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“DINNER’S READY, MEGAN announced. “The table is small so you’ll have to squash together.”
It was a bit of a squeeze to fit everyone around the table laid with Irish linen and crystal, but the fact that they had to sit so close together added to the cosy, friendly atmosphere. Dishes with Irish stew, potatoes, vegetables and bread were handed around, and Paudie poured the red wine. Janine sat between Nelia and Mick, an arrangement she wasn’t completely comfortable with, but the general chatting and joking soon took her mind off her concerns. She found herself joining in the conversations with ease, even telling a joke that had everyone in stitches. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had so much fun.
“Look,” Nelia whispered to Janine. “I think Rita fancies my dad.”
Janine looked at Rita across the table. She was indeed smiling coquettishly at Mick, toying with her hair. Janine stole a look at him. He returned Rita’s smile with a little wink and then resumed his conversation with Beata about Warsaw, where he had just spent a few days on a business trip.
“Wouldn’t it be cool if they got married?” Nelia murmured. “Then Assumpta and I would be sisters.”
“I think they’d want to know each other better first,” Janine remarked.
“Yes. But if they do get to know each other, they might fall in love,” Nelia said wistfully.
“They might find they have nothing in common,” Janine argued, her happy mood slowly waning.
“What are you two whispering about?” Mick asked, leaning across Janine to peer at Nelia.
“Nothing,” Nelia said innocently. “We were talking about your birthday present.”
“Ah, the big secret.” Mick touched Nelia’s nose. “Very mysterious.”
“It’s something great,” Nelia said. “I hope you’ll like it.”
“Of course I will, silly.” Mick winked at Janine and ruffled Nelia’s hair.
When Megan carried in the birthday cake, they all sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to an embarrassed Mick, who with ‘ah, shucks, guys, you shouldn’t have’ blew out the candles in one go.
“And now, the unveiling of the portrait,” Megan announced and carried the canvas, covered by a sheet, to the table and placed it on a chair.
“Portrait?” Mick glanced at Janine. “So that’s why Nelia’s been sneaking off to see you so often.”
“Yes.” Janine swallowed nervously. “I painted her portrait.” She twisted the napkin in her lap and felt a hard knot in her stomach. How would he react? Would he see what she had tried to depict? Would he understand the wistfulness, the fear and the hopeful anticipation in those big eyes? Would he understand the whole concept of the painting? Or would he hate it?
“Nelia, will you do the unveiling?” Megan asked.
Nelia jumped to her feet and lifted a corner of the sheet covering the canvas. With a “tara!” she snatched the sheet away to reveal the portrait.
Janine held her breath, looking at the painting as if seeing it for the first time. She had worked on it for so long, trying to capture the essence of Nelia. The final result had an eerie beauty, with a face, surrounded by branches and foliage, looking out from behind a tree, just like Nelia had done that very first time they had met. It was as if those huge grey eyes looked out at another world, another existence, maybe one that was waiting for the young woman in her adult life that was just beginning. In the background, above the trees, the full moon cast a soft light on the scene, which gave the portrait a magic quality. To her, the painting was a perfect representation of a young girl leaving childhood behind, looking into the frightening adult world she was entering.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Nelia said.
No one replied. The silence was louder than words to Janine. It screamed in her ears, invaded her mind. They hated it. She looked at their shocked faces and realised she had made a huge mistake. She rose from the table. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, but nobody seemed to have heard. She made her way to the hall, grabbed her coat and left. Driving back, she swore at herself, bitterly regretting having painted Nelia that way. She should have done a more conventional picture, a sweeter, prettier Nelia, smiling, with perfect hair and bland features. But then she would have compromised her art and not been honest to Nelia.
I don’t fit in with those people, she thought. They all have normal lives, normal expectations and completely normal relationships. I’m a stranger here and with my weird life story, I might as well be from another planet. I shouldn’t have gone there tonight, shouldn’t have tried to make friends with any of them. And Mick...he doesn’t need me. He should get to know that nice woman, Rita. She would probably be perfect for him and Nelia.
