Death in Ireland by David Hough

Author:David Hough
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
Published: 2015-05-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

There are some photo images of violence that will forever stick in most people’s minds. Who has not despaired at the image of row upon row of the emaciated bodies of Jewish inmates in Auschwitz? Who has not been filled with horror by the image of Kim Phuc, a nine-year old girl running from a napalm attack in Vietnam, her clothes burned from her frail little body? Who has not been shocked by the image of South Vietnam’s police chief, Nguyen Ngoc Loan, executing a suspected Vietcong guerrilla in the street?

There are other images that shock and disgust.

But only two images of hideous violence shook me to the core and they weren’t photos, they were both in my mind. One was the sight of that mangled body in the Belfast mortuary. The other was an image of tiny massacred bodies in a Mostar orphanage.

That night I dreamed of both.

I woke up early next morning, mind still buzzing with the anguish of my vivid dreams. The immediate impact faded quickly as most dreams do, but the emotional residue remained for some time. I lay in the semi-darkness, slowly washing away my mental discomfort by concentrating on what had happened the previous night at the Blue Taboo club. The warm body beside me helped stop me from jumping out of bed to get dressed.

Penny stirred much later, snuggled up close for a while and then encouraged me into a bout of sex that shook my mind into overdrive. Later, while I was still recovering, she announced that she never lay in too long because it was a bad habit. She was first out of bed and I leaned back against the headboard watching her get dressed. She had as much grace and fluidity getting into her clothes as when she got out of them; like a ballerina.

I reached up onto one elbow. “Where did you learn to dance?”

“Been dancing on and off since I was a child, so I have.” She looked almost beautiful in the diffused morning sunlight that came in through the east-facing window. I guessed it was something to do with the way her face glowed with a child-like freshness.

“What sort of dancing?”

“Started off at junior ballet classes like lots of kids. Most little girls do, you know. I tried other things after that.”

“But you went to full time ballet school later on?”

“For a while, when I left school.”

“Explains why you’re so smooth the way you glide around the stage.” I tossed in the remark provocatively. “You’re streets ahead of that other girl; what’s her name…”

She made a short, scornful noise. “Molly McNamara. Probably not her real name, but who cares? And if you want to know a girl’s name just ask me straight off, don’t beat around the subject first.”

I tossed her a wink. “Molly, eh? Not exactly my type. She’s too dumpy. Movements too wooden. That’s her stage name?”

“They introduce her as Molly the Dolly. She’s only been with the agency two or three months. She’s still got a fair bit to learn.

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