Dragonfly of Venus

by Susan Ferrier MacKay

  Yes, thought Joan, looking at herself. Her face definitely reflected life experience including this latest horrendous loss of Declan. She’d sobbed for hours until there simply wasn’t a single tear left in her body. In the end she told herself it had simply been Declan’s time to go.

  Joan wasn’t religious in a formal way but she did believe in the sublime force that allowed a weed to grow amidst concrete. She viewed the human body as a temporary dwelling. Upon death, when the soul moved out, the body was an abandoned house to be grieved over and disposed of. Unfortunately, no such ritual had been available for Declan. His body had never been found.

  Joan brushed a matte of powder over her face. She shot a spray of Jo Malone perfume in the air and walked through scented mist. A hint, not a reek, she told herself.

  She checked her face for the final time and decided she looked okay. She’d selected a soft charcoal coloured sweater and black slacks. Over these she wore a black and white hound’s-tooth check Ralph Lauren jacket. She added a red cashmere scarf Elizabeth had brought her from Scotland, one that matched her boots. She decided she looked presentable.

  “Wow!” said Elizabeth. She was busy pouring milk over the twin’s cereal when Joan entered the kitchen. “You look fabulous. What’s the occasion?”

  “Nothing special,” said Joan. “I just felt like getting a bit dressed up.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I might think you were seeing someone,” teased Elizabeth.

  “No, not really. Well maybe,” added Joan. “Just a customer who came in yesterday. We’re having a coffee after work.”

  “Lucky guy,” said Elizabeth buttering toast and handing a piece to Jack and Camille. “Soon you’ll have your place back in case you want to entertain him. I’m putting an offer in on that house I told you about,” she said.

  “Great,” said Joan, pulling on red leather gloves. “Although I’m not sure I’m ready to entertain a gentleman caller.”

  Elizabeth scoffed at the term. “Gentleman caller sounds very old fashioned.”

  “Maybe I am old fashioned but that’s alright isn’t it darlings?”

  She kissed Jack and Camille on their heads.

  “I thought you said you couldn’t handle a duplex financially.”

  “Effie’s coming back. We’re going in on it together,” said Elizabeth.

  “That’s terrific news. Effie is fun to have around. It’ll be good for you.”

  “After I pick up the kids we’re going to take a look at it. I want to make sure it meets with their approval,” said Elizabeth wiping crumbs from her children’s faces. “Right kids?”

  “Yeah,” they said together.

  Thinking of the children, Joan almost told Elizabeth about her unfortunate encounter with Natasha. She’d agonized whether to say anything but what good would it do? Elizabeth couldn’t stop that crazy woman from going to Scotland if she wanted to so it seemed pointless to worry her. It was more of a concern that Natasha knew where the twins went to school. Would Elizabeth want to disrupt them by making them go someplace else now that they were settled and happy? The security at Springfield Academy was excellent. Once again, Joan decided to keep quiet. Elizabeth seemed to be returning to her old self. Joan didn’t want her fretting unnecessarily. Natasha was clearly deranged. Imagine going all the way to Scotland to simply look at the sea where Declan died. It was macabre and slightly gruesome. Joan felt a shiver run down her spine but decided she was doing the right thing by keeping quiet. It was a decision she would later regret.

  Joan kissed Elizabeth on the cheek and set off to the book store. Now she’d resolved not to concern Elizabeth with Natasha, she put the crazy woman out of her mind. The idea of coffee with Byron Sparks added an extra spring to her step.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Elizabeth was pleased when the real estate agent called to say her offer had been accepted. Elizabeth had stipulated a short closing of two weeks. The family she was buying from had been delighted as the wife was being transferred overseas to head up a large corporation. It was, as the ultra-Botoxed agent said in honeyed tones, a “Win-win.”

  Upon seeing a tire swing hanging from a giant maple tree in the back yard, the twins had given immediate approval of their new home. It was a perfect house thought Elizabeth. Some of its original features like wide plank flooring and a stunning carved fireplace mantle had been retained while the rest of the house had been tastefully modernized. It was light, airy, and welcoming.

