The Dragonfly

by Kate Dunn

  “But I’m buggered if I can come up with it.”

  He opened and closed his eyes. The subdued light of the room he was in – not his cell – stung.

  “Rosbif! You’re back! At bleedin’ last.” Someone leaned over him. He took in the shaven head, the bony face, the close-set, pale-lashed eyes. “See you’ve met Joubert,” the man said. “Chapot closed the book; he was calling in the money. Yer number was up.”

  “Laroche?” said Michael. He was feeling slightly sick. His skull burned as if his brain had swollen inside it.

  “You’re in the ding wing. How many fingers am I holding up? Who’s the president? What day of the week is it?” said Laroche. “You’ll live.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I used up some credit, let’s say, without going into the small print. Somebody owed me. Can’t stay long though. Five minutes, maybe.”

  Michael put a hand to his head, which felt like broken eggshell. There was a bandage, some tape. “I saw a doctor, I think. I think I can remember that. And having some stitches.” He lay carefully on the bed, cautious with himself. “What about Joubert? It was Joubert, wasn’t it? I saw Chapot, too.”

  “Somebody else’ll take the rap – you won’t catch Joubert on the block. ’S all trade. Chapot was there to see fair play.”

  “Fair play?” said Michael derisively.

  “Following the rules.”

  He let it go.

  “I did warn you. I did tell you it was going to happen. Tried to toughen you up, woss more. Education ain’t juss ritin.’”

  A key turned in the lock and they fell silent. The kanga looked round the door and jerked his head at Laroche. “Time’s up.” Laroche strolled out with the kind of insolence that follows the rules, but only just, with a little oink oink to punctuate his leaving.

