The Dark Beloved

by Helen Falconer

  Aoife changed her phone to her other hand because her grazed right shoulder was aching so badly, just from the act of holding it. She tried not to sound too pathetic. ‘Not sure. I hadn’t got anything in mind.’

  ‘I’ll bring over the usual stuff.’

  Carla arrived in the middle of Saturday afternoon with a huge black plastic sack of clothes slung over her shoulder. She stared around Aoife’s bedroom in shock. It was the first time she’d been in it since before Aoife had disappeared. ‘Your room’s so neat – what happened to it?’

  ‘Mam tidied it. Does it still look neat to you? I’ve been trying to get it back to normal.’

  ‘No, don’t, leave it as it is, it looks great. Such a lot of floor space. I must tidy my own room – it makes it so much easier to walk around.’ As she finished speaking, Carla upended the sack all over the carpet – short black dresses, high heels, tights, cracked Halloween masks, huge mouse ears, a pair of smaller cat’s ears, a squashed witch’s hat, a nurse’s outfit and a black-and-white cow suit complete with pink rubber udders. She pulled out Aoife’s make-up drawer and tipped its contents out onto the desk, sticking the keyboard up out of the way on top of the computer. ‘Any purple lipstick? What do you think of the cat idea? Too yesterday? Are witches boring or sexy? What do you think of the mouse ears? Let’s have some music.’

  ‘Not One Direction.’

  ‘Don’t panic, I’m so over that. Have you any Flat Out?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘What?’ Carla was clearly as shocked as she was gratified by being more in the musical know than Aoife. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t heard of Flat Out! They’re HUGE in Mayo. Here, I have them on my phone.’ Carla swept her fingers over the screen, found what she was looking for, propped the phone against the computer, turned up the volume and shouted over the music enthusiastically at Aoife: ‘God, this is so great, you and me just being back to normal again!’

  Aoife said, with an equal rush of enthusiasm, ‘Isn’t it!’ Because it was great, it was lovely, to have this moment – a step back into her safe human childhood, when she knew she was loved by everyone she loved.

  ‘So – you want to go as a cat? I have these two little black dresses, and some cool heels. Actually, there’s only one set of cat ears, but I can be the mouse.’

  ‘I can be the mouse, I don’t mind.’

  ‘Sure? We can swap them about. I don’t suppose anyone will be able to tell the difference anyway.’ Carla’s tone changed, this time to one of horror: ‘Aargh, that’s . . . You poor thing! You didn’t tell me you’d hurt yourself that badly!’

  Aoife was pulling her T-shirt off over her head – carefully, so as not to scrape off any fresh scabs. ‘It is a bit gross, isn’t it? Look at my hip—’

  ‘Put it away! Jesus! How fast were you going, ya fool? Have you been to the doctor?’

  ‘What could he do? I cleaned it, and then Mam cleaned it – it’s grand, healing up fine.’

  Carla studied Aoife’s grazes doubtfully. ‘OK. But it makes it tricky with the dress – it has straps. You really need to cover up, it’s not a good look. Have you a black cardigan?’

  ‘I might have, but since Mam tidied everything I’ve no idea where anything is.’

  Carla stuck in her head in the wardrobe – ‘She did a really good job, didn’t she? I might tidy mine’ – and rifled through the hangers and the hanging shelves. Then cried out, ‘Oh. My. GOD.’

  Aoife, who had been flicking through Carla’s playlist for any other new bands she might have missed, looked up in surprise.

  ‘Oh. My. God.’ Carla, turning to face her, was shaking the creases out of a very beautiful dress. The hem had been dipped in dark blue dye, and from this embroidered rays of gold shot up to the paler rose-pink of the shoulders: the sun rising from the sea. ‘Aoife, this is gorgeous. Where did you even get this? What’s it doing just stuffed in a bag like old rubbish?’

  It had been the plainest, least bridal-like gown that she could find in her fairy mother’s chambers, when Dorocha insisted she dress herself for their wedding. He had wanted her to show herself off as a joyful, willing bride. He had been quietly angry at the plainness of her choice. (But back in Mayo, Shay had smiled at her in the pouring rain, his hazel eyes flicking over her, head to toe. He’d said: I like that dress on you, even if you do look like a drowned rat.)