  Declan would have loved it, she thought. There was even a small carriage house at the back of the garden that Declan could have turned into a recording studio. How unfair it seemed that he’d been taken from her and the children.

  Jack and Camille still didn’t understand the absence of their father because they occasionally saw one of Declan’s videos on TV.. Two nights ago Jack had pulled Elizabeth into the television room saying excitedly, “There’s daddy. He’s in there.”

  How could she explain to Jack that’s what Declan would always be from now on, a remote figure on a screen? She tousled her son’s dark curls and fought back tears.

  The music video had been shot six months before he died. Eerily, it showed Declan alone on a beach playing his guitar and staring out to sea. His voice filled the room. He tilted his head back and crooned.

  “We come and we go

  So little we know.”

  Jack sang along. It was heart breaking to hear the child echoing his father’s words. The video ended with a close-up shot of Declan’s face. The wind gently lifted dark locks away from his forehead. Faint stubble covered the clean lines of his jaw.

  Declan closed his eyes as the last note of his song faded away. Then, with a flirtatious smile, he looked directly into the camera and whispered, “you’re beautiful.”

  Jack looked at Elizabeth with the same intense eyes of his father.

  “Mommy…daddy says you’re beautiful.”

  Elizabeth reached for a tissue in the pocket of her sweater.

  “Maybe daddy is telling you that you’re beautiful,” sniffled Elizabeth.

  “Nah,” said Jack, dive-bombing the couch and pummeling it with his fists. “Boys can’t be beautiful. Only girls.”

  Elizabeth saved her tears until she was in bed. How she ached to have Declan in her arms again. She remembered the first time they’d seen each other at the surprise birthday party Effie threw for her. The first look that passed between them had been electric. She remembered the brush of Declan’s hand against her arm and the instantaneous jelly feeling in her legs. She remembered their first kiss at the Rodin Museum in Paris beside the famous sculpture of two lovers kissing. She remembered….

  Elizabeth fell into a deep dreamless sleep. It was only as she was waking she thought she heard Declan’s voice whispering "You’re beautiful,” in her ear.

  “Mmm,” she murmured turning over. She reached for him only to find a chasm of empty space.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “You’re beautiful,” whispered Declan, tucking Fionnaugh’s strawberry curls behind her delicate ear. They were in the kitchen, cutting up vegetables for a stew. Several hens had wandered in to the annoyance of Moira who was busy flapping her apron to chase them outside.

  Fionnaugh picked up a carrot. Looking at Declan with a cheeky smile, she took a sharp bite off the end.

  “Ouch,” said Declan. Fionnaugh giggled and took a quick grab of his trousers.

  “Cock,” she said.

  Since Declan had taught Fionnaugh the word, she said it all the time. “Cock, cock, cock,” she said over breakfast as they ate their porridge. “Cock,” she said when she saw Declan dragging sacks of peat. “Cock,” she called out to him from her milking stool as she pulled the cow’s teats.

  “Cock,” she said pointing the large rooster that strutted among the hens. Declan’s laugh delighted her.

  Callum and Moira couldn’t understand their daughter’s obsession with this strange new sound.

  “Cock?” inquir
ed Moira adding a string of words that indicated she was asking what it meant. Fionnaugh started laughing so hard that Moira whacked her on the backside with a wooden spoon and sent her outside to weed the garden. When Iain stumped sullenly by Fionnaugh yelled “cock” at him.

  Since his thrashing by Declan, Iain avoided Fionnaugh, a situation that was not to Moira’s liking.

  When Iain came by for eggs, Moira invited him in. She offered some of the sweet, hot porridge that was always bubbling on the stove. Iain shook his head, glancing nervously at Declan who was busy mending a creel in the corner of the room. After exchanging a few words with Moira, Iain left with a dozen eggs in a basket.

  Declan set the creel aside and stared at his hands with their callused fingertips. Handling the wicker of the basket gave him an urge to press the strands and hear musical sounds. He imagined expectant joyful faces staring up at him. They wanted something. What was it?

