Chapter 13: Absent Fathers 9th March 1996
The crisp morning air covered the still dark Flanagan stables. Paul was up and beginning his rounds with the horses. He was booked to ride that afternoon in the final race over at Tyrella in Country Down. It wasn't for Frankie but for another trainer that was based a few miles away, Paul stepping in to ride after the normal jockey picked up an injury in a training fall earlier that week. He didn't have to leave until later that morning, so he was mucking out the stables and getting the horses up and ready for their work that morning. They had a couple of girls from the village who'd come up and help but they didn't start until six, so he got the ball rolling around quarter to, getting things moving quicker. He'd just said bye to Joe, who'd dropped Orla off for her own riding out of 'The Wee English Fella', the first time she was back onboard since their win the previous Saturday.
But strangely, since she'd gone off to the horse's stable, which was separate to the main stables, she'd not returned with him as normal. She would always be straight out onto the gallops with the horse, wanting to get jumping as soon as she could, yet that morning she wasn't. Concerned for both her safety and that of the horse, Paul began to walk around to the stable round the back and it was only as he drew close to the right turn that would take him there, that he heard cries.
Orla's cries.
He rushed around the corner, praying to the Lord that nothing serious had happened. He found Orla sat outside the stable, the horse stood up perfectly fine in its box and looking out into the dark early morning. Orla though was not, she had her head in her knees, crying profusely.
"Orla?" Paul spoke with a hint of apprehension in his voice, almost tiptoeing his way to her.
She lifted her head from her knees and dried her eyes, sniffling.
"Sorry Paul, I'll erm…".
Orla was on her feet a second later, turning away from him to give the horse a stroke. He neighed in delight at the attention.
"Wait Orla". Paul spoke up again, now directly in front of her when she turned around.
"Wh… What?"
He could see the bloodshot red eyes and the tears that still escaped from the corners on their way down both sides of her face.
"Is it James?" Paul asked, worried for the fella. "Is he…?"
"No… no… but".
"But what Orla?"
When he questioned her again, she broke down into tears once more and without thinking, Paul pulled her in to hug her tightly. He hated to see her upset at something, a girl usually so full of life. He'd seen the true strength of her character too, earlier that week when he'd stepped in to assist with shepherding the girls inside the Hospital away from the hornets' nest of reporters. And how she'd dealt with the jockeys who tried to ruin her career before it had even properly begun. Whatever was making her cry must have been incredibly significant after him having witnessed those events.
"Jam-… It… erm". She was floundering as they separated, so he put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. "I… ach ye shouldn't have to listen to me".
"I want to Orla, please, tell me what's got ye upset?"
She sighed, bowing her head to look at the floor.
"I've not really stopped to think about how it makes me feel Paul… ye know James being injured like that and I… I miss him. Apart from me Granda, any men in my life seem to… disappear and I… I don't want James to!"
She was sobbing again as she finished, the final words coming out more as a shriek and he took her hand, gesturing for her to sit down again and he sat down next to her.
"Can I tell ye a story Orla?" Paul sought permission, being granted with a nod.
"When I was seven, I lost my parents in a car crash. Some arsehole truck driver ran them off the road and the car flipped. I survived without a single scratch but they both died. I moved in with me uncle for a time afterwards but then he died, knocked out in an incident at his workplace and never regained consciousness. For a long time, I… I thought I was a curse, that anyone in my life would walk straight out of it and I lived in a home for orphans for three years after that, with no lads for company and no men at the place. But one day, a nice fella turned up to the place to see his aunt who was one of the staff… that was Frankie and we got talking and he took me in.".
"Yer like his… son then?" Orla enquired.
"Aye I suppose". Paul chuckled. "Look, what I'm trying to say is I know the pain from when people leave ye life and when things are bleak. But life works both ways, and ye'll always have people who stay and are there for ye. Yer Granda ye say is there and he will be for ye. He's a good man Joe and he's done a grand job with his family, so he has".
"Thank ye Paul". She looked into his eyes and beamed a smile of appreciation his way.
"That's alright. And… I'm a man and I've no plans of disappearing from yer life anytime soon either. Neither has Frankie".
