Legitimate Target

by Dee McInnes

  “You never answered my question,” said a voice behind her. Dermott Donnelly had an uncanny knack of turning up whenever she was thinking about one of her parents.

  “Which question?” she said, turning to face him.

  He was wearing a black dinner suit over a white-winged shirt and a black bow tie. He was even more attractive than she remembered. His eyes were the same blue green as the coloured glass panel behind his head, that depicted the naked Trident King emerging from fish-infested waters, draped in a writhing sea-serpent.

  “If you’re already spoken for? Whether you’re a free agent?” he said, flashing a smile.

  “I know what you meant.”

  “And?”

  “Viv, have you seen Genevieve? She’s needed for a photo,” Lisa interrupted.

  Dermott was cornered by a woman wearing a chain of office and a bald man in a white dinner-jacket. Dermott raised his eyebrows, shrugged and smiled.

  The Ladies Room was choked with hairspray and perfume. Its walls decorated in pink, floral paper. The place was full to bursting. Women were repairing their make-up in front of a wide, wall-mounted mirror. Carmen was perched on a velvet covered couch next to the willowy actress whose hair was the same colour as Pete’s. Viv was looking forward to his reaction when he met the actress. She remembered the conversation they’d had, and how he had poured cold water on her attempt at match making. She wondered if Carmen was right? Whether, despite her keen observation skills, she was blind where love was concerned?

  “Everything okay?” Carmen asked.

  “Just wondering where Pete is,” Viv said, glancing at her watch. She had promised herself she wouldn’t spend the evening counting the seconds.

  “What time is it please?” the actress asked.

  “It’s seven twenty-five,” she said.

  “We’d better be getting back. See you at the table in a couple of minutes,” Carmen said. “I’ll keep your seat.”

  It wasn’t like Pete to be late. To pass up the opportunity of a free bar. Viv dug her phone out of her purse. She had a missed call and a voicemail. He’d had a blowout coming over the mountain. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It could be tomorrow before I can get her back on the road. It’s a fuck shit. Enjoy yourself. PS Mitch pleaded guilty. Sentencing is on Thursday.”

  There were two vacant seats beside Carmen. “Pete isn’t coming,” Viv said, sitting down. “Car problems. He’s waiting to get towed home.”

  “That’s a shame,” Carmen said. “Trouble seems to follow you around.”

  She wondered if Carmen was having a dig. She already felt bad enough about what had happened, and the thought of how it could have been even worse.

  “Viv, can I introduce David, the Deputy Mayor, and his wife Catherine. Noelle from the Northern Ireland Arts Council and Tara O’Driscoll who wrote the story and screenplay,” Cuds said. “Viv’s a journalist. Watch what you say, or it’ll be in tomorrow’s paper,” he laughed.

  “I’m off-duty. What happens in Derry, stays in Derry,” Viv said.

  “Pleased to hear it,” Dermott Donnelly came up behind her. “Is this chair free?”

  Carmen whispered into Viv ear, “You see. When one door closes…”

  Waiters circled and refilled their wine glasses.

  Cuds and Noelle discussed the growth of Northern Ireland’s film industry. Noelle revealed that a number of big-name American production companies were interested in filming at Belfast Studios, at the many historical sites around the province and across the border. “Having such a distinguished American writer on board has helped our cause enormously,” she said, acknowledging Tara with a wave of her hand.

  Viv took the opportunity to study Dermott. He had black feather-like eyebrows, thick wrists and masculine hands. A pair of silver enamelled cufflinks adorned his shirt. They were miniatures of the City of Derry coat of arms, an emblem depicted on several of the stained-glass windows. The coat of arms showed a yellow, human skeleton, sitting legs akimbo, on a mossy stone beside a three-towered castle in a black field. The skeleton was leaning his head on his hand. It faced forwards, the black eye-sockets, hollow nose and toothless mouth staring into space. The creature seemed tired. World weary.