  Later, when Callum and Fionnaugh returned to the house with lobsters for supper, Moira harangued Fionnaugh about Iain. Declan caught the gist of the conversation. Moira was obviously encouraging Fionnaugh to take up with the hulking lad. Fionnaugh stamped her foot, raising her voice.

  “Chan,” she cried. “Chan.”

  As soon as Callum sensed a storm brewing between the two women, he rolled his eyes at Declan and went back outside. Declan glanced up from the intricate work he was doing on the lobster creel and caught Fionnaugh’s eye. A conspiratorial glance passed between them. The look did not go unnoticed. Moira placed herself directly between Declan and Fionnaugh, her voice rising to a frantic, angry shriek.

  Declan cringed as the name Johnny and Ian were tumbled into Moira’s sentences. He felt sure he knew what she was saying…that he was Fionnaugh’s brother and romance between them was not allowed. Declan didn’t know who he was, or where he was, or how he’d come to be here but he was certain he had no sister. It was one fact he had absolutely no doubt about, one true thing in a life that felt like the distortion of mirrors in a fairground fun house.

  The argument between Moira and Fionnaugh was finally over when Moira gave her daughter a sharp smack across the face. Fionnaugh gasped in shock and fled. Moira came to where Declan was working. She stroked Declan’s hair. The gesture seemed to calm her down.

  “Ach Johnny,” she said. She repeated the phrase several times, her watery eyes filled with sadness. Declan gave the tiny woman a hug. She seemed reassured, returning to the wood stove to stir her porridge.

  Declan wanted to find Fionnaugh and comfort her. What a shame he was the cause of so much trouble. Even if he tried to stay away from Fionnaugh it wouldn’t help. Now he’d introduced her to the joys of the body she wanted him all the time. The thought of her rosy pink nipples, eager mouth and the downy-haired moss between her legs made him harden instantly. How could he resist? It was impossible. But why did Fionnaugh continue to say a word that disturbed him after their lovemaking. She said ‘Elizabeth’ over and over. Every time she said it he felt a tingle of electricity. The name meant something, but what? No, the main thing was not to get caught by Moira.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Natasha stretched out comfortably in first class, sipping champagne. Thank God she wasn’t one of the cattle sitting in the back of the plane. She could practically hear them mooing. She ordered steak for dinner and sat back to flip though Vogue. The flight was a little more than six hours, just long enough to grab a couple of hours sleep before she began her pilgrimage to Declan’s watery grave.

  The flight was uneventful, landing on time. Natasha took a taxi to Glasgow’s Queen Street train station and purchased a ticket to Inverness. The train was leaving in twenty minutes. Good timing thought Natasha as she hauled her suitcase on board and settled in to a seat.

  A taped woman’s voice announced, “The next stop is Pit Lochrie.”

  Natasha’s head lolled sideways onto the shoulder of a man sitting beside her.

  “Sorry,” she murmured sleepily.

  “Don’t worry petal,” he said. “You can use my shoulder anytime.”

  ‘Petal,’ she thought, that’s a nice name. Oh well, he’d offered. Why not take him up on it? She leaned against the man’s shoulder and fell into a deep sleep, soothed by the gentle rocking of the train making it’s way north.

  Natasha woke an hour and a half later feeling famished. Her passenger pillow was gone. As if on cue, a young man, pushing a rattling cart with drinks and sandwiches, appeared in the aisle. He stopped at Natasha.

  “Would you like anything?” he asked her.

  Natasha yawned and stretched.

  “Got any tequila?”

  The young man laughed.

  “Sorry luv. Wrong country.. I can offer you whiskey, beer, or cider?”

  “Just tea thanks, and a ham sandwich.”

  “Right. That’ll be four pounds fifty,” said the young man handing her the sandwich and a scalding cup of tea.

  Natasha gave him a five-pound note.

  “Keep the change,” she said.

  The young man looked surprised.

