Chapter 18: Communion With a Portrait
Going on a date with my boyfriend from Cork was like stepping through a portal to another timeline, one in which Cyn Sweetwater was a respectable member of society, had never broken the law, taken drugs, or lived in an anarchist squat. Niall Watson worked for a major bank. Something to do with fraud detection. Tall and slender, his physique and leisurely stride made you think of a giraffe but inside he was a tiger. I knew that because several years ago, when I went down to a blow from a pool cue in a bar fight (accidentally, the guy was swinging for someone else) Niall leapt at once to stand over my disorientated body and delivered powerful, calculated punches to anyone in the melee who lurched in our direction.
I met Niall as the 14.00 train from Cork arrived at Heuston Station and seeing his stroll along the platform, while the crowds around him hurried with their heads down, filled me with warmth. I even glanced up, wondering if a skylight in the station roof had allowed a sudden shaft of sunlight to fall on me. But no, it was just my heart beating faster and my whole body welcoming him. My feelings of delight entirely taking hold, I skipped towards him and, as soon as I was close enough, I jumped into his embrace.
Niall had to drop his case and catch me, laughing. ‘It’s great to see you Cyn, I’m sorry I haven’t had time to come up to Dublin more often. How are you?’ He retrieved the long handle of his small suitcase and with it trundling behind us we walked hand-in-hand out of the station and turned sharp right, making for the five-star Hilton hotel.
‘Surprisingly well, considering I’m a criminal undergoing brain changes on behalf of a billionaire with plans to rule the world. I’ve never painted so well and that makes me happy.’
I felt his strong hand (in leather gloves) squeeze mine (in woollen fingerless mittens). ‘How’s Daniel?’
‘I’m not sure. Trying to become a podcaster. He’s been nominated for the best poetry collection award in the MacHenries.’
‘Good for him.’
‘How about you? How’s Kate?’
‘All good. Nothing as glamorous as you Dublin bohemian types. We have our nice middle-class house, complete with Christmas tree, already decorated. She sends her love.’
‘Back at her. Speaking of Daniel. I think he needs a girlfriend.’
‘He does?’ Niall glanced at me.
‘It’s all very well being in an open relationship, but for him it’s only theoretical. He tells me he tries, but as soon as he says that he’s got a poly partner, the girls always lose interest. They assume he’s a sleaze and lying about our relationship.’
‘I can see that difficulty.’
‘I’ve been trying to set him up with one of my friends. I don’t suppose Kate would be interested in him? He’s fabulous in bed.’
Niall laughed – perfectly even teeth displayed for a moment – and stopped walking. Fast moving cars drove by, covering us in pulses of sound from tyres and engines. ‘She has a couple of guys already. And honestly, between ourselves, she doesn’t like Daniel. She finds him a bit needy.’
‘Of course he’s needy. If you could walk in his shoes for a day and see what that feels like you’d be needy too. It’s a very different world to yours.’ I dropped Niall’s hand.
‘I like Daniel. I like his energy. And he’s super smart. I enjoy hearing him talk about philosophy and literature. And he makes you happy. I’m just explaining why Kate’s a non-starter for your get-Daniel-a-girlfriend plan. Don’t take offense. Come on.’
Reaching for my arm, Niall set off again and the surge of defensiveness I had felt on Daniel’s behalf rapidly subsided. Admittedly, Daniel was insecure about his poetry, and since that mattered so much to him, he was indeed insecure in his whole being. I just didn’t like anyone else saying so. Especially not an outsider who was unaware of the violence and unhappiness in Daniel’s childhood.
At the hotel, Niall checked in and waved away the offer of a porter for his bag. Once in the lift together, inhaling his CK1 aftershave, a dozen moments from our past sex life came vividly to my memory. Arousal pulsed through my body and my heart seemed to have moved to between my legs.
No sooner had the door to the room closed behind me than I was kissing Niall, sliding my hands underneath his jumper and undoing the buttons of his shirt. Never had I needed to feel another person’s body against mine as much as I needed to rub myself all over his.
Niall was grinning. ‘Glad to see you too Cyn. But let me have a shower, I’ve been travelling for hours.’
‘I can’t,’ I replied, tugging at the arms of his jumper. ‘I really can’t wait.’
‘All right.’ And his expression became serious, as was right for a man looking at the frightening but liberating leap from self-control to abandonment.