  Tara was sitting to Viv’s left. “Are you two a couple, or do you simply wish you were?” she said, flashing a look at Dermott. Tara’s eyelashes were heavily weighted with mascara. The author wore a metallic grey off-the-shoulder dress. A tattoo showing a single red rose, entwined with thorns, graced the inside of her forearm. “You shouldn’t wear your heart on your sleeve,” Tara said. “Although I rarely follow any of my own advice.” Her voice had the lazy drawl of America’s east coast.

  Viv wasn’t sure what to say. Tara held her gaze, an amused smile playing on her lips. A waiter came around, topping up their glasses. “What’s your story about?” Viv asked. “I’ve only a rough idea, based on what Carmen’s told me so far.”

  “The Clans of Inishowen? Well…it’s basically a power struggle between two brothers, Conall and Éogain of The Northern Neill around the time of the eighth century, and the story of the feud with their nearest neighbour. The Northern Neill ruled the Inishowen peninsula, a magical place. There’s a peaceful silence there, despite its violent past. It’s a place that nurtures the creative spirit, a place where ghosts from hundreds and thousands of years ago seem to blow in the wind. According to folklore, the Northern Neill were a belligerent and ruthless group. They expanded their territory to cover most of what is now known as County Donegal and had ambitions of growing it further. Are you familiar with the area at all?”

  “Yes. A little,” Viv said.

  “Oh, I see…well, Aiobhell, played beautifully by Nuala, was the daughter of the King of Chremthian whose territory lay to the south. Aiobhell possessed a magic harp that allowed her to see into the future. She warned her father not to wage war with the brothers, but he was far too proud to give up the fight, even though the King knew his army was vastly outnumbered.

  Éogain, the younger of the brothers from the North, fell in love with Aiobhell, but Conall, who already had a wife, also desired her. The night before the battle, Conall sneaked into King Chremthian’s camp and violated Aiobhell. She put a curse on him and prophesied: Your kingdom will fall, and you yourself will fall and your hot blood will be on the plain tomorrow. That’s the three-minute sales pitch,” Tara laughed.

  “What’s that you’re saying about hot blood?” Dermott asked leaning forwards.

  “Tara was just telling me about the myth behind the movie,” Viv said.

  “There’s been a long history of conflict in this part of the world,” Tara said. “Long long before the more recent struggles.”

  “Sure, some people would start a fight about anything,” Dermott laughed.

  “It’s not always the best solution, is it?” Viv said.

  “In those days, people talked with their fists,” Dermott said. “Asked questions later.”

  “And Ireland has come a long way since then you think?” Viv said, raising her eyebrows.

  “I fell in love during the production,” Tara said. “I’d suggest you both follow your heart, and to hell with the consequences. We’re all going there in a handcart.”

  After dinner there were speeches. Toasts to the success of the film and thanks to those who funded the production. Tara was praised for her years of hard work and dedication in bringing the story from page to screen. The guests filed out along the parquet floor to a smaller reception-hall where there was a bar and a live band. Lisa and Genevieve tried to persuade Viv to join them on the dance floor. Not in these shoes, she thought, elbowing her way to the serving counter. The loud, thumping music reminded her of Adele’s wedding. She should confront Carmen about what had happened, but the right moment never seemed to present itself. If she said something to upset Carmen, it could mean the end of their friendship. One she valued. Carmen already seemed annoyed with her, perhaps rightly so?

  Viv ordered a large glass of
red wine and noticed Dermott Donnelly making his way through the crowd, pausing like royalty to speak to people.

  “Could I have the pleasure of this dance?” he said when he reached the place she was standing. “Carmen says you’re unattached.”

  “I don’t tell her everything,” Viv said.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Look, life’s too short to go around the houses. You look fantastic, I never got the chance to say so earlier. You must have realised you’re turning heads. I’d love the chance to get to know you better.”

  People were streaming in, pushing their way towards the bar. Dermott stretched out his arm, to shield her from the surge of bodies. Viv was jostled and almost lost her footing. The stupid stilettos. Dermott wrapped his arms around Viv and lowered his mouth until it found hers.