  “Thanks very much Miss.”

  Natasha made a mental note that tipping was not expected in this country. She unwrapped a slightly dried-out sandwich and sipped her tea. How civilized, she thought. Food and booze brought to your seat on the train. Canada could take a lesson in such courtesies.

  Natasha watched the countryside whiz by: Green fields with cows and whitewashed cottages, thick copses and flashes of streams. However, Natasha soon grew bored with the scenery and surveyed her fellow passengers.

  The train, full when it left Glasgow, was now half-empty. Two elderly ladies sat across from her doing a crossword puzzle. Behind them sat a young couple with a baby. Natasha guessed the girl was around nineteen, cheaply made-up with bleached blonde hair and a roll of belly fat. She placed the baby in a carry-seat on the table in front of her and promptly fell asleep. The man however, couldn’t tear his eyes from Natasha.

  He was attractive in a well-muscled, brutish way. Natasha could tell from his biceps that he worked out. His dark hair was cropped close to his head, making his narrow blue eyes stand out. His coloring reminded Natasha of Declan. The man stretched his legs into the aisle. Natasha could see that underneath his jeanshe had a hard-on.

  Well, well, she thought. This could liven up the train ride. She got up, taking her purse, and made her way to the washroom. As she passed the man she brushed her fingers lightly against his shoulder, an invitation to follow.

  Natasha swayed down the aisle, clutching the top of seats for balance. At the end of the train car was an unfamiliar washroom. The door presented a problem. Natasha wasn’t sure how to open it.

  “Press the button,” said the man’s voice in a British accent. Her invitation had been accepted.

  “Thanks,” said Natasha, pushing it.

  The door slid open with a whoosh. The toilet cubicle was surprisingly roomy. Natasha stepped in followed by the man. He pressed another illuminated button and the door slid closed. A different button ensured the door locked.

  “You’re gorgeous,” said the man. He kissed her roughly. She pressed against him. His fingers made their way up her skirt and inside her g-string.

  “I’ve wanted to fuck you ever since we got on the train,” he said gruffly. “What’s your name?”

  “My name is my name,” said Natasha. “I don’t want to know yours.”

  She undid the zipper of his jeans, feeling for his substantial erection. With her other hand she extracted a condom from her purse.

  “Here, put this on.”

  The man ripped the package open with his teeth and slid the condom down his shaft.

  “Now, fuck me,” commanded Natasha, “before your wife wakes up.”

  The man needed no urging. He lifted Natasha up easily. Her skirt bunched around her waist. She pulled the crotch of her g-string to one side for him to enter her.

  “My God you’re hot,” he grunted. “You are one hot horny littl
e fuck-bitch.”

  “And you…are a real cheating bastard.”

  Natasha ran her hands under his shirt savouring his muscular back.

  “Fuck me hard,” she cried. “Go on you fuck.”

  Just as he exploded into the condom, she dug her nails into him clawing four bloody stripes across his back.

  “Ow,” he cried. “What did you do that for?”

  He glared at her in disgust then whipped off the condom and tossed it into the waste container. Natasha pulled her skirt down and smoothed her hair in the mirror.

  “Let’s call it a little souvenir from the train,” she said.

  “How am I supposed to explain the scratches?” he asked, looking annoyed.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care,” said Natasha.

  “Thanks for the fuck, bitch.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Natasha. “So nice to meet a man with good manners.” ”

  The man hit a release button and the door whooshed open. One of the crossword ladies was waiting outside. Her jaw dropped as Natasha and the man exited. Natasha returned to her seat.

  The man flopped down and gave his sleeping wife a kiss. He glared at Natasha. She smiled sweetly back. She gave a little wave with her nails as the family got off at the next stop. Another cheater punished, thought Natasha.. Would they never learn?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Alone in her room, Elizabeth spun herself a fantasy. She was standing on a wharf, watching a pirate ship being loaded with provisions. A pair of strong arms suddenly grabbed her own and held them behind her back. A man’s gruff voice spoke in her ear.