Free Dancing With Mortality by Mark McKay Page A

him down
the hall and into the living room. She dumped her overcoat on the sofa. ‘It’s
quiet at night too. Are you tired?’
    ‘No. Are you?’
    They looked at each other. Then she stepped forward and
kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face in his
chest.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘Do you mind?’
    ‘No, not at all.’
    She took his hand and led him to the bedroom, turning on a
lamp next to the bed. He sat down and took off his shoes and socks.
    ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Let me get undressed first.’
    He watched as she took her clothes off. She stood in front
of him and smiled. Then she knelt down and unbuttoned his shirt. When she saw
the bandaged shoulder she stopped.
    ‘They said you were shot. I forgot. Does it hurt?’
    ‘Sometimes. I’m getting used to it.’
    She carefully removed the shirt and flung it to one side.
    ‘I will look at if for you later. Now, lie down.’
    He surrendered to her lips and her hands and the caress of
her body, and for a while the events of the past few days left his mind
completely. Afterwards she lay on top of him, her head on his chest, catching
her breath.
    ‘Das war schön,’ she gasped. ‘Sorry, that was beautiful. I’m
tired now.’
    He turned off the bedside lamp. ‘Yes, that was beautiful.
Sleep now.’
    She was already asleep, in the same position. Michael lay
staring at the ceiling. He’d disentangle himself later. For now he quietly
stroked her hair and listened to her breathe.

Chapter 7
     
    The temperature had dropped below
zero in Dublin and there were occasional snow flurries, but nothing that
settled for long. Harry walked up Grafton Street on his way back from Trinity.
He wore an overcoat, scarf and gloves, and a woolly hat. It made the
temperature bearable, until the wind blew. Then his heavy woollen overcoat
became chiffon. The icy breeze went right through it, and right through him.
Every time it happened he involuntarily hugged himself as he walked, trying to
restore some warmth. He noticed that no one else seemed to be engaged in this
ritual. They must know something I don’t, he reflected, they seem immune to it.
    Christmas lights and decorations were strung the length and
breadth of Grafton Street. A bright smiling reindeer pulled a sleigh full of
presents overhead. Just beyond that, the Irish name for Dublin, ‘Baile Átha
Cliath’, stood illuminated in ten foot high sparkling letters. Numerous neon
Christmas trees clung to the buildings on either side, winking on and off in
unison. And the street was thronged with shoppers. He wound his way through the
buzzing crowd, wondering what he could buy for Natalie on his limited budget.
    The Trinity term had finished for the year, and he had a lecture-free
month till mid-January. Natalie had one more week of work then they could spend
some uninterrupted time together till just after New Year. He just wished it
wasn’t so cold. On the other side of the world in Auckland they’d be looking
forward to a hot Christmas day and a visit to the beach. This time next year
that’s exactly where he intended to be. Not that Dublin was without charm, it was
just the weather that left something to be desired.
    With two clear weeks together they needed a plan. SIS was
shutting down in a couple of days, and Harry was mindful of Jack’s
recommendation to leave Dublin for a bit. He decided to call in on the travel
agent at the far end of the street and see if they had any ideas for a cheap
week somewhere in the Emerald Isle. He could pick up some brochures at least.
     
    Half an hour later he sat studying
possible Christmas retreats in various ‘stunningly scenic’ locations in the
Republic. Hotels in Wexford, cottages on the Dingle peninsula. Would there be
any availability at this time of year? He really should have thought this out
much earlier.
    He heard the door open, and a moment later Natalie appeared
in the living room doorway, still attired in overcoat and reinforcing