"Can I have another hug?" She almost giggled her request.
"Of course ye can". He replied, pulling her in. "Friend?"
"Friend". Orla confirmed.
"But…". He started as she removed herself from him. "… we'll lose our friend behind us if he doesn't see a fence soon. We can't stay cuddling all mornin'!"
The two of them sat and giggled for a minute before Orla began her session of work with 'The Wee English Fella' and her worries for James, though still present, fell back with the knowledge that there were men in her life to stay. Friends.
Likewise, Paul had an additional spring in his step too. He was proud to be friends with Orla McCool.
She didn't think it was possible to be more hungover than the night she hosted her own party.
But Michelle soon realised that was bollocks. Her head was a wreck when she woke up, staring down at the empty bucket beside her bed. Well…
A minute later Michelle was still staring down at the bucket, but it now contained some of the contents of the prior nights binge. She heard the groaning from the floor and it soon came back to her that Clare drank all night with her and would be in the same condition.
"Michelle…". She groaned again. "… what have ye done to me?"
"Ach… I know Clare… we're so fucked". She huffed out.
"Can ye…". Clare stuttered. "… get up?"
That was something she was contemplating herself before Clare asked. Michelle didn't know whether it would be possible to remove herself from the bed. Her body was telling her not to and wanted more sleep to fight off the effect of the alcohol, but she was Michelle Mallon, and her body would have to fuck off. Slowly sliding her right leg out of the bed, she put it down a few inches away from the bucket and with her right hand on her side table, she focused every bit of physical strength she had to push herself up. It was messy, her right leg wobbling like a big jelly, but with a bit of a twist and some more leg quivering, Michelle was on her feet.
"Aye to that". She finally replied to Clare.
"Will ye… help me?" Clare asked her.
She considered the request for a moment, they were a team after all, but sometimes they would have to do things for themselves and this was one of those times.
"Not a fuckin' chance!" Michelle rather croaked her rebuke. "If I bend down to give ye me hand, I'm gunna fall on ye and we've been through this about… ye know… I don't like ye like that…".
"Grow up Michelle!" Clare screeched.
"Don't fuckin' yell like that". Michelle's hand went to her forehead.
"Help me!"
Michelle had to shake her head and Clare gave her the evils, disappointed by the lack of help Michelle was prepared to give. She tried with all her power to rise up from beneath the blankets that she couldn't remember getting out, but just couldn't manage it. Panicking, she foolishly attempted a roll to the side to try from another position but the sound her stomach made caused her to pause.
"Holy mother of god…".
"Fuck!" Michelle heard it too. "Hang on, I'll get ye the bucket".
In her haste to retrieve it, Michelle seemed to have forgotten that she was nursing as bad, if not worse, a hangover as Clare. Trying to move far quicker than was advisable in that state, she tripped over her own feet turning around, and screamed when the destination became inevitable. She was going headfirst into the bucket with no way of preventing it.
"Michelle!" Clare cried out.
"Eughhhhhh! Me own boke!"
Controlling herself, Clare realised what had happened to Michelle and put a hand to her mouth. Any chance of help was gone now as Michelle cried in the corner about being plastered in her own boke. It would be a solo effort to get to the bathroom. Changing tactic completely, she was able to get herself onto her knees and with a cry of fear, began the humiliating crawl towards the door. Every movement set off a depth charge of agony in her stomach, the boke ready to break down the final barricades her body raised in defence of her dignity. Come on Clare, nearly there…
The door had ideas of its own however and was suddenly pushed open. Clare cacked herself and only just dodged out of the way, missing her narrowly, but it left her with another problem as the swaying to the side broke the last defences and she hurled straight up in the direction of the door. All over Deirdre Mallon's shoes.
Michelle looked up in horror as her mother stared down at the diminutive blonde who had tears running down her face and a second load of boke barrelling out of her mouth onto the same spot.
"MARTIN!" She roared.
"Yes love!" He called back happily.
"FETCH ME THE BIG SPONGE!"
"Are ye sure ye don't want the wee sponge love?"
"JUST GET ME THE BIG SPONGE MARTIN!"
