Dark Rose

"Yes, Dominic." I felt my cheeks growing wet and Dom passed me a tissue, looking vaguely embarrassed as he always did when anyone showed emotion in his presence.

Ellie and Rio did have other plans, a home of their own. They wanted Jinn's and my opinion so we went with them to view the one they had in mind. It was a shitty little apartment in one of the shittiest places in town and the rent was at least twice what I would have thought reasonable even though I was told it was cheap for Santa Monica. It was the wall-to-wall junkies and winos in the area that decided me. I persuaded the girls to stay where they were in Alex's old room. Among other things it saved them money and the trouble of moving all the BDSM equipment, Ellie's 'fun stuff'. I had sound insulation installed in both bedrooms. Best investment ever. While Charon and I were generally quiet and discreet as far as our love-making went, Ellie and Rio tended to let it all sing out.

* * * * *

Roughly eighteen months later, Alex died suddenly in a local hospital. She had pneumonia and had disregarded the symptoms, brushing them off as a very bad cold. She persisted in this belief until complications set in by which time it was too late to do much for her. She was laid to rest next to her beloved.

If nature were human it would likely be a person with an ironic turn of mind. When several years previously Zabi had offered me the use of her apartment, she told me that she and Alex intended to stay in Italy for the foreseeable future. As I said, irony. She could not possibly have seen just how long their stay would be.

* * * * *

Zabi's death had saddened me, Alex's death not only saddened me but shook me up too. My bad dreams had never let up, had, if anything, worsened. Sometimes I wondered how Charon put up with my night fears and I said as much to her.

"Because I love you, you damned fool," she said.

As I said, Alex's death shook me, making me realise that you never could tell when your time was due leaving it too late to clear up all those unresolved issues. I knew what I had to do. Truth be told, I'd known for some time but kept on hoping the problem would go away by itself. It obviously wasn't going to so I went to Dom and told him I need to take some time off to travel to Ireland. Jinn was with him. Just as well, I wouldn't need to explain all over again to her.

He looked at me in that strange way he has then nodded. "Your demons piling up on you?"

"How did you know? Stupid question---you know everything."

"Not everything. For instance, I don't know---" I could see a mini-Dom lecture coming on and so could Jinn for she held up a hand to stop him. He gave a rueful little smile and closed his mouth.

"Back when I first came here," I said, "both you and Zabi said that sooner or later I needed to face my troubles. You were right. That's why I need the time, to go back to Ireland and break the spell."

"I agree," said Dom. "Can you give me a couple of months? I want to look into establishing a couple of clubs in London. I'll find some prospective premises and I'd like you to inspect them and report. Apart from that, take as much time as you need with my blessing."

* * * * *

I told Charon of my intentions. I know, perhaps I should have discussed them with her beforehand but I didn't want to risk her persuading me not to go. I don't think she would have done but it was a slight risk. We sat together in the apartment, both solemn and more than a little teary.

Charon clasped my hands. "Is this really necessary, Roisin?"

"Yes," I replied, "Zabi once told me that I seemed to have inner scars that I had to erase somehow if I ever wanted contentment. And Dom told me I was running away from my past and that rather I should face it." I shrugged. "Easier said than done. You know about my life and you've nursed me often enough through my bad dreams. Dom and Zabi were both right. I need to confront my past head-on, Charon, and I can only do that by going away for a while."

"When are you leaving?"

"Seven or eight weeks, probably."

"So it's like a pilgrimage?"

"Yes. That sounds about right."

Charon nodded slowly. "Pilgrimage is something we Muslims can understand---you will have heard of the haj, the pilgrimage to Mecca. For now... Roisin... I guess you need your own personal haj." Her face was a mixture of sadness and apprehension and her voice trembled as she said: "Roisin, you will come back to me...?"

As so often, I had picked Dom's brains for something I wished to say to Charon when the moment was right. Now was that moment. I raised her hand and kissed each finger, saying: "Qulubuna wahida [Our hearts are as one]. I will be back, promise."

Laughter bubbled through her sadness. "Your accent, Rosie, you'll be the death of me. I want to make a gesture to chain you to me, to join our hearts for sure. This is something I thought of weeks ago and I was saving it for a special occasion. I suppose this is special so I might as well show you now." She picked up her portfolio and withdrew a single sheet of cartridge paper, passing it to me. "What do you think of this?"