What a beautiful man. Beautiful in form, for sure. More important to me and to the joyful lust that was filling my body with golden energy was that he was a beautiful person. I couldn’t get enough of him. Not with my lips, my tongue, my hands, my fingertips, my breasts, my stomach, my thighs, my sex, my toes. Niall was an angel beneath me radiating love and lust, like a star releasing streams of both as it burned. Every breath of mine drew in delight and the secret of eternal youth. Striving to merge with the glory that was his naked being was like my recent feeling of channelling the energy of the universe into brush strokes on canvas. Only this was intensely personal and I was far more exposed; both of us were naked to our very souls. To remove all the layers of being that normally surrounded me like a shield was bearable because whatever impurities I had, whatever impurities we both had, were insignificant in the roiling white heat of two stars entwined.
The universe was watching us with approval.
For some time I had no language. When it returned I asked him: ‘What does this feel like for you?’
‘Like I’m home. Truly home.’
We were connected – Niall on his back, me straddling him – and I understood exactly what he meant. ‘Welcome home lover.’
***
That evening we took a cab into town, making for Peruke and Periwig on Dawson Street for cocktails and something to eat. The evening crowds brought the taxi to a standstill near Stephen’s Green and so we got out to walk the rest of the way, holding hands once more.
‘I should have thought about Christmas shoppers; we could have gone somewhere nearer to the hotel,’ said Niall.
‘I’m happy,’ I replied. ‘And you can see my latest painting if you like? It’s in the window of the Sackville Gallery. Julien called it a masterpiece.’
‘I’d like that very much.’
We were close to the gallery, which was just around the corner. Here, though, the crowds were even more difficult to navigate. In fact, we could no longer move towards our destination unless willing to push people aside. At least the slow, shuffling movement of the people ahead of us was in the right direction.
‘Is there a sale near here everyone is queuing for?’ wondered Niall.
‘Buskers maybe?’
I was in no hurry; the Christmas lights of Dublin’s city centre were cheerful and despite the bright colours all around there were also stars visible in the black sky above. I hadn’t felt any festive spirit until now – Christmas Day was always difficult and I tended not to think about it in advance – but there was a shared holiday spirit in the hubbub of conversation all around and I was enjoying being part of this shared Dublin winter cheer.
Once around the corner, I was surprised to see that the Sackville Gallery was all lit up and it was there that the crowd was most dense. A mass of people had gathered before the window, looking at the painting on display there. It was a new painting, delivered to the gallery only yesterday. By me.
We Will Meet Again was hanging from cords, high up so that everyone could see it, and close to the glass, with just enough room for it to be lit up by a dozen white lights. A woman’s face was at the centre of the spotlights, looking out at us all. The light sky behind her – it wasn’t really sky – was rose-tinted.
‘Is that yours?’ whispered Niall.
‘It is.’
‘Who is she? And why is she blessing us?’
‘My mum.’ I had tears in my eyes now, which I had to blink away to see the painting clearly again. ‘She’s dead. But because of my distress she returned for a moment to offer me the comforting thought that one day, in a realm outside of time, we will be together again.’
Niall put his arm around my shoulder and held me close. ‘I feel it too. Looking at that woman makes me believe we will all be united again one day.’ He leaned close to breathe into my ear. ‘Listen. Everyone here feels it. There is a communion taking place.’
With both hands on my eyes, I hoped to contain my tears, to stop them smudging my eye shadow. The gesture also prevented me from looking at the painting, which was essential if I was to regain my composure. Niall was right, the conversations of the people around us had dropped an octave in tone. There was a hushed, reverential, quality to the murmurs.
‘Oh Cyn,’ Niall put his arms around me. ‘This painting really is a masterpiece. The gallery owner was right. It will make you world famous. But how can you bear to part with it?’
‘I couldn’t bear to live with it.’
It was enough that mum had returned for me. Whether she still was present in that painting for others, or whether the onlookers were seeing their own loved ones, I couldn’t say. They were the same. There was but one love. And it was there, right in front of us.
‘Cyn. You’ve changed.’ Niall moved my hands to look at me with his loyal, blue eyes. ‘You’re more passionate, more intense, more incredible. More of an artist.’
After taking a deep and calming breath, I offered this lovely man my hand. ‘Pleased to meet you Niall. You’re right. I’m no longer the Cyn you knew. I’m Celine.’