Brushing away tears, she parked the car and went inside, back to her lonely existence.
-o-
The doorbell rang in the middle of the night. Janine sat bolt upright in bed, staring into the darkness, wondering if she had dreamed it. But, no, there it was again. Still drowsy, she shot out of bed, groped for her slippers with her feet and padded down the stairs. Breathless, she stood in the dark hall, listening. Nothing. But, suddenly, there it was again: the doorbell, now ringing incessantly. Deciding no burglar or murderer would make such a racket, Janine switched on the light over the porch and yanked the door open. There, in the light over the door, stood Mick, still dressed in a dark suit, his tie loose, swaying slightly, a bottle of champagne in his hand. He beamed at her. “Hello, gorgeous lady. I’ve come to say thank you for that incredible painting of my beautiful daughter.”
“You’re welcome. And, I suspect, just a little bit drunk.”
“No, no, just slightly inebriated. I was hoping we might get drunk together. Would you care to join me in a walk on the beach?”
“It’s too late for that.” Janine tried to close the door, but Mick stopped it with his foot.
His face was more serious now and he looked quite sober. “I’m not drunk. I’ve had exactly one glass of champagne and two glasses of wine. The party, although quite delightful, became rather strange after the initial birthday celebrations, cake, singing the Happy Birthday song and presenting gifts. A gift, to be precise. A wonderful, magic, unique gift. Why did you leave so suddenly?”
“I thought...I was afraid...embarrassed. I didn’t know what to do when you all sat there, saying nothing.” Janine blinked away tears.
“But that was because we were all stunned. We all admired your uniquely beautiful painting of Nelia. But, no, not all of the assembled seem to appreciate or understand it. But I did and it nearly made me cry. Truly.”
There was a brief silence, during which Janine looked at Mick, trying to decide if he was serious or not. The look in his eyes told her he was. “I’m glad,” she said, opening the door again. “Come in. You look as if you need to talk.”
He sighed. “Oh yes, I do.” He stepped inside and pushed the door closed behind him. They stood in the tiny hall, their bodies nearly touching, breathing evenly, slowly connecting. Mick held the bottle aloft. “Champagne? This is the real stuff. I’ve just turned forty. I need to mark the occasion. Preferably in the company of someone with half a brain and some sensibility.”
“I’ll try to rise to the occasion,” Janine said and led the way to the living room, where she quickly switched on the light beside the sofa.
Mick sank down on the cushions and leaned back. “This is nice. Such a peaceful room.”
Janine took the bottle from him. “I’ll get some glasses from the kitchen and open this.”
When she came back, Mick had taken off his jacket and tie, and had put his feet up on a stool in front of the sofa. “You know how to open a bottle of champagne? Is there no end to your talents?”
“I can’t play the piano, but apart from that, no.”
He pointed at her. “You smiled. Yes, I saw it. Your mouth went up at the corners, even though you tried to stop it.” He sat up and took the glass she handed him. “I realise it’s a bit of a pain to be woken up at—” he looked at his watch, “three o’clock in the morning. But I needed to talk to someone, preferably you.”
She poured herself a glass of champagne. “Why?”
“Don’t know. Because I’ve just turned the big four-o, maybe? Or because I missed you when you left. But most of all because of that portrait.”
She held up her glass. “A votre santé. Happy Birthday, Mick. Here’s to many more.”
He touched her glass with his. “Cheers, Janine. And thank you for not being angry.”
“Angry?” She looked at him over the rim of her glass. “I couldn’t. You bring me champagne and say thank you. How could I be angry about that?”
“You’re a very special woman.” He drained his glass in one go and held it out for more.
She filled his glass and topped up her own. “You’re very kind.”
He put his hand on her knee. “Kind? Not at all. Smitten, is more like it. Attracted, enchanted, bewitched. By you.”
She smiled. She knew she should pull away and cool the slowly developing heat that was beginning to intensify between them, but found she didn’t want to. “You’re not exactly revolting yourself, Monsieur O’Shea.”