It was one of Charon's wonderful flower paintings, two roses, stems entwined, a black rose and another coloured a dark reddish-pink, both damp with dew, both so realistic that they could almost have been laid live on the page.

"They are beautiful." I pointed to the dark-pink rose. "What's this one?"

"It's called a Damask rose. They are believed to have originated in the Middle East, Syria maybe, as long ago as the twelfth century. It was held to be representative of beauty and love. You like the design, then?"

"I love it," I told Charon.

"Good, then this is our next tattoo. The black rose symbolises you, the Damask rose me. And once it's on our bodies, I'll destroy the design so that no-one else can use it."

So over the course of several weeks we had the tattoo on our torsos, mine applied by Charon and hers by her most able colleague. We each shaved a small channel through the pubic hair above our clefts to make room for the lowest part of the tattooed stems. Once the hair grew back, it would appear that the flowers were rooted in and growing from our pussies. The rest of the stems cleverly looped around our belly-buttons and on to where the flowers settled some inches below our breasts. The artistry complete, our hearts were as one in the sight of whatever God we worshipped.

Dublin

The flight was grand. Dom had insisted that I travel first-class because part of the reason for my journey was company business and the cost could be offset against tax. I could quickly get used to luxury travel and first-class beats the hell out of being stuck next to a crashing bore or a grossly obese person who needed several seats to themselves or, worst of all, a fellow passenger with chronic body odour who shouldn't be allowed out of their house without first being dipped in antiseptic. At one time or another I've had them all. I was booked into The Merchant's Castle, a five-star hotel in the centre of Dublin, which was owned by one of Dom's business acquaintances.

Rather than carry out my intentions immediately, I decided to rest a day or two, shake off the jet lag, wander round and get the feel of my home city. I did touristy things like walking along by the Liffey, strolling in Phoenix Park, and visiting the zoo, none of which I had ever done before. It's a strange thing which I've seen in other cities I know: those born and bred there have very often never visited the finest sights or, indeed, know anything about them. I even visited St Michan's church where some peculiarity of the crypt's atmosphere preserves corpses, a few dating back to the thirteenth century. My greatest pleasure, though, was to go into Mulligan's pub and have a pint of draught Guinness (said to be the best in Dublin and I'd not argue with that) with perhaps a smoked salmon sandwich or a plate of Dublin Bay prawns. When I was last in the city I could not have afforded a single prawn, let alone a dozen or more of them. After a couple of days of this I realised that I couldn't put things off any longer and set out to confront at least part of my past.

Before setting out I changed my clothes. A young woman in an expensive business suit would look an easy target where I was going. For the same reason I elected to take the bus rather than a cab. From the bottom of my case I pulled up an outfit I'd not worn for years, ripped jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket, and large, heavy boots, all in shades of black. I fished out all my long-unused Goth makeup, also black, and gelled my hair into an appropriate style. The hotel's receptionist and doorman both did a double-take when I exited the lobby, no doubt wondering how this scruff had got past them in the first place.

It was drizzling out and the bus journey from the city centre was long and wearisome, passing through a variety of neighbourhoods ranging from the posh to the eventual grim and downtrodden. The streets became smaller and meaner, seemingly much more so than when I'd been a kid and when I got off the bus I still had the depressing thought of a further ten-fifteen minutes' walk ahead of me. There was a bit of a breeze and I had to bend my head against the misty drizzle.

At one point I saw a small gang of teenage lads on the other side of the narrow road, none of them much more than fourteen or fifteen. A suspicious-looking cloud hung about them, tobacco or weed, not sure which. As I passed by one of them called: "Get your tits out!"

"Don't bother!" one of his mates yelled, "You've got nothing worth getting out!"

When I was young I'd have been stupid enough to cross over and harangue them but now I'm older and wiser and more tolerant. Anyway, I'd heard of so many cases in LA where public-spirited citizens remonstrated with disruptive teens only to have a knife or gun pulled on them. That tends to make you wary. Besides, Dominic had managed to put a veneer of class on me. However, the uncouth little street girl buried deep inside me managed to struggle her way out at times. I flipped the kids the bird and shouted: "Póg mo thóin! [Kiss my arse!]"