"Alright! Jesus…".
Erin allowed herself to wake up later that morning, staying on her makeshift bed until eight o'clock. She'd got going from there though, having a shower and changing into the fresh clothes she'd brought from home the night before. One of the nurses got her a cup of tea and did some eggs on toast for her, which acted as her breakfast.
She was stood stroking his hair as normal at nine thirty when the door opened, and Mary arrived in the room.
"Morning love".
"Morning Mammy".
"How is he?" Mary asked, putting a bag down on the table.
"No worse". Erin sighed. "Still my wee English fella".
Mary smiled and came to hug her daughter, no tears falling this time, but the hug was more out of a need for a sense of warmth.
"I bought ye some things…". Mary pulled away. "… a couple of books, paper and some pens. Figured ye might get a little bored if yer staying the whole day".
As well as asking for permission from her parents to leave her alone with him the night before, she'd also told them that she wished to spend the whole of Saturday with him, agreeing to come home for lunch on the Sunday.
"Thanks Mammy". Erin replied. "Harriet visited last night".
"The wee English girl?"
"Aye".
"That was good of her. I didn't think you's would see her again if I'm honest".
"I wasn't expecting it. But it was nice". Erin smiled.
Mother and daughter spent half an hour talking, interrupted only by the visit of Sister Michael and Mr Flanagan. It was a week since Mr Flanagan was Robert to them, the family friend who'd drove them to watch Orla win her first race victory. Oh how things can change…
"Erin, Mrs Quinn". Sister Michael addressed them.
"Morning". Mr Flanagan added.
"Aye, thanks for coming". Mary replied.
"Not at all Mrs Quinn, we wanted to see how the wee English fella was getting on". The Sister said to them.
The two visitors walked up to the side of the bed and ran their eyes over James, still wincing at the facial injuries and tubes sticking out of him. His eyes were now back to normal at least, the orbital fractures healing with some external treatment from the nurses. The broken nose would right itself, not overly changed in its shape at least, and the breaks to bones in his arms were beginning to heal too. It was the fractured tibia that would take time to heal, multiple months of recovering would be required. And then of course there was the potential for a brain injury.
"I should tell you Mrs Quinn, that as a school, we cannot express how much pride we have for the girls in coming to lessons this week". Sister Michael looked over to Mary.
"They're brave wains, so they are". She commented. "I'm not sure I'd have had the courage back when I was that age".
"I can't say I would either". Mr Flanagan interjected. "We're all inspired by them".
"Thank ye sir". Erin smiled.
"Don't M-"
Mr Flanagan was interrupted as the door opened behind them and Kathy Maguire walked into the room. Surprised by her promise to return being honoured, Mary glared at her and she shyly looked back into Mary's eyes. Mr Flanagan and Sister Michael didn't need too much prompting to make themselves scare, knowing exactly who she was.
Kathy Maguire was preparing for her second long overdue chat of the week.
After being cleaned up by Deirdre and scrubbing Michelle's bedroom floor like it were the end times, Michelle and Clare finally headed out for the day. It was already midday and the pace they set whilst walking through the streets could have easily been matched by most of the elderly. They were hanging out of their arses, pissed beyond belief, and Clare especially was struggling to operate normally. Her head was in total agony and she'd told Michelle in no uncertain terms that she would never be touching another drop again. Michelle of course would, and she doubted that Clare could keep to her promise, but she fared little better with her own hangover.
Dennis's wee shop was the first port of call for the pair and it was a relative safe haven as he certainly wouldn't sell them any booze.
"Fucks sake this isn't goin'" Michelle moaned, with the shop in the distance.
"Why are we so stupid?
"Ach we're not stupid Clare. We're just… visionaries".
"Aye well in the sense of double vision I suppose we are, but not in any other sense!"
Michelle huffed and kept her mouth shut for the rest of the way to the shop. There was plenty of people about, going about their business but looking a hell of a lot better than the two girls did. Dennis's shop was empty and for once he wasn't behind the counter when they went in, instead refilling the fridge where they'd be getting their drinks.