  Aoife grabbed the dress from Carla and thrust it back into the wardrobe, stuffing it behind the hanging shelves. ‘Don’t mind that, I don’t like it – it was only there till I could get rid of it properly.’

  ‘Seriously? But it’s . . .’ Carla caught the look on Aoife’s face and coolly switched subject without missing a beat. ‘Lois is going around all miserable because her archaeologist never got back in touch, but Sinead is still convinced he’ll come to the ball and axe-murder the lot of us. And talking of Sinead, she’s doing a line with Darragh – did you know?’

  ‘Again? Poor old Darragh, what an eejit.’

  ‘I know it.’ Carla began pulling out the drawers of the press. ‘It’s, like, the fifth time she’s snapped her fingers for him only a short time after dumping him. I don’t know why he goes running back every time. You’re right, he is a complete eejit. Oh, look – a black cardigan, all neatly folded! In the cardigan drawer, no less!’

  In Kilduff parish hall, Freddie Mercury screeched from ancient speakers, just as he had the year before and the year before that. Four little vampires were already flinging themselves around, waist-deep in dry ice. Ultra-violet strobe lights whirled in semi-darkness. On stage, the metalwork teacher from the school was bent over the decks, with a knife buried in his head. Fourth-year zombies cruised the walls, but there seemed to be a shortage of girls their age. A table was set up along the back wall with the usual fare – sandwiches, soft drinks, bars and biscuits.

  To the right of the table, the missing fifteen- and sixteen-year-old girls were gathered in a tight group, their backs to the room. Nearly all of them in short black dresses and very high heels.

  A handsome cloaked and booted warlock was heading towards Aoife and Carla; he shouted over the crackling music, ‘I thought you weren’t coming!’ and flung his arms enthusiastically around Carla, who laughed, clearly delighted by Killian’s over-the-top behaviour. ‘Course I was coming – why wouldn’t I come? You’re looking great!’

  ‘Come and dance!’ He was completely and deliberately blanking Aoife – no doubt thinking of it as punishment for what had happened in the bike shed.

  Carla, too busy fixing one of her shoes to notice, straightened up and teetered happily off with him. ‘OK, but don’t rush me, these heels are really high!’

  A firm hand gripped Aoife’s arm and spun her round. It was one of the zombies, wearing a hideous rubber mask. Tall with cropped black hair. He bent to murmur in her ear, lifting the mask from his mouth: ‘See, like you, I’m back from the dead . . .’

  It was Darragh.

  Aoife’s heart was beating too fast. The same as in school, she had mistaken Killian’s cousin for Shay – his height, his black cropped hair. She plastered on a smile. ‘Hi!’

  He grinned, and pulled the mask back down, saying in a more muffled voice, ‘Hi yourself. Rocking the witch look.’

  ‘What do you mean? I’m a cat!’ Carla had kindly insisted that Aoife have first turn with the cat’s ears.

  ‘Of course you are! Better again. Would you like to dance as well? Or may I escort you to the bar for a drink? There’s a splendid array to choose from – Coke, orange, lemon. And if you care to follow me into a dark corner, I’ll whip out the hip flask that I have concealed in my pocket.’

  ‘Mm . . . I don’t think so.’

  He grinned at her, taking the mask off altogether and leaving it to hang on the elastic round his neck, running his hand across his dark hair. ‘Really, it’s just a hip flask.’

  She laughed, despite herself. ‘But I thought you were here with Sinead . . .’

  He shrugged, a wry smile. ‘You
did? Me too.’

  ‘Couldn’t she come?’

  ‘No, she’s here all right.’ He nodded towards the jostling crowd of girls near the table. ‘Just not with me.’

  ‘Oh, you mean she’s hanging with Lois. I thought you meant she’d abandoned you for another—’

  ‘Look again.’

  And now that Aoife looked, she realized there was a boy in the mix – tall and black-haired like Darragh, his back to the wall and almost hidden from view by the crowd of the high-heeled girls pressed around him. Sinead was busy fighting her way into the scrum, wearing a shorter black dress than anyone else. Lois was right behind her.

  Darragh said, ‘There she goes, after fresh blood. Amazing to think that only yesterday she told me if she was still single by the time she was thirty, then she’d marry me. I was so happy – it was like we were the new Carla and Killian . . . What is going on with my cousin, by the way? He’s acting very monogamous tonight. Did you threaten to cut off his boy-bits if he didn’t behave himself with Carla? Is that one of the tricks they teach you in prison?’

