Page 53 of Dublin's Danger Dancer

“It would be my pleasure,” the long bearded man says, ushering us towards the door.

“There is no beauty but the beauty of action.” He mutters under his breath.

Chapter Thirteen

Liam leads me down a patchwork stone walkway towards a dense green forest. The car had climbed up what felt like a mountain to bring us here.

To my left, there’s a pond covered in water lilies. To my right, a crop of sunflowers turn to the sun.

“I used to come here with my mammy,” he says, gliding me through to a lookout where the bay of Tangier shimmers beneath us in a dazzling deep blue.

“It’s beautiful.” I say as we pass a bench carved with sunflowers.

“When I was little, my mammy would bring me here. And she would give me a coin and tell me to make a wish.” He takes out a euro and flicks it off his thumb. “Here, take a coin and make a wish.” he says, pressing a euro into my hand.

I flick it over the cliff, hearing it plop into the sea below.

“What did you wish for?” He asks.

“Everyone knows if you say your wish, they don’t come true.” It’s not like I could tell him I’m wishing to find a phone to use to alert Fergus of the incoming shipment.

He pulls me into him.

“I wished to unbutton this jumpsuit in the restaurant’s toilets over there.” he says motioning to the toilets before sneezing again.

“How romantic. Our first time in a toilet.”

“I told you so it doesn’t come true.”

“You are a rare, true gentleman.” I say, punching his shoulder.

“Come, the restaurant does one of the best tagines in the whole of Morocco,” he says, pointing to a small table under an intricately woven wooden gazebo where steaming terracotta clay pots were being set down by a tiny young waitress with a black bob.

Liam offers me his hand to climb down the rocked ledge.

“You never spoke about your family? You know all about mine. “

“Mine? They’ll all dead. My gran was the last to go.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s not your fault.” I lie.

“You didn’t have any brothers or sisters?”

“No,” I answer too quickly. “I grew up in care.”

“But before you went into care, you were with your mum and dad until you were nine? What were they like?”

“What’s with the sudden interest?” I ask as he pulls out the high back wicker chair for me to sit. “My mum was riddled with cancer. My dad died of liver cirrhosis. So my memories are not what you would call fond.”

“I have no one except my uncle and my cousin’s and in having them, I’m sure I’d be better off as an orphan. They think I’m soft as shite.”

He sits down, puts his hands over mine and inhales sharply.

“I think my mum would have loved you. You remind me a lot of her. Not in a weird way,” he says, pulling off the top of my tagine. Steam curls up into the bright blue sky.

“In what way, then?”

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