His warm hand still on her knee, he leaned back and sipped his champagne. “I know. Women don’t seem to mind me at all.” He looked at her through half-closed eyes. “So where do we go from here? Either you get all polite and frosty and show me the door or—”
She lifted one eyebrow. “Or—” She put her hand on his and moved it to her thigh.
He put his glass on the floor, leaned forward, took her glass from her and swept her into his arms. “Or we go straight up to your bed and do what we have wanted to do ever since that day on the beach.”
“I like the last option.”
“Me too.”
She tried to speak but his mouth on hers stopped the words.
They didn’t make it to her bed but slid onto the rug in front of the fireplace, Janine tearing his shirt open and Mick fiddling with the silly little buttons on the front of her nightdress. Then he gave up and lifted the hem and started to caress her bare thighs. His hands felt hot on her cool skin, his breath smelled of champagne and strawberries. His lips were soft and velvety, his tongue probing and insistent. She moaned softly as his mouth travelled from her neck to her breasts. He gently bit her nipples. She slid her hands inside his pants, trying to tug them off at the same time.
When they were both naked, Mick pulled back. “Shit, it’s freezing here.”
Janine got up and held out her hand. “Let’s go to bed, Monsieur O’Shea.”
He scrambled to his feet. “Excellent idea, Madame Marchand.”
It took them only seconds to get upstairs and between the cool sheets. Mick pulled the duvet over them. “So where were we?”
“Here,” she whispered and kissed his mouth. “And here...” Her mouth travelled down his chest to his stomach, kissing, licking him all the way.
He pulled her up. “Not so fast. Ever heard of foreplay? If not, I’ll teach you a thing or two, my beauty.”
And he did. His kissed her, stroked her, caressed her, until she was begging him to either stop or “Please, please, Mick, I want you now, now.”
Then he entered her, and she felt as if she could explode into thousands of glittering fragments. It was so perfect, so hot, so incredible, until—
She called out “Jake!” Shouted it, screamed it, a split second before they were about to come at exactly the same time.
He froze for an instant. “Jake...who?”
“A man I loved once. A man—” She stopped, swallowed and looked into those hot, troubled eyes, so like Jake’s. “You remind me of him.”
Janine expected Mick to pull back, to stop the heavenly music they created so soon after meeting. But he didn’t. He moved with more intensity, pushed into her even harder than before, as if the thought of being like that other man turned him on, as if he felt he needed to show he was even better. She closed her eyes and thought of Jake. Opened them again and saw Mick. In the soft moonlight of the little bedroom, they both merged into one man. His eyes looked into to hers as the combined force of their climax exploded like a meteor shower.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, when she could breathe again.
He didn't react at first, too occupied with the slow descent from the height of their perfectly timed rocket take-off. Then, “Sorry about what? Sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry about.”
“No. But I didn’t mean to cry out that name. You’re not him.” Tears stung as Janine realised that, no, he wasn’t Jake, could never be Jake, yet there was so much about him that reminded her of that time in the desert, the few brief, mad, happy days when she stepped out of her life and felt truly desired.
“No, I’m not him. Let me introduce myself.” He detached her hand from his buttock and shook it. “Mick O’Shea at your service, ma’am.”
She giggled and stretched, enjoying the afterglow of the best sex in a long time. “I’m glad you weren’t annoyed.”
“I wasn’t annoyed at all—strange for me. Talk of another man during intimacy is usually a bucket of ice on my balls. But the way you called out that name actually turned me on. I wanted to be Jake. No—more than that—I wanted to best Jake. I want to make you call out ‘Mick!’ and more than once. And you will one day. Whether you’re with Jack or Jim or Adam—or even all three at once. Men are so bloody competitive, you know? Who was he anyway?”
She sighed, trying to get a grip on her feelings. “Someone I loved. A long time ago. In another life.”
“I see.”