  “You’re wanted,” the kanga said to Michael. “You have permission to receive a telephone call.”

  ~~~

  “Hello?”

  “Michael?”

  It was his father’s voice. He felt unsteady on his feet. Like the bicycle handlebars, the ground was not quite level and even if he half-closed an eye he couldn’t adjust it. He couldn’t straighten anything out.

  “Hello Dad,” he said warily.

  “I’m ringing you because – well, it’s Delphine. She’s had an–”

  “Delphine? What’s happened? Tell me what’s happened? Is she–?”

  “She’s had a little accident. It’s nothing – she fine, she’s OK. I don’t want you to worry, but I thought I ought–”

  “An accident? What kind of accident?”

  “She fell into a lock.”

  “Into a lock? For Christ’s sake! Is she alright?”

  “She’s alright. She’s alright.”

  Michael felt out of breath, as if he’d been running and running.

  “She’s alright,” his Dad said again – the salient news, the phrase to hold on to. He rested his forehead on the wall of the phone booth, forgetting the bandage and the stitches and the sock with the wrench, forgetting everything except his daughter.

  “It was a fright, as much as anything, for all of us. But I took her to the hospital, just to be on the safe side, so that the doctors could have a look at her and they’ve kept her in overnight.”

  “You took her to hospital?” he said.

  “Just to be on the safe side. I’m on my way to collect her now.”

  “And she’s alright?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “She fell into a lock?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t see how–” he began. An incoming tide of tiredness washed over him: his head was throbbing. There were moments, which he tried to fight, when the burden of remorse was simply too heavy for him. “Never mind,” he sighed.

  “Michael–?”

  “Will you give her my love? Tell her–”

  “The solicitor thinks you should change your plea. She telephoned me to say,” his father blurted out.

  Michael took a moment to reply. “Just tell her that.”

  “Please will you consider it? Please. Think what it would mean to your daughter–”

  The bandage felt tight as a tourniquet round his temples. “I think about that all the time,” he said curtly.

  “If you go for not guilty, at least you have a chance.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Think of the damage–”

  “You have no idea what you are asking me.” His heart felt as if it were beating in his head; he was all pulse.

  “Parents sometimes have to make difficult decisions. As a father–”

  “I’ve got to go,” Michael said abruptly. “Sorry. Send her my love.” He hung up, then stood with his hands pressing against either side of the booth, holding himself steady.

  “You had three more minutes,” the kanga said sardonically, checking his watch.

  “I’ll save them for another time,” said Michael.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Delphine was sitting on her bed waiting for him, when Colin arrived at the hospital. She was wearing Michael’s lavender grey tweed hat sideways on her head and the sight of it made him wince. She took one look at him and the expectancy went out of her. She didn’t ask about Amandine and he didn’t say anything. Disconsolately, she accompanied him through the corridors.

  “We have to follow the green line on the floor and when that stops we follow the yellow dots,” he explained, “All the way to the exit. How are you feeling?” He saw the beginnings of a Gallic shrug. “You’re looking much better.”

  “I’m OK…” she said in a small voice, her bottom lip protruding. She tucked her hand into his.

  The yellow dots took them all the way to the car park where she stopped, squinting up at the sky, which was infused with a sulky colour that promised a change of weather: grey clouds lanced with the last shafts of light. She looked up, a critical frown on her face.

  “Papa told me that the rays of the sun are the souls of the dead climbing up to heaven,” she said. No names were mentioned; no mums, no worn monkeys were referred to. “Is it true?” she asked, turning to him.

  Colin bit one side of his lip and then, for good measure, the other. “Well,” he said prudently, “I don’t think we should rule anything out.”

  “I think it is not possible,” she stammered, her voice choking as she turned on her heel and walked off.

  “Wait a moment! He had to hurry to catch up with her. “Wait – I’ve got something for you – a treat – when we get back to the boat.”

  She glanced at him as if he’d been stringing her a line all this time, making promises he couldn’t keep; as if he’d let her down.

  “Just you wait and see!” He sort of understood; he thought he did: this new unhappiness lighting the blue touch paper of her other sadnesses. As they neared the port de plaisance he overtook her and sped on ahead, so that he was able to greet her at the Dragonfly with a flourish.

  “There!” he trumpeted. He’d put the cabin door table up and sitting on a plate in the middle of it, plush with cream, was a magnificent cake in the shape of a swan. “I’ll bet you a euro you can’t finish it!”

  Holy God, there were tears in her eyes.

  “Amandine doesn’t like–” she responded automatically and then broke off.

  “Three euros?” he offered, as a single tear fell. “Five?”

  ~~~

  Had he been able to sleep at all the previous night, Colin would have woken with a woman in his arms for the first time in Lord knows how many years, but as it was he kept himself awake, entranced by the feeling of Tyler’s head nestled under his chin, scared that if he took his eyes off her for a moment she might disappear. There was also the question of limited space. Some strange scrupulousness and a need to hold and be held prevented either of them from rolling over on to Delphine’s empty bed. Gallantly, he insisted that she sleep on the inside of his tiny bunk, which left him a
narrow strip on the edge and on the couple of occasions when he was close to nodding off, a sense of his precariousness swiftly woke him.

  They made love, and they made love again, and he thought that he could easily die from happiness. When he came, he found that he was weeping, and he couldn’t let her see.

  Around dawn, she stirred too. “Colin?”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Just checking…” she whispered, and kissed his chin, and went to sleep again. He feasted on the rainwater scent of her hair fretted with silver, drawing out one dark curl to its full extent and coiling it round his finger.

  “Colin?”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Are you looking at me?”

  “Would I do that?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Well, I do, quite…”

  “Because if you do, both of us will have to get up and one of us – probably you – will have to go naked onto the deck to give me enough space to look for my watch.”

  “Forget I asked.”