  “Hey, you two,” a woman in a black, cocktail dress said, squeezing past. “Get a room would’ye?”

  “Sure, Noreen, we were just getting going,” Dermott said, drawing back, but keeping his arm around Viv’s waist. He led Viv back down the corridor and through a door marked, ‘No Entry. Council Members Only’. He pushed her back against the wood, kissing her neck, his fingers sliding over the taupe-coloured fabric.

  Viv had no idea how much time passed.

  She adjusted her dress and stepped back into the corridor. “Meet me at the top of the staircase in ten minutes.” He had made her promise.

  The colour of Viv’s cheeks matched the wallpaper in the Ladies Room. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her purse was at the bottom of Carmen’s handbag. She focussed on controlling her breathing and ran her fingers through her hair. She had been a little disappointed when Dermott had stopped her fingers searching for his trouser button.

  “Wait. Let’s get out of here,” he had said. “I’ve a room at a hotel five minutes away.”

  “I’ll need to find Carmen and let her know,” Viv had replied.

  Two women burst in through the door. One of them was the woman called Noreen, who seemed to know Dermott. The other one was younger. She was poured into a gold, sequined dress, too tight for her apple-shaped figure.

  “Sit here for a minute, Ma, will ye?” the younger one said. She deposited Noreen on the velvet upholstered ottoman and disappeared outside.

  Noreen shut her eyes and began to slump sideways.

  Viv reached around and grabbed Noreen by the arm. “Are you okay?” she asked, pulling the woman upright.

  Noreen struggled to focus. “Do I know ye? Oh. Aren’t ye the fancy woman Dermott Donnelly was playing tonsil-tennis with half an hour ago?”

  “Are you going to be alright? Is your daughter coming back for you?” Viv asked.

  “He thinks he’s a big man these days, but he let my cousin down badly. Are ye here with the film crew? I’d love to have a spell in front of the camera. I used to be a right drama-queen… in the day,” Noreen cackled, revealing a gold crown and several grey fillings.

  The woman wasn’t making a lot of sense, but the journalist in her asked. “Your cousin was let down?”

  “He got Maeve pregnant. They married but it didn’t last. Dermott has a thirteen-year old daughter. I’m guessin’ he hasn’t told ye that?”

  “No. Not so far…”

  “Well, he would nae want to scare you off. He has a lot of friends in the right places…and he has money alright, but he won’t share it with Maeve. The tight fisted…You’re not from round here, are ye?” Noreen slurred.

  Viv couldn’t help watching the second hand on her Breitling. Dermott would be waiting. She wanted to get her purse and tell Carmen she was leaving. She willed someone to come in so that she could make her excuses. To follow her heart, rather than her head, for once.

  “Ye know he was a hard man back in the day,” Noreen was saying. “Dermott Donnelly fought for the freedom of this island. He took three men out not ten mile from where we are standing. Maeve told me. It’s supposed to be a big secret, shhh don’t tell anyone,” Noreen put her index finger to her lips and her eyelids drooped.

  Viv wished her mobile phone wasn’t consigned to Carmen’s handbag. “What secret? When was this?” she asked, shaking the woman by the shoulder.

  The mascara-stained eyelids flickered. “Back in the eighties.” Noreen paused, opening her eyes. She rocked her head from side to side as if to dislodge the information.

  Viv held her breath and didn’t say anything.

  “Some ould boy, a prison officer I think it was, got a bullet in the head… and two policemen were blew up,” Noreen said.

  Viv’s heart sank, like the sea birds diving near The Point, the floor slipping and slewing beneath her feet. Her heart racing. “Are you saying Dermot Donnelly was… a terrorist?”

  The door swung open and the apple-shaped daughter reappeared, a second woman at her side. “C’mon Ma, quit your blethering, the taxi’s here… Don’t take any notice of anything she’s told you. It’s mostly shite,” Noreen’s daughter told Viv.

  The daughter and her companion each put an arm under Noreen’s and manhandled her out of the door.

