Chapter 30: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea 1st July 1940
By the standards of a normal Monday, it was hellishly busy at the factory. Having got in at the normal time, all of the girls throughout each section didn't stop other than for lunch, which was shortened to what it usually was. With the advancement of training for many men, the need for spare shirts only grew, which left them all working at an incredible pace to be able to get all of the orders complete. All non-essential orders were stopped, not that there were many left after the outbreak of war. There were only a few people who could afford to have their private jobs complete, the only non-military equipment to grace the factory floor being any garments of their own which needed attention.
Erin, Michelle and Clare were really up against. Since Charlene's departure from working with them, they returned to having their backs against the wall. Meyler was somewhat sympathetic, but with the factory unable to find another girl to replace them, he could only relinquish a small amount of responsibility from the three. They didn't speak at all during the day other than if it was work related, Michelle even keeping her mouth shut most admirably when it would usually be the first to open. The previous week was much the same towards the end, with Thursday and Friday being days where the number of conversations the girls had could be counted on one hand across the two. It was all for the war effort though, that was the important part.
The war itself was only getting bleaker on the home front. As the days of June began to fall away, so too did any hopes of a resurgence from the French. The writing had been on the wall from the moment that the Germans bulldozed their way through the Ardennes, the French unable to prevent them marching on. France then received the ignominy on the tenth day of the month, of having the Italians finally attack them. An already wounded animal was savaged even more to the south, though the Italians mainly postured without launching a major offensive. Some fighting took place later in the month, but it was quickly over, the French Government signing armistices with both of their attackers to leave Britain officially isolated in Europe. When the news was broadcast to the public, it only sought to drop the morale even further. The Germans, and the Italians, could use French airfields to bomb the mainland of Britain now that they were well within range. The net was well and truly closing around the last hope of peace in Europe.
However, knowing that they would need to continue on until the joy of freedom was ripped from their bare hands, the everyday working people of Britain did not stop. The soldiers, some returning from the butcher's paradise that was Dunkirk, continued to train in preparation for the seemingly inevitable invasion of British shores. They still had James too, the finest pilot in service, as well as some of the bravest men in the world like David. Even the German commanders, the ones who did not hide behind the swastika, held respect for the brave men of the British Army. The Air force was beginning to earn great respect too, though the Luftwaffe believed themselves to be the superior fighters anyway. The one area where Britain was ahead by far however, was the Navy. The German Navy, the Kriegsmarine, could boast a spectacular submarine division with their deadly U-boats but feared the might of the British Home Fleet. History was generally against anyone who decided to tackle the Royal Navy, although the German Navy of the Great War claimed victory in the large-scale Battle of Jutland. They could not doubt the skill of British Naval commanders though, which would equally make any attempted invasion a challenge. Luckily for the Navy, they also retained control of their own Air Arm, the same section where the legend of Lieutenant Commander James Maguire grew.
After work, with thoughts of the heroic young officer firmly implanted in her mind, Erin found herself walking back home with Clare in the sun. There'd been hotter days that year, but for just after eight o'clock in the evening, it was still fairly mild. Walking was almost cruel after the day they'd had, but there was also a benefit to being able to stretch their legs, having been sat down for almost all of the hours they were at work. Despite the hard work, Clare's smile was still infectious, the only sign of hard work being that her hair was a mess. Erin's hair was equally as messy, with the bags under her eyes also indicating that she was knackered. It didn't help that she'd slept poorly the night before, having a nightmare about James running off with a young English woman instead of being with her like he should have been. It was only a nightmare though, she'd consoled herself that morning.
"I hear they bombed the Channel Islands, Erin…". Clare decided to bring the war into conversation. "… I mean, if they're doin' that then it won't be long until it's our turn!"
Shaking her head, Erin did not want to hear the defeatism that the diminutive blonde was offering. The Channel Islands were closer to France than they were to England, making it logical in her mind that the Germans would want to take control of them to stop them being used as a springboard for an attack on the French coast. Not that she was a military strategist or anything…
"Ach those German fellas are bitin' off more than they can chew, so they are. They're in charge of most of Europe now, do ye not think they're a wee bit stretched".
There was some truth in her opinion. The German Army was somewhat stretched in mobilising multiple fronts against the French, as well as keeping order in their part of the newly conquered Poland. However, that was the beauty of the agreement Germany held with the Soviet Union. Russia wouldn't attack them whilst they were at peace, and with France out of the way, their full power could be sent at that British that continued to defy them.
"They're winning every battle!" Clare argued.
"They might be now Clare, but… ye know… they won't win every battle!" Erin argued back.
"We… we should move over to Donegal so we don't get invaded!"
Clare's cack attack about a possible German Invasion was not the first cack attack she'd had on the matter. Whenever it was brought up in conversation, she seemed to believe that the war was already lost, negatively anticipating that the Germans would be upon them sooner rather than later. There was a realistic argument given what happened in France, but Erin refused to be as defeatist as her friend. The Germans did still have a lot of work to do if they were going to invade, an undertaking more logistically challenging due to the natural defensive barrier that was the Channel. Every spot on the coast would be littered with anti-aircraft weapons and pillboxes, making any German assault a very dangerous undertaking.
"I'm willin' to do a lot of things, Clare… but I won't move to feckin' Donegal! Ye can't just move to Donegal like that anyway!"
"Why not! That wee lass who used to live on the corner of Pump Street moved to Donegal!"
"That's because she's from Donegal!" Erin continued to argue, growling. "She can just go back home ye know".
"Maybe we should pretend we're from…".
Clare was winding Erin up considerably with her belief that all of their troubles would be solved by moving to Donegal. There would be no real advantage of moving to Donegal other than the apparent one if there was an invasion, but the Germans were unlikely to ignore the Free State. One way or another, they'd end up under the Nazi regime.
"Clare!" She snapped. "We are not movin' to Donegal! End of!"
"Fine!"
Huffing, Clare threw her arms out theatrically, almost in a tantrum. Tantrums were designed for girls of Anna's age, not Clare's, garnering a snort of amusement from Erin at the outburst. Looking at her incredulously in return, the young Devlin could not believe she was being judged by Erin, who'd spent the whole of the Autumn and most of the winter in a foul mood, regularly throwing a fit over the most trivial things. Although Erin's bad moods were few and far between since, aided greatly by receiving the news of James' promotion, her friends and family would not forget them. Not least her parents, who bore the brunt of them at home at the absolute peak of her moodiness. Appreciative of the fact that she was lonely, there was only so much sympathy they could give, and Clare's was beginning to run out.
"Those French fellas were feckin' useless though".
A resentment grew against the French for many. Some took the view that they were cowards, hoisting the white flag at the first sign of enemy activity. The reality was somewhat distorted, as some French units performed with distinction before they were forced to withdraw in a similar fashion to the Expeditionary Force. To Erin though, those fellas were the ones that were supposed to be helping her James fight the Germans, but it was only the young pilot holding up his end of the deal. She wasn't to know the finer details of the invasion, of how smart the Germans actually were rather than how cowardly the French were in response.
"Erin!" Clare reprