That afternoon was an annoyingly foggy one, he could barley make out the people in front of him never mind the ferry across the sea. He knew he shouldn't be nervous but he was. It was the first time they would see each other since they'd had that argument and even though they had made it up in writing James was still a little apprehensive as to how the air would lie between them.
He had felt rather silly being so concerned as to what to wear that evening. He thought that it would just be rubbing salt in the wound if he turned up in his uniform, not to mention dangerous to go to one of the most hostile working class parts of Dublin unaccompanied in it. He had two outfits for any other occasion, the smart shirt and three piece suit that he left home with and the tattered clothes he bought from a charity shop while training for such an occasion where he did not want his wealth to be known to his fellow privates. However, now both seemed quite inadequate. Tom was his friend and he felt that there was no need to put up the false pretence but he also didn't want to dress as the spoilt rich boy who wore a tailored suit from Harrods. But was that not who Tom knew him as? Why was it so damn hard to choose what to wear? For all the times he had chided his sister about her constant dress changes or his friends from university about how long they spent discussing outfits to any up and coming party he was starting to see the dilemma.
In the end he resorted to mixing and matching. He wore his scuffed shoes with the smart trousers and jacket but surpassed the waistcoat shirt and tie by wearing his plain grey tee-shirt and a flat cap.
The walk to the docks was not a particularly long one but it was the first time he had made it alone which he supposed was why it felt like it was taking forever. The port itself was always a hub of excitement and today was no different in fact the fog probably made it more abuzz than usual as people where having to shout to make the where abouts of themselves and their cargos know. Jim struggled to find his way around at the best of times but this was getting ridiculous. There was a set three terminals where passenger ferries from Liverpool docked and he headed in that vague direction. And that was where he stood looking out to see. Well not really looking as he couldn't see, but he could smell the air and feel the breeze and hear the waves lapping as they hit the nearest bit of peer that were indicative as to the whereabouts of the ocean. He was unable to make out the face of his watch in such a fog and he was beginning to get worried. The ferry was supposed to arrive at half past seven, he set off in time so he was sure to be there by quarter past but then he had taken longer to walk hadn't he? He must have been stood there for ten minutes mustn't he? Or was it closer to fifteen, or was it five? He really had no idea. Surely the boat hadn't arrived at any other of the docking stations or he would have heard the commotion. What if there had been an accident on board the ship, this weather could easily claim a vessel. Maybe the captain decided to abandon the journey given the gloomy forecast. Just as he was about to get lost in his imagination a fog horn signalled an approaching vessel near by. He felt the people around him move and he reluctantly stepped in line with them, if this was the wrong place he was soon to find out. He could hear mumbles of others around him seemingly in the same situation and thought that could only be a good thing. A blurred light appeared to break the fog and it grew brighter as it drew closer and the fog horn sounded again.
Eventually the boat docked and it's passengers unfurled. The commotion that followed seemed like it came from some sort of nightmare, people pulling and pushing and shouting for their retrospective companions. He heard people yelp in pain as their feet got trampled on by unsuspecting shapes in the fog and children whining for the parents lost in the crowed. It did not help that among the names being chorused 'James' and 'Tom' where all but scarce. In all the years that he had silently thanked his Mama for persuading his Father he should be named James and not Tarquin he was beginning to regret that seemingly everyone else's parents had the same idea, though they were probably not the same two choices to be had between.
He felt that the only solution to his predicament was to separate himself from the crowd and hope that Tom had common sense enough to do the same. After all he wouldn't just stand there all night waiting. He retreated to the nearest light source that wasn't surrounded by water which came in the form of a lamppost across the street from the end of the peer. When he arrived he found his spot had been taken by another in the form of a small child. The young boy looked up at him, it was still difficult to see but he could make out the reflection of the light highlighting the path way of tears etched across his face. "Please sir, have you seen my Mammy?" the child whined.
It was a stupid question, if the boy did not recognise him then how was he suppose to know the boy as to who he was and who his resulting mother was. Though he supposed in the eyes of a scared child it was a plain and obvious question. Jim bent down so his face was only a few inches above the child's.
"What's your mother's name son?" Jim asked as softly as he could, the boy seemed to recoil upon hearing his accent and began to stutter.
That tactic obviously wasn't working but he was unsure of what else to do, "What does she look like?"