  Viv was frozen to the spot. She replayed the words in her head. She felt like she used to when the last train thundered over the crossing, and Aunt Maggie’s glass ornaments danced across the mantlepiece, shattering on the floor. Viv made a fist and squeezed her fingers until the knuckles turned white, trying to control the adrenaline. She needed to think fast, turn this to her advantage, find out if this could possibly be true.

  Tara and Nuala came into the Ladies Room, their lips meeting as soon as the door closed behind them.

  Viv pushed past. She found Carmen and Cuds near the dance floor. “Can I have my purse please? I need my phone.”

  “Is everything okay?” Carmen asked. “Have you heard anything more from Pete?”

  “He’s fine, as far as I know. I’m just going out for some fresh air. I’ll be back later.”

  “There’s a twenty-four-hour taxi rank on the square,” Carmen said.

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Cuds called after her.

  Viv had too much on her mind to worry about anyone else’s problems.

  Dermott Donnelly was standing at the top of the stairs, a glass in hand. “You took your time. I had to get someone to get me another drink from the bar,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “Whiskey and ginger.”

  Viv took the glass and drained it. He watched with a smile. She noticed the way his eye-tooth twisted and felt her stomach lurch, remembering what she had allowed him to do, behind closed doors. She slipped her shoes off and looped her purse over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go. The party’s over,” she said.

  “You’re wrong. It’s just beginning.”

  Dermott wrapped his arm around her waist. “Have you not brought a coat? I’m staying at the City Hotel. It’s not far, but it’ll be freezing at this time of night. Here, let me carry those.”

  She put her stockinged toe on the step. The Guildhall clock struck the half hour.

  “Half past midnight. The night’s young,” he said.

  Where the darkness echoes, she whispered to herself. The wooden stair-treads were cold and hard under the soles of her feet. Her hand slipped down the gold, metal bannister at the centre of the staircase, his body bumping against hers. She tried to think straight. They circled the tiled landing and made their way to the ground floor.

  “Come on, this way,” he guided her towards the exit. The doors opened and she was hit by an icy wind. “This is just like the day we met at Grianan,” he said. “The gods were smiling, the day our stars aligned.”

  The windows of the five-storey City Hotel in the distance were punched squares of yellow and black between the brickwork, like a cardboard cut-out. The trees outside the entrance were decorated with coloured lights. It looked like the perfect picture.

  “It seems to have been a twist of fate,” she said. “Let’s take the scenic route, by the river.”

  He took his jacket off and d
raped it around her shoulders. They crossed the road. She lingered on the quayside and stared over the railings into the dark, rippling water of the River Foyle curving into the distance. Orange streetlights twinkled on the surface. She thought about the City’s Coat of Arms and its skeleton emblem. Ye picture of death.

  “Don’t jump,” Dermott said. “It might never happen.”

  “We don’t know anything about each other,” she said, trying to stop shivering.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Nothing. Everything.”

  “Are you getting cold feet?... I don’t mean that literally,” he said with a laugh.

  “No, no. Not at all. I’m just saying. How much do we really know about people? When you’re a child, you’re brought up to tell the truth, but as you get older you learn how to lie. And if you’re good at it, other people can’t tell the difference.”

  “Are you trying to get at something?”

  “I’m just asking if there’s anything I should know about you? It’s your last chance to make a full confession,” Viv said, trying to keep her tone casual.

  “Has someone been telling tales?” he asked.

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Look. Okay. I’ll come clean,” he said. “I was married, one time. It didn’t work out. We were both too young, and I had the wool pulled over my eyes. I have a daughter. I don’t see her so much since…well, what happened, but I’m not involved romantically with anyone else and I don’t have any communicable diseases, not that I know about. I promise I’ll be careful.”

  “Can we get another drink?” Viv asked.

  “Well, it’s a hotel. We can get anything we want sent up, and there’s a swimming pool. I know the manager. He might allow us to use it, afterwards. We can’t actually…well, ye know? C’mon let’s go in.” Dermott guided her away from the quayside.