  “Though actually, I mustn’t be late for the hospital…” With elaborate leaning and stretching (and kissing; with elaborate kissing) he managed to locate his watch on the floor under some clothes. “Seven thirty. Loads of time…”

  “Colin?” She tilted her head back to bring him into focus. It was a while before she spoke. “What’s happened, this – thing, between us, well it is just… a thing, isn’t it? Only–” She smoothed her hand along his jaw and up to his temple and he had to struggle to keep at bay the plummeting feeling in his stomach. “Only… I’m not really a people person, you see.”

  With tremendous concentration, straining to keep the tremor from his voice, he said, “Yes, I see.”

  “And you are such a great guy…”

  He stared up at the bottom of the shelf above his bed, not answering.

  “And it’s really important that we are clear and honest with each other…”

  “Why? Why aren’t you a people person? That’s if you don’t mind me asking…”

  She fanned herself with the corner of the sleeping bag. “Is it hot in here, or is it me?” she said nervously. “Because I’ve been hurt in the past.”

  “God, Tyler! We’ve all been hurt. Nobody gets off scot-free.”

  “–and I don’t want to be hurt again.”

  “Well, fair enough.” He wondered how brusque he sounded; probably not as brusque as he felt, rattled by this giving with one hand, with one strong, beautiful hand and this taking away with the other all at the same time. “I don’t want to be hurt, either. But I wouldn’t imagine either of us is lying here planning how much pain we can inflict, and how…”

  “No-o.”

  “I know I’m not,” he leaned up on one elbow, the better to see her. “I want to make you happy. I want you to make me happy.”

  “It sounds like a pretty neat equation, when you put it that way,” her doubtful laugh tailed off. “Have you had other… like, relationships, since… you know…?”

  “One serious but failed attempt,” he scratched his cheek, “And a couple of false starts.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “I was still in love with my wife. I loved her for an awfully long time.”

  “Being a victim is such a great role to play – you get all the good lines, the big scenes,” agreed Tyler dryly. “But if things didn’t work out before, for either of us, who’s to say that this time…?”

  He thought hard before he replied, “Because we’re different people now.” He paused, testing out the credibility of what he had said. “I’m different.”

  “Different, how?”

  “And my guess is that you are different too.” He touched the tip of her nose. “I’m less certain about things and more grateful,” he kissed her nose where he had touched it, “Maybe that’s a promising combination.”

  Distractedly, she kissed him back. “Why?” she demanded. “Why’ve you changed?”

  His arm was getting tired; his hand was crackling with pins and needles. He laid his head upon her breast bone. “Are you interviewing me for the post?” he asked.

  She twisted so she could look down at him. “Kind of,” came her blunt reply. “Is that OK?”

  He was listening to the flooding of her heart, the breathy flow of blood. “I’ve stopped blaming Sally, that’s the main thing. I’ve loosened up a bit – spending time with Delphine would thaw the hardest heart.” He reached up and touched one corner of Tyler’s mouth and then the other, teasing out her smile. “And yes,” he said, “Being interviewed is fine, as long as I get the job,” and he kissed her smile before it could disappear.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she sighed a moment later, “This – what we’re doing here, now – it’s lovely…”

  “It is lovely. It’s very, very lovely.”

  “It is…” she nested closer to him.

  “Well, in that case, we could just go on doing it, a little bit at a time and if it keeps being lovely…”

  “Even though you do have Delphine to look after…”

  “I do, but sadly, she’s not mine to keep. I’m going to have to give her back at the end of the summer.”

  “And we come from different countries…”

  “But we both like being in France.”

  She nodded. He watched her lips part, trying to anticipate what she might say next, then in watching, completely lost the thread and kissed her again.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she said weakly, “I’m not against doing this,” so he kissed her one more time, “In principle…” and then again, “But I just think it’s important,” and again, “That we are honest with each other right from the start.”