"If only!" another grinned. They all laughed but there was no rancour in it so I laughed with them, giving a little wave.

At last I reached the street where I had been brought up and it was even nastier than I recalled with cracked and broken sidewalks sprouting a variety of weeds and awash with all manner of litter. The house, too, was a sad thing to see. Many of the houses on the street, with their broken and boarded-up windows and litter-filled scraps of front yards, cried out for attention but ours looked far-and-away the worst. As I recalled, the front door had been a dark-greenish colour, now it was filthy to the point of being almost black. The paintwork was blistered and peeling while rot showed through the wooden frame of the front window. I was almost afraid to use the knocker in case the door crumbled beneath its weight. Still...

I had to knock several times before I heard the shuffling of weary footsteps in the hall and a querulous voice repeating: "All right! All right! I'm coming you pisser..." The door opened and I was face-to-face with my mother for the first time in five or six years. She peered at me blearily and then recognition seemed to dawn.

"You!"

"Me," I acknowledged.

"And what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Mammy," I said...

She stood back and made a tired gesture as if inviting me in. The place didn't smell too good (maybe it never had and I had been so used to it I didn't notice). I followed her through to the kitchen which was a disgusting mess, cluttered with unwashed dishes and pots, some plates having the congealed mess of leftover food sticking to them. The linoleum floor felt greasy under my feet, walls blackened with mould, the gas cooker was encrusted with the dirt of weeks, if not months, and I think I saw a couple of cockroaches scuttle under it. My mother slumped into a chair at the kitchen table and I sat opposite. Among other things, there was a half-full bottle of cheap red wine on the table. Mammy slopped some into a small tumbler then held the bottle up as if in invitation. I shook my head and I thought she looked relieved. So was I. Even if I'd wanted a drink I couldn't have taken it from one of those glasses---they looked like beakers in a germ warfare lab.

I studied my mother. She had always been attractive despite Daddy's ill-treatment but now she was as worn as the house, appearing much, much older than her years. She couldn't be more than fifty if that. My skin colour is a light caramel betokening our mixed heritage. Mammy's was always a shade or two darker than mine but now she seemed to be an ashen tint as if life was slowly ebbing from her. Maybe it was. "Place needs doing up," I said, just to fill the silence, "the front door and window look ready to collapse any time now."

Mammy scowled and took a swig of plonk. "It's that feckin' gobshite of a landlord, he won't do a feckin' thing in this place. Anyhow, what're you doing here?"

"Came to see how you're doing."

"After all these years?" she snorted.

"I've been working overseas, in California," I told her.

"Taking a bit of a risk coming here, aren't you? Having murdered your Daddy that way?" The weary way she spoke suggested she knew she was talking shite. Maybe she was just hoping to scare me.

"I didn't murder Daddy and you know it. The autopsy showed he was a dead man walking, had been for years, and the inquest agreed. 'Death by natural causes' the coroner said." She looked surprised that I knew so I added: "I have friends who find out things. And for once, I was defending myself. My name was never mentioned at the inquest so I guess you went some way to keeping me out of it despite thinking me a killer." I had to stop and take a deep breath. "Mammy, why didn't you ever try to stop him beating me like he did? Especially when I'd done nothing wrong."

I thought I glimpsed a tear and she shook her head. "Oh, I tried when you were very small, just got beaten up for my troubles. In the end I gave in." She took another slug of the wine. "You want to know what you did wrong? You got born, that's what you did wrong."

"I don't understand," I said.

"You weren't his, or so he thought, that's what you did wrong." Mammy's tears were flowing now. "He always was a bit of a brute, slapping me around. Sweet as pie, a real charmer, before we got wed, a devil afterwards. Dinner not ready on time?" Slap! She banged the table with a loud crack. "On the rag when he fancied a poke?" Slap! She banged the table again. "There was something nearly every fucking day to earn me a belting! Then I met a really nice guy and had a short affair. Maybe you're his kid, I don't know. Your Daddy suspected---couldn't prove anything but blamed you as well as me. Everybody's fault but his own behaviour, the lousy pisser. Pity he didn't go sooner, maybe we'd have had a life then. I hope he rots in hell!"

