Ebony

I stare into space and, finally, after some thought, begin to write.

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I was twenty six when I first travelled to Dublin, way back in 1979.
I had heard impressive things from friends who went there after finishing University; tales of drunken nights and bright, still days, of pretty girls with shining eyes and wholesome figures.
So, one day- in early March, I believe- I packed a bag, medium sized and dark grey- and rang for a taxi to take me to London Victoria (I lived in Chelsea), where I caught a train to Holyhead and then a ferry to Dublin. It was an uneventful journey and for some reason I felt rather foolish, travelling by myself. I had not remembered to bring a book, so I spent the entire time gazing out of the window, thinking about my ex-girlfriend, Clarissa.
Clarissa and I had met at my best friend's wedding, four years earlier- she was a striking girl, with long auburn hair and adorable wonky teeth. I prided myself on being a cool customer, reasonably unaffected by passions of the heart and so on- but I fell for that girl then and there- like a bolt from the heavens- as I watched her dance- (clumsily, I must say)- to Abba.
Anyway, we had got talking a little while after, and discovered we lived rather close by to one another. I invited her out to dinner, she accepted (with a sweet nod of the head), and that was that.
One thing led to another, and before we knew it, we were living together and screwing each other with wild abandon pretty much every moment we could.
This happy harmonious existance went on for two and a half years. In that time, we re-decorated my flat, talked about babies, travelled to Cyprus and generally agreed we were In Love.
She had some annoying habits (well, don't we all)- such as leaving her underwear in a pile by the loo, which she had discarded before taking a shower. She would hum a lot as well, but this was not the annoying part- it was the repetition. She would hum the first few lines of a song, and then, clearly not knowing any more of the tune, and instead of moving on to something else, she would repeat the same line again. That really got on my nerves.
Aside from these blips, life was sweet, until one day when I decided to surprise her at the office she worked at. It was late, around seven in the evening- she had phoned to tell me she was working overtime.
I found her on her knees, sucking off her colleague, in the little room where the refreshments were to be found. Strangely, I was pleased it was not her boss- that would have been to much of a cliche to endure.
She moved out the next day. I never was the forgiving kind.
A year and a half later and I was aimless, restless and ready for an adventure.

Dublin was bathed in a golden glow when I stepped of the ferry. It smelt good too- fish and chips, perhaps.
I searched my pockets for the scrap of paper with the name of the bed and breakfast I would be staying at for the next three nights.
It was a fairly boring name; The Dublin Guesthouse- but the woman who had taken my call had sounded amiable enough.
I took a taxi (I must admit- if I can avoid walking when carrying luggage- I will) to the B&B and on arrival, rang the doorbell. For some reason, I felt stupidly nervous, like the feeling you get before you take an exam. I was laughing at myself when the door opened.
The woman standing at the said door, was ridiculously beautiful- the type you read about in books. Her hair was as black as ebony, and long- down to her breasts. Her eyes were black too, and yet she did not look foreign. Her figure was delightful and her mouth was pretty- but it was her hair, her glorious hair that had me by the balls. She spoke with a soft, lilting accent.
And who might you be? she had asked, and I had told her my name and she had nodded and led me inside.

My first day in Dublin, consisted of little more than strolling down the historic streets and going into pretty much any pub I encountered. I drank nothing but Guinness, and in one pub named The Shrew, made friends with a man called Jimmy The Cod- a local fisherman who had a heart the size of all of Ireland. He delighted in telling me his bizarre tales and bought one round after another. After several hours of this insane fun, I made my excuses and left, promising to return the next night.
I realised pretty soon that I was horribly drunk- and furthermore, horribly lost. I went this way and that, trying to remember something that would point me in the right direction.
I had no such luck, and made the best of it on a bench. I was not impressed with myself.

I woke up the next morning, feeling terrible and with a couple of children throwing bottle lids at my shoes. I told them in no uncertain terms to 'fuck off', and they scampered away like little rabbits. I must have looked a site, and my mouth felt like something had died in it.
Appalled and hungry, I set off to the B&B- only in the surreal daylight did it occur to me to ask for directions.
I rang on the bell and the same beautiful woman let me in. We stood for a moment or two in the hallway, surveying one another- me riveted once again by the shining hair, she looking at me with such distaste it was almost comical.
You should take a bath, she had said, and I had humbly agreed and, head bowed, had made for my room.
I slept the rest of the day away, and woke at nine in the evening, groggy and disorientated. I went out to buy fish and chips and it became a somewhat covert operation when I realised Jimmy The Cod was in the shop. I spent the time reading the maps and various information leaflets on the wall, desperately trying to be invisible. Jimmy The Cod was already pissed as a parrot and was telling some poor sod about his latest adventure on his fishing boat. He was a nice man, but I just couldn't face him. I promised myself I would find him the next night and buy him a round.
Luckily he did not spot me, and I left, relieved, with my bag of food. I ate it under the stars in a park, and thought about the girl with the ebony hair.
I wondered what her name was and decided I would ask her when I returned. I finished my chips and threw the rubbish into a bin and lit a cigarette.
I paused to listen to the sounds of the night, a hoot of an owl, the rumble of traffic, a siren, shrill and piercing, the wind, low and cool, rustling the trees.
I reached the B&B a little after ten thirty- she opened the door and watched me curiously, as I emerged into the tight little hallway, her black eyes were guarded, wary- yet there was something else there, and going on nothing more than a feeling I asked her if she would tell me her name and come for a drink.
She laughed then, a sound like bells, and she stroked my cheek, which for some reason I found rather erotic- and told me to wait a minute whilst she got her coat.
I was more surprised than anything, and waited patiently- she took about fifteen minutes- and then she appeared, in an lovely black dress and peep-toe shoes, her hair dripping like ink around her face.
She talked all the way to this bar she said I must see- she talked about her school and her ex-boyfriend, Alf who left her to join the army. She talked about her dreams and she talked about her best friend Marnie- to be honest, I have never heard anyone talk so much in such a short space of time.
We arrived at the bar, which was bustling with people, and filled with the sounds of Irish fiddles and men shouting at the woman who was on the small wooden stage. It was crazy. My companion- whose name I now knew was Lily- took my hand and led me to the centre of the room. There, we danced to the music for about half an hour, until the sweat was dripping from my nose and I had to get a drink.
We stood together, and I stared at her hair which curled here and there in damp tendrils by her neck. Her eyes were blazing and I thought to myself: take this chance.
So I put down my drink and cupped her cheeks in my hands, and kissed her. She responded like I thought she might, wild and wet-tongued and a little breathless. She tasted of vodka, which I despise, but on her it tasted quite good.
We left the chaos and headed to the nearby park, where we found some bushes and I took her, roughly and quickly against a fence. I grabbed her hair in my hand and pulled on it, making her moan- suddenly I was furious with that hair, with it's strange allure. I came, hard, as I yanked her back and she shuddered violently as my anger aroused her to the point of orgasm.
Afterwards, we smoked and stared at each other in silence. I was glad she could do silence. Maybe the hectic chit chat earlier had been nerves.
We stayed like that for a good while, just breathing and watching.
Then I questioned why she had warmed to me after it was obvious she found my behaviour quite repulsive the day before. She replied quietly that I had intrigued her, and that she could see I was affected by her hair. This pleased her. She also said I was very handsome, and she liked handsome men.
I laughed then, and took her hand, pulling her up and into my grasp.
Let's go back and fuck some more, I told her.
So we did.

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"Michael? Phone call for you! It's Brian- he wants to know if you are going to London this weekend or not."
I put down my pen and smile.
"Just coming, Lily my love", I reply.