  Still staring at the group of girls, she said vaguely, ‘Prison?’

  ‘Surely that’s where you’ve been all summer?’

  ‘Oh . . . Yes.’ Slowly it was becoming obvious – how had she not realized it already; known it in her blood, from the moment she set foot in this place? That dark head visible among the cat’s ears and witch-hat fascinators. It was Shay. He was here after all, at the centre of a laughing, flirting throng . . .

  Darragh said irritably, ‘Feck’s sake, Aoife, I’m talking to you.’

  She shivered, and pulled her eyes away. ‘What?’

  He seemed genuinely annoyed. ‘Stop staring at Shay Foley.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ Helplessly, her eyes were drawn back to the scrum by the wall. It was impossible to see the girl he was actually with . . . Was this what the waitress had meant when she said she was meeting him tomorrow? No white-blonde head in sight . . .

  Darragh said, ‘I don’t know what aftershave he has on, but I’m definitely asking for it for Christmas. Aoife!’

  She blinked, looked back at Darragh, forcing a smile. ‘Sorry. What did you say?’

  ‘That’s better. Remember your pride. Don’t be like me with Sinead, breaking up and getting back together until I can’t remember if it’s off or on. Running back to her every time she clicks her fingers and everyone calling me a total eejit – yes they do, don’t lie to me, you’ve probably said it yourself. Now, how about that drink?’

  Aoife made a huge effort to pull herself together. ‘OK. Why not?’

  As they walked across the dance floor, through the dry ice and whirling vampires, Darragh slipped his arm round her back. She nearly pulled away – then didn’t. Darragh was right – she needed to show some pride, whatever the truth. They passed Killian – leaping up and down, flapping his arms, teeth and eyes shining a peculiar white in the ultra-violet strobes. Carla grinned and rolled her eyes very slightly at them – then noted that Darragh had his arm round Aoife and nodded her approval. Darragh tightened his grip, pulling Aoife against him. When she looked up at him, he raised his dark eyebrows. ‘You’re limping, madam. Heels too tight?’

  ‘No, I fell off my bike a couple of days ago and my hip is sore. Mind my shoulder, actually.’

  He changed the position of his grip. ‘Cats really shouldn’t ride bikes.’

  ‘I guess not.’

  They were getting closer to the table of food and drink. She couldn’t look at Shay. She wouldn’t look at Shay.

  She did look at him.

  He had made a minimal nod to Halloween by dressing all in black: a close-fitting black shirt, black jeans. The beautiful girl from the café wasn’t anywhere to be seen – only Aisling and Lois Munnelly, pressed up against him on either side, both chatting away eagerly. Instead of the ubiquitous short black dress Aisling was wearing a blood-stained nurse’s outfit and had a rubber scar on her cheek. As Aoife watched, Sinead fought her way to the front of the throng of girls and got right in Shay’s face, gazing up at him, laughing gaily with one hand on his arm. Lois glared at Sinead.

  Look away.

  Darragh met her eyes with a slight shake of his head. ‘Coke?’

  ‘Club Orange.’

  ‘Here you go.’ He released her shoulders to pour the drink, and handed her the plastic cup.

  She took it – ‘Thanks’ – and limped away towards the edge of the dance floor. Killian was still bopping wildly around Carla. Darragh followed and positioned himself beside her.

  ‘Want to join those two?’

  ‘Not right now.’

  ‘I promise I don’t dance like a demented Labrador. Unlike my cousin I’m actually quite cool.’

  ‘I’m sure you are.’ She smiled up at him. The summer had given something more to Darragh than centimetres – he was definitely more civilized than he used to be.

  He smiled back at her. ‘So – try me for size?’

  She hesitated.

  Behind her, a low voice said, ‘Aoife?’

  For a moment she didn’t move; she was still looking at Darragh, although not really seeing him any more – just vaguely conscious of him rolling his eyes and saying, ‘Oh, for feck’s . . .’

  She turned round.

  He was standing a little back from her, his hands in his pockets. His eyes glittered green then black in the sweeping strobes. He said, ‘Are you all right?’

  Behind her, Darragh snapped, ‘Of course she’s all right – now go away and stop annoying us.’

  Shay’s gaze flicked to him very briefly, then settled again on Aoife enquiringly, one eyebrow raised slightly higher than the other. ‘I saw you limping. Are you all right?’