"Please sir, I I I didn't mean anything by it. I just want my mam." this last bit was said in a whisper and with a slight sob.
"It's okay child." James held out an arm and rested it on the boys shoulder to try and sooth him but this made the child jump back and if it had been possible he looked even more panic stricken.
"GREGORY!" a voice pierced through the cloud.
"MAM!" the boy cried in hope at the sound and frustration that he could not be nearer to the source.
"WHERE ARE YOU?" the boy looked left and right as if to find some sort of reference point but his young mind seemed to run blank.
"By the lamp." James did not shout quite as desperately as the other voices but he was loud enough to be heard as moments later there was a shuffling sound and a tall round woman, obviously with child, bustled into view. She swept the boy up close to her as he clung to her skirts and stared at Jim. At first he thought she was about to thank him but instead she glared and shouted.
"I DO NOT WANT YOUR KIND NEAR MY SON!" and they both disappeared off leaving a dumfounded James alone under the lamp.
"Jim?" this time he did recognise the voice, the accent as similar as each of the people that had crowded round him moments before but still quite distinctly Tom's. He looked around to see the silhouette moving towards him and without thinking enveloped it in a tight embrace. Tom was hesitant to return it but that was more out of shock and the need to place his suit case down than anything else.
When they parted he let out a snort "Only you."
"Only me what?" this warranted another snort of laughter which turned into a low chuckle. Tom so wished he could see James's face more clearly so he could marvel at his friends seemingly child like innocence and confusion a long with the hint of annoyance that was sure to be present at the becoming the but of a joke he did not understand.
"Come on lets go somewhere and wait for the fog to clear a little, you don't have to be back for anything do you?"
"No, well we have to be at the barracks for half nine but that's hours away, you think it'll clear by then?"
"Should do, the winds heading east and it's always at least slightly clearer inland anyway." With this Tom picked his case up turned on his heal and walked out of the light. Jim was slightly amazed by how much he knew and how well he handled the seemingly devastating fog but he supposed it was all part of his child hood.
"Erm…. Tom?"
"What? Why are you still stood there?"
"Where are we going?" he did not need sight to see Tom roll his eyes. A figure reappeared in the light and a firm hand on his shoulder led Jim away.
They soon entered a particularly muggy, boisterous and full pub. "Guess everyone else had the same idea, this place is usually sparse spare a few regular old see dogs. There's a better one across the way but that's crowded on a good day. Do you want to try it?" Tom said over the din.
"No this is fine." Together they managed to push their way to the bar and spotted, quite conveniently two seats in a dingy corner near the exit to the out houses. Tom gave Jim a nod indicating he should go take the seats.
"You want anything mate?"
"Pint of Guinness please." The look of befuddlement he received off Tom was priceless but he didn't argue. He had contemplated asking for a glass of water but was aware enough of the customs that that was simply not done, he liked Guinness he knew from the dance and he figured as long as he just had the one he would be alright to walk home and not have to nurse a hangover in the morning.
He took the seat facing the wall, back to all the people, he wasn't sure if he was recognisable for as far as he was concerned he had a very uninteresting face and not many looked past the uniform anyway. He placed Tom's battered old case on the opposite chair across the small table and mused over the fact that it was not usually he who carried the bags.
Moments later Tom appeared holding the drinks, he handed the dark one to him and kept hold of one that was a golden colour and fizzing. Since their joyous reunion Tom had seemed no different from his usual self but now they were in the light he could see that he looked more haggard than the norm. Whether this was the result of the lack of uniform and hair style Jim was accustomed to him wearing or whether it was because of the turbulent voyage he was unsure but he felt in the pit of his stomach it probably had more to do with the worry set upon him by the illness of his father. His suspicions were all but confirmed when Tom all but drank half his pint in one go. Like him Tom had never been much of a drinker, though it had more to do with the clever preservation of money and not the ability to be incapacitated by more than two drops as was the case with James. His hair definitely looked a lot lacklustre and if Jim did not know he was in his mid twenties he would say his sandy blonde-brown strands were looking a little lighter. His brows were more lined too and his skin looked almost grey. Upon noticing Jims gaze fixed on him he put his glass down and smiled a reassuring yet weak smile that might fool a stranger but did not fool Jim.