That explained a lot although from what Mammy had just said I reckon he would still have been a violent pig even if I'd been his for sure. I know a lot of things wrong in my life were my own fault---I was a bit of a tearaway as a teenager but I never really deserved the level of punishment I got. I took a thick envelope from my pocket and passed it across the table. She looked inside suspiciously. It was stuffed with euros, a lot of euros. "What's this?"

"Money. What does it look like? It's to try to get you away from this dump and into somewhere better."

"There's a fortune here. How'd you make money like this? Whoring?"

I couldn't say I was surprised or offended by this assumption. So many girls from round here ended up in homes for unmarried mothers or on the streets. The more attractive ones may have earned plenty of money in the beginning but what with booze and tobacco and drugs their looks soon gave out and the days of wine and roses faded for ever. "No Mammy, I didn't get it whoring. No man's ever put his thing in me and no man ever will. I run some businesses, honest ones, and I'm good at what I do."

A look of shame crossed her face. "Alannah... sorry... I don't know what to say..."

"I'm not Alannah now, Mammy, changed my name. I'm Roisin. Call me that, please."

She gave a sad little laugh. "Funny, you choosing that. Roisin's what I wanted to call you, my own darlin' little Rose, but he insisted on Alannah after his ould cow of a gran. Didn't do him any good---the ould miser left all her money to a local convent. I thought that was funny and earned meself another slapping." She tried to wipe her moist eyes with the back of a hand. "I didn't mean those things I just said to you, you know, about murder and whoring. Was just mouthing off---it was a shock seeing you. Have you got a feller over there in California?"

"I told you that no man's going to have me," I said, "I've got a girlfriend. Her name's Charon." I waited to see what her reaction would be.

Mammy stared at the table-top for a few minutes then said: "So you're one of those... what...?"

"The word is lesbian, Mammy. That or gay. I've known what I am for years, since I was a kid, but I never said anything for fear of himself."

"You did right there. Sure an' the dirty pisser'd've kicked the shit out of you." Mammy raised her head and looked me in the eyes for the first time. "You love her, this girlfriend?"

"We love each other madly."

"And is she good to you? And you to her? No nastiness, anything like that?"

"Never nastiness, Mammy, only happiness. We've got a wonderful relationship."

"Well now," sighed Mammy, "Can't understand this same-sex business meself but I guess you've made a right decision then, thinking over the things you saw and suffered in this house. Carry on being good to each other, Roisin---don't ever repeat my mistakes."

I think that's what you might call my Damascene moment. I had returned to Ireland to confront a demon. Instead I had found myself facing a poor, sad wretch who had been treated as badly as I had, probably even more so. Time and again I had witnessed my father maltreating Mammy but the child and teenager I had been was so self-absorbed in my own misery that I never really noticed. Now I understood.

"Can you forgive me, Roisin, for not protecting you more, for being a bad mother?"

I felt a sudden rush of guilt. "Yes, Mammy, I can forgive you if you can forgive a poor reckless daughter who likely brought you a bundle of grief. We both made mistakes---I must have caused you some real heartache at times. " I turned away briefly so that she couldn't see the tears prickling in my eyes.

I recovered quickly and said: "So... let's get some of this stuff sorted out." It took me a good while but I at least managed to get the filthy crockery and pots cleaned and put away. Mammy stayed at the table, head down. Her occasional shudder suggested she was still weeping a little.

After that we sat in that noisome kitchen for about an hour or two, just talking, I think getting rid of some of our demons. I noticed that for the whole of that time Mammy didn't touch another drop of the wine, the partly-finished glass sitting away from her right hand. When I'd first arrived I had her pegged for an alcoholic, now I wondered if the problem was something else. A real alkie couldn't have left that glass and open bottle sitting there untouched for all that time. As I got up to go, she gave me an embarrassed little smile and although I'd said nothing she emptied the wine, both glass and bottle, down the sink. "You don't have to say anything, Roisin, I know the booze is no answer and most of the time I stay away from it. I was just feeling extra low this morning. Then seeing you... talking with you awhile... well, let's say I feel a wee bit better now. And I'm glad you've found yourself a good life."