  She said firmly, to keep the shake out of her voice, ‘I’m grand. Why wouldn’t I be all right? Are you all right?’

  ‘See? She’s grand. Now back off.’

  Shay took a step towards her, ignoring Darragh utterly this time. ‘I was in Rita’s café with John Joe for our tea last night and the waitress said you’d come in to get cleaned up after falling off your bike. But she made it sound like nothing. She didn’t tell me you’d been hurt.’

  She stared at him, searching his face for the truth – a lightness flowing into her heart, lifting it. Was Carla right, as always? Had the girl been just ‘pathetically excited’ by having a teenage boy talk to her politely?

  (Darragh said, ‘Aoife?’ And then: ‘Fine then. I’ll just be standing quietly over there when you need me.’)

  Shay still didn’t take his green eyes off her face. ‘Where does it hurt? Tell me.’

  She realized she was holding her breath, and let it out on a sigh. ‘My hip. And my shoulder.’

  ‘This one?’ He slipped his strong square hand under her cardigan, cupping his palm over on her right shoulder.

  At the unexpectedness of his touching her skin – something he had never done before, not so deliberately, just to touch – she trembled, and warmth came flooding through her. His palm felt hot to her – a stinging, startling heat. ‘Oh . . .’

  His gaze grew concerned. ‘That hurts?’

  She lied, ‘No, it’s grand.’

  ‘Good.’ Still holding her eyes with his, he slowly placed his other hand on her hip. The same heat, searing right through the black dress. She stood firm, lips pressed together, eyes wide. He said, ‘Listen to me. I shouldn’t have come tonight. I just thought . . . I don’t know . . . that Carla would drag you here and I’d miss seeing you. And I thought, it would be grand – I wouldn’t have to come near you at all. There’ll be a big crowd, and I’d just see you – you know – across a crowded room . . .’ He laughed, not very happily. ‘But look at me. I can’t do this.’

  (Oh, the heat . . .) She said, ‘You’re wrong.’

  ‘I’m not. I only meant to look at you across a room, and I had to come and talk to you. I only meant to touch you for a moment, and I can’t take my hands off you . . .’

  ‘You don’t
have to. There’s no need for you to worry about hurting me. You’re a lenanshee, but I’m the queen of the Tuatha Dé Danann. I’m not even sixteen yet, and I’m already more powerful than any other changeling. You can’t hurt me, even if you wanted to.’

  His dark green eyes on hers. The golden depths of them, lighting up. ‘It’s true . . . You were crowned . . . Does it make a difference? I don’t know . . .’

  ‘I know it. I know it.’

  ‘Do you? Is it true?’ His curved mouth, hesitating over hers. His strong hands pressing on her shoulder, and her hip. Her skin scorching, enough to bring tears to her eyes . . .

  ‘It’s true!’ Yet her voice came out as a gasp of pain – she couldn’t help herself, her flesh was on fire . . .

  And he flinched back, releasing her. ‘I’m hurting you!’

  She gasped, ‘You weren’t . . .’ She was shaking, heart pounding.

  ‘Why didn’t you say?’ His eyes had gone dark again. He shoved his fists into his pockets. ‘I’m sorry. I should have known. I’m going now—’

  ‘Don’t leave me!’

  ‘Aoife, I’m going. I have to go.’ And he was going. He was walking away. The gaggle of girls by the wall were grinning and beckoning to him – Lois, Sinead, Aisling . . . She wanted to run after him, grab him, make him see. Kiss him, despite himself . . .

  Everyone watching. Pride.

  Darragh was standing by the food and drinks table, eating a sandwich; he gave her a slight wave as she fled past him towards the ladies’.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A group of second years were hogging the mirrors above the row of sinks, gossiping and fixing their make-up. She slipped into the cubicle nearest the door; closed and locked it. The pain was fading . . . She pulled aside the cardigan and the strap of the black dress to look. And cried out in wonder, under her breath.

  Laid across her shoulder, across the wound, was a clear, strong handprint. No scars remained; only the scarlet outline of his hand. Trembling, she placed her own hand over the mark of his, spreading out her fingers in the exact same way, but was not able to cover it completely. The intense heat of his energy radiated from her skin, heating her palm. It gave her a dizzy rush, a feeling of lightness . . .