"What's the craic Dennis?" Michelle shouted out to him.
"Fuck me!" He jumped out his skin. "Ach, it's you's".
"Wow, hardly a reception for ye best customers!" She argued.
"Me best customers?" He chuckled, shutting the fridge and walking away from them, back to the counter. "My best customers visit every day and pay me the right amount of money".
They couldn't deny him that. Bar the one time Orla paid the correct amount, they still never gave him enough money for what they were buying. He still couldn't quite work out himself why he let them get away with it so often, though the tally of times he'd shouted at them to 'Get Out' had grown to twenty-two times. Joe McCool slipping him a few extra notes from time to time tended to help though.
"Ye well, we've had a lot on recently Dennis". Clare sighed.
"Aye… I know. How is the fella?"
Surprised by Dennis's question, neither girl answered for a second, making him think that the poor English fella who he occasionally clashed with must have passed away. Sensing his thought process, Michelle eventually blurted a few words out.
"Still fightin ye know".
"I erm… I hope he pulls through. Fuckin' sick whoever did that to him".
"Aye. Thanks Dennis".
Dennis showing compassion was yet another thing to throw into the crazy week they'd had. He was no fan of the Brits, but the girls were beginning to realise that there was a growing sense around Derry that what was done to James was wrong. He was innocent and not another hated Brit like a soldier or a politician.
"Don't worry about payin either".
The unexpected kindness continued, and they couldn't find the words to thank him, just smiling at him sweetly instead. Walking back out onto the Derry streets, bottles of water in their hands, Michelle and Clare began to dream that perhaps things were really changing. And peace was close.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of god.
But not everyone in Derry wanted to make peace.
Kathy was on her own in a showdown with two generations of Quinn. She didn't fear what Erin had to say, for she barely knew the girl beyond the fleeting visit the prior year, but fully expected to be annihilated by her mother. Mary's face told the story, it was similar to the one she'd pulled in her own house that fateful day in November.
"Kathy". Mary said from across the other side of the table that now sat between them.
"Mary". She replied, trembling.
"I think we have a few things to discuss, don't you?"
"A-Aye".
They both reached for their cups of tea and eyed each other while drinking. Erin viewed the scene like it were an old Western, two veteran gunslingers lining each other up, copying each other's actions. The only way it could have gotten any more authentic were if the doors came open and some tumbleweed rolled into the room. She wondered which one would draw first and didn't have to wait long as it was Mary who had the quicker trigger finger.
"Disowning your own wain Kathy… why?"
Mary didn't hold back her feelings, pouring her own emotions of anger and resentment into the statement. She might have told Deirdre she would accept Kathy for being genuine, but she wanted to find her own ground with her before committing to anything. And for that, Kathy needed to know her honest opinion.
"I… I…".
"You know Kathy, I had to sit with yer boy and hold him while he cried!". Mary was almost choking up herself. "I'm not his mother, he wasn't even with my Erin then, yet he still came to me. He shouldn't be coming to me".
"I… I know. I… was wrong". Kathy admitted. "The letter… I should…. I should never have written it and I reg-".
Kathy stopped her sobbed out story because Mary Quinn held a hand on hers and smiled at her. Not a menacing smile or an 'I told you so', but a smile of friendship and understanding. Of forgiveness.
"I regret it Mary. It's taken me far too long to know it but… I do. I don't deserve James as my son, he's a far better person than me…".
"No Kathy". Mary squeezed her hand as she broke down into more tears. "We all make mistakes, we all do… stupid things. Really stupid things. But what you've done isn't unforgiveable".
"It should be".
"But it's not Kathy. James is part of my family now and my family will always open the door for a second chance, no matter what the past might be. I'm willing to leave our past where it is, if you are too?"
She couldn't quite believe that Mary was saying those words. The hardened shell of Mary Quinn was gone and from within, Kathy could see the reason why James would go to her for comfort. She wasn't the stone-faced mother that despised her, quite the opposite it was turning out, that in fact she was a benevolent woman ready to let the mistakes of other days, keep to those days and not impact anything going forward.
"I want him back in my life Mary, I do".
"Then perhaps we can consider ourselves friends again Kathy".