“I’m sure there are women you’ve loved, too. Women you can’t get out of your mind.”
He ran his hand down her body, from her breasts to her thighs. “Yes, my darling, I’ve been around plenty of hot women in my day—hot in the common meaning of the term. But you have elements beyond hot that has hurled me out of my orbit.” He drew her close and they lay there, kissing, sighing, whispering.
“So how was the end of the party, then?” she asked after a while.
He rolled onto his back. “It was all very jolly after the shock of the painting had settled. Pity you left. You’d have enjoyed their reactions. ”
Janine froze. “What happened?”
Mick chuckled. “Well, after a collective gasp, they all started talking. Megan thought it was ‘frightening’. Beata said it was the scariest picture she had ever seen, and she wouldn’t sleep for a week. Assumpta said it was ‘the coolest portrait ever, totally gothic’ and Rita didn’t say a word. Paudie, to give him his due, said you had not only painted Nelia’s face but her soul, and Boris just nodded and whispered something to himself in Russian.”
“And you?” Janine whispered.
“Me?” He took her hand and held it tightly. “It brought tears to my eyes. I can’t explain it—but it’s as if that picture is about me as well. About how we’re connected to some people in a spiritual way and how we will never be apart even after our life here has ended.” He ran his other hand over his eyes. “I think I must have been waiting for Nelia all my life until she arrived. Does that sound strange to you?”
“No, not at all. I know that feeling. When you meet someone who so naturally fits into your life. But how was the rest of the evening?”
“It was nice. Beata and the amazing Boris were still bickering. And Nelia and her strange friend Assumpta talked and giggled. Rita’s a great woman. A bit raucous. Tells a dirty story really well. Very, very sexy. But a rock of sense and a very good mother.”
“Really? The way she lets Assumpta dress and dye her hair makes her a good mother?”
“But of course. Don’t you see? She’s very lenient in certain ways. What does it matter if Assumpta dyes her hair puce or punches a hundred holes in her ears? It’s the real issues, like drugs and sex that matter at that age. If she gets on with her mother and doesn’t feel she needs to rebel, she will listen to good sense. She will also not be afraid to confide in her mother. Very clever, that.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Janine had to agree.
“Not that Megan agrees with that, though. She needs to lay down rules. I can see her point, and I have given her a very hard task and the huge responsibility of bringing up a teenager. Not a thing she wanted or was even consulted about.” He sighed. “But right now, it’s the best option.”
“She doesn’t seem to mind too much. She loves Nelia. But they do have issues.”
He rolled on his side and looked at her through the gloom. “Nelia likes you, though.”
Janine touched his face. “That’s because I’m not responsible for her or have any emotional issues. She feels free with me. We’re just friends.”
He took her hand again and kissed it. “Yes, that’s true. He sighed. “What a birthday. And what a spectacular end to it.”
She laughed softly in the dark and stroked his chest.
He caught her hand again and held it. “That portrait. So strange but so, so perfect. It captured Nelia exactly the way she is right now. That mysterious, enigmatic element of hers. I can’t quite figure her out.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t try too hard? Just let her be, make sure she knows you’re there when she needs you and that you don’t demand too much of her.”
He ran his fingers through her hair. “You’re very wise.”
“Not wise at all. Just a little...damaged. I have a lot of baggage, you know.”
Mick sighed. “Don’t we all?” He sounded relaxed but his eyes were still troubled, his body taut. Maybe hearing another man’s name at the wrong moment upset him more than he let on? Or Nelia and her growing up worried him?
“Let me help you relax.” Janine reached for the bottle of body oil on the night table and rubbed some of the lanolin-scented liquid into her hands. She began to massage his shoulders, his chest, flat belly and smooth thighs. She slid her hands up again, to his buttocks and lower back. He breathed more easily now, his limbs loosening, his face peaceful. Then she felt his erection. She pulled him closer and guided him inside her. This time they moved more gently, as if dancing a slow tango, the climax ending in a soft embrace. She drifted off. When she woke he was gone.