  Colin flinched, but he was in too deep to turn back now, ready to drown; he told himself he hadn’t lied to her – her mouth, his mouth, their mouths – he had been honest in what he’d said – her throat, the thrill of her pulse, beating – he just hadn’t told her the whole story – her brown arms, her slender legs ensnaring his, all the mysteries of her skin – but he would. Of course he would. He’d tell her everything, when the time was right.

  ~~~

  They set off along the canal in the middle of the morning, with the Yonne dithering beside them, heading off in one direction and then doubling back, neurotically indecisive. The weather couldn’t make up its mind either, oscillating between drizzle and a thin scarf of mist, and Colin and Delphine sat side by side under the fishing umbrella, speaking only a little, lost in their own damp abstractions. Now that his lack of sleep was catching up with him, what had happened the previous night seemed like a sweet hallucination, brought on by an excess of emotion in the aftermath of Delphine’s accident and he found himself closing his eyes to picture it all again, to make it real.

  “Colin!” Delphine said crossly, snatching the tiller from his grip. “Regardez–”

  “What? Sorry?”

  “You cannot sleep and drive. It is not possible, practiquement. We nearly hit the bridge.”

  He glanced back over his shoulder. Sabrina Fair was gliding beneath the central arch, a narrow fit, and he could see Tyler in silhouette in the wheelhouse; he stared at her outline just to make sure of her. “I’m sorry,” he said to his granddaughter, but his eyes lingered, following the ripple of their wash back to the peniche, always back to the peniche, like a refrain his gaze returning.

  Marshalling himself, he took the tiller from her. “Right!” he declared, making a statement of intent which Delphine didn’t acknowledge. She was lost in some inner landscape too and although her limbs were folded close, there was a lopsided look about her, as if, without Amandine, her centre of gravity had shifted.

  “Are you hungry?” he tried not to think about the swan-shaped cake, which she had picked at but he had ended up feeding to the ducks. “Because if you are, I thought we could stop at the next village – Tyler says it’s market day there.”

  She didn’t answer and as
they put-put-puttered along he couldn’t help reflecting that the various hazards between Paris and the butter-melting south were as nothing, navigationally speaking, compared to the perils of conversation: what can be spoken about, what can be alluded to and what must never be mentioned. Why can’t I just ask her? he thought, hating his own ineptitude, the way he fiddled about in the shallows for fear of floundering right over the barrage. Straight out? Why can’t I just ask her what happened? He cleared his throat. “The book says–” he began, kicking himself.

  Her shoulders sagged.

  “The book says there’s an excellent brocante in a village called Asnois – a real Aladdin’s cave – and I’d like to take you there so that you can choose something that you like.” He took a deep breath, “Because I’m very sorry that I couldn’t find Amandine.”

  She turned to him and for a moment her face was undefended, so that he glimpsed the extent of her anguish.

  “It doesn’t matter about Amandine,” she answered briefly, retreating from him.

  “Well, I was very fond of her and I didn’t know her half as well as you did,” he ventured, conscious of the complicated currents now in flood, “Are you missing your Mum, too?” he said, steering the small craft of their chat close to the weir’s edge.

  She looked at him as if he didn’t get it, as if he didn’t get it at all.

  “And Papa?” he went on recklessly. “I miss Papa, all the time.”

  “Yes,” she said dully. “All the time.”

  Colin swallowed. “Did they argue – ever?” His voice seemed to go up an entire register and he couldn’t bring it down again. “Did they used to…?”

  Delphine held out her hand so that the drips falling from one of the spokes of the umbrella formed a little pool in it. She watched each raindrop as it broke the surface tension.

  “Did you ever hear them… talking, saying things… shouting – perhaps; or even fighting?”

  She tipped the rainwater onto the deck and wiped her hands together until they were dry, a gesture that was more theatrical than practical, and then she bent her wide-eyed gaze upon him, as if she were trying to discern if he really wanted to hear what she had to say. “I heard Maman panting, once,” there was something ruthless in her tone. “In their bedroom. She was panting as if she was running somewhere very fast. And then she cried out. I did wonder if something was hurting her. Then Papa cried out too, although I don’t think he’d been running.”