Years of mistrust, hatred and even possibly jealousy, evaporated within a second. Kathy got up from the table and they hugged, Mary holding her whilst she cried onto her shoulder. Mary herself put up a good defence, keeping the tears in, but she couldn't deny that they were there and waiting should she have chosen to.
Erin remained silent throughout, not finding anything she wished to interject with, as most of the knowledge of Kathy's failings of her wee English fella were with her mother. She had questions, one in particular, but was unsure of how to approach Kathy about it. On sitting down again, Kathy turned her attentions to Erin, smiling at the blonde girl. Taking a better look at her, she noticed the similarities to Mary and Gerry, but above all how lucky her James was to have such a beautiful girl like Erin.
"You're not going to shout stranger danger at me are you?" Kathy chuckled.
"No". Erin's eyelashes flickered nervously but she still managed a slight chuckle herself.
"My sister has told me all about you...". Kathy moved to put her hand on Erin's, Erin looking up at her mother and then looking back to Kathy. "… thank you for looking after my James for me where I've… failed him".
"Ye haven't failed him Miss Maguire". Erin countered. "And I think he knows that. The letter hurt him but… he knows ye were emotional and… scared… when he refused to go with ye. He's got a big heart has my wee English fella".
Kathy smiled at the nickname she knew James had acquired in his time in Derry and at the sentiment that Erin put across to her. There was a way back in for her now and hearing that James understood the irrational and emotionally charged letter was not the real Kathy speaking, it comforted her immensely.
"When I said I want him back in my life, I don't mean I want him to come back to London with me". Kathy clarified. "His life is with you now… I can see that".
"Ye not moving back to Derry then?" Erin asked.
"No…". She scratched at her neck nervously, a trait Erin recognised from James. "… I want James in my life but I… can't… come back to Derry. Not to live".
"Why? Yer always welcome here Miss Maguire, isn't that right Mammy?" Erin looked to Mary.
"Aye". Mary nodded.
"Thank you, but… I just can't".
"Is it because of James's daddy?"
Kathy's head shot up from where she'd paused to stare at the table. Somehow Erin managed to dive straight into her head and pull out the one thing Kathy hoped to have buried. She'd not spoken about it in some years, the story only being partially known to even Deirdre. Her whole life hinged on the decisions made nearly twenty years earlier, only being the woman she was in that room because of what she'd done. The shame that came with her own actions were ones she never wanted to revisit but, in the Hospital room, while her son lay comatose, the box in that part of her mind was opened.
"I'm sorry… I". Erin went to apologise.
"No no Erin. I've ran from it for a large part of my life, it's just… hard to talk about. I've never told anyone the real story…".
"Ye don't have to tell us Kathy…". Mary put her hand over her shaking ones again.
"It's time Mary. I always knew one day I'd have to say something to someone. I just didn't expect it to be you".
The two women shared a grin and Mary stroked her hands with her thumb, gently trying to coax the story out from Kathy.
"I… I had an affair with a married man…". Instead, Kathy blurted it out, but neither Mary or Erin gasped or made judgement. "… it lasted for a few months. He used to visit me when he told his wife he was at the pub and we… carried on like that. He already had kids with his wife you see, and one day, one of the kids was ill and she went looking for him at the pub. As you can guess, it all came out in the wash and he stopped seeing me. A couple of days later, I realised I was pregnant with James and I… well I went to England with the intention of having an abortion but… I didn't. I know we were… breaking his vow to his wife but he was a good man, and I couldn't just take away a life he'd created like that so I… I had James and stayed in London".
"He still lives in Derry?". Erin probed her for more, very softly. "I'm not expecting ye to name him…".
"Aye". Kathy nodded. "He sorted things out with his wife and from what I know they had more kids. She must have been pregnant at the same time as me too. I can't bring myself to come back and remind him of… well you know what I mean".
The revelation was finally out there. Years of bottled-up tension escaped from Kathy and she relaxed, shoulders dropping. Mary and Erin's hands both found hers and that morning, by the side of James's hospital bed, Kathy Maguire finally came home to a family in Ireland.