2003
James stopped outside Foley's pub, turning his ear to the door.
Silence.
His eyes drifted to the half-rusted closed sign.
Most nights as of late, Michelle somehow managed to talk her boss into hosting a lock-in for the locals after closing time.
Her efforts were, of course, every bit as much for her own sake as they were for the pub's regulars. His cousin was, after all, anything but a martyr!
Running a frustrated a hand through his curls, James shoved his shoulder hard against the doorframe, doing so on the off-chance that Michelle hadn't fully locked up yet.
To his surprise, he stumbled effortlessly into the pub's front porch. The door sprung open with ease, the stench of stale beer and cigarettes instantly filling his nostrils.
"Let yerself in, did ya Dicko?"
James rolled his eyes at his darling cousin's tone and turned to find her perched on a barstool, keeping a bottle of Smirnoff vodka company.
Some things never change...
"I was worried about you."
Michelle snorted into her glass, already completely wallpapered.
"Yeah, well yeh needn't have been."
"Says the one who left the door open for me."
"Says the one who couldn't read the fuckin' sign."
Sighing in defeat, James decided to take the fact that she hadn't outrightly told him to piss off as adequate enough permission to stick around for a while longer.
Reaching into the pocket of his denim jacket, he held up the two hundred or so page novel for his cousin's inspection. The words 'Made in Derry' were emblazoned across the cover, printed in the same block inky-coloured lettering as the words on the Free Derry corner.
"You've read this already, I assume?", he asked.
Michelle shrugged, fighting back a scowl. "Most of it."
James nodded resolutely, having the distinct feeling he was entering into the most fucked up book club meeting in history.
"Aunt Deirdre rang me after work", he began, a telling edge creeping into his tone as he pulled out the seat beside his cousin.
Clearly he intended to inform Michelle that her mother (much like half the people who crossed their paths, it seemed!) had picked herself up a copy of Erin's book.
A book that had, among other things, as good as outed Michelle's true sexuality to almost everyone they knew.
While the rest of the world may read the ill-fated love romance of Michaela and Ciara as a nice bit of Northern-Irish based fiction, no one in Derry was buying that story!
Not when the whole bloody thing sounded so familiar in every other respect!
"Well fuck that...", she bit back grumpily.
"She doesn't mind, you know?", James attempted gently, knowing his words went beyond mere reassurance. "I think your mum and dad will be really supportive of you."
Michelle scoffed, gulping down the bitter remnants of vodka at the bottom of her glass.
"I'm not gay, James. Jesus!", she snapped, quietening for a moment as her characteristically blunt declaration hung heavily in the air between them.
He held up his hands in surrender.
Frowning to herself, Michelle looked almost contemplative as her thoughts turned to Clare and the confused feelings that she had been carrying around with her for much longer than she would dare to admit.
She thought of Clare's full lips, lips that Michelle had watched quiver with anxiety and chatter insistently for years before she had ever known what they would feel like pressed up against her own. She thought of bashful smiles that edged upwards and shaking fingers that slipped beneath scratchy woolen cardigans.
Suddenly, Michelle shook her head—as though to dispell the warmth that crept up her neck and flooded her cheeks.
"I'm just not not-gay either, y'know?", she replied, forcing herself not to think too much about the hurt on Clare's face the last time she had seen her...the hurt that she had been responsible for.
A coldness ran through her.
James only nodded in response, offering Michelle a weak smile. "Okay."
She quirked an eyebrow, her head cocked sideways—a challenge.
"Okay?"
"What else did you think I was going to say?", James asked, huffing out a humourless chuckle. "You're my cousin, Michelle. I want you to be happy."
Michelle only wrinkled her nose in response, not wanting to go into the details of happy with James (or anyone else for that matter!) right now. She just wasn't ready...
"Happy, eh?", Michelle snorted. "Are you happy?"
Lips pursed at the question, James wordlessly made a sullen swipe for the bottle on the counter between them.
"Drinkin' away our problems, are we Ball-Ache?", she asked jokingly, watching in amusement as he took a large gulp of alcohol. "Are y'sure yer still English?"
Rolling his eyes in response, James grimaced.
His throat burned and his eyes watered—something that he couldn't entirely blame on the vodka.
"Are you goin' to tell me what's up with yeh?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you won't want to hear it. And I wouldn't blame you."
"Well, ya thought wrong then, Dicko! I worry about you too!"
James sighed in reluctance.
"I still miss her", he confessed quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "I can't believe what she did...but I still miss her."
They both knew that James's feelings for Erin were a complicated thing; impossibly intangled as they were with a painful mixture of anger, rejection, guilt and longing.
Anger; because of the book.
Rejection; because she'd left.
Guilt; because he (himself) had lead her to believe that their relationship was an all or nothing deal.
And Longing...
James resisted the temptation to reach inside his pocket.
He knew that the photograph of Erin was still there, tucked away safely in the leathery folds of his wallet as it had been for nearly six years.
Taken on a shoddy disposable camera at the last school formal they'd attended together before leaving Our Lady Immaculate, James had caught Erin mid-rant. Beneath the streetlight, she was swallowed up in his jacket—her cheeks flushed by the November cold.
Longing; because James Maguire would never be able forget Erin Quinn no matter how hard he tried. Marked like a bloodstain, she lingered in his thoughts like a tattooed kiss...
Michelle clucked her tongue, taking in the sight of her miserable looking cousin.
"I should kick yer arse for that", she lorded, lacking most of her usual cousinly contempt despite the gruffness of her words.
Michelle knew what a confused-as-fuck heartbroken eejit looked like...she saw one each and every time she looked in the mirror.
Not that she would be admitting to that...
James raised an eyebrow in surprise. "But you won't..."
Michelle shrugged, the corner of her mouth tugging upwards into a smile.
"Maybe tomorrow", she replied nonchalantly, robbing the bottle clean out of his hands. "Tonight, I need a drinkin' buddy, and so do you."
...
But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss
I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs
The smell of smoke would hang around this long
'Cause I knew everything when I was young
~Taylor Swift, Cardigan.
...