-known scallywag and maker of the finest bootleg whisky on the Isle and it's clear he made him a pretty penny."
"Thank you." Bemused, Jason shook the man's hand.
"Now let's make sure you don't miss that ferry," the constable said with a wink taking Jason's bag and escorted him to the walkway.
Authors Note: This final chapter is dedicated to my fabulous beta Milady_dragon. Who weekly turns my terrible punctuation into readable English.
A big thank you to all of you who wrote comments or contacted me personally. You helped me gain insights and made this story a lot better than it would pther wise have been. You have no idea what a privilege it is to write for such an appreciative audience.
And finally a thank you, to all you wonderful people who have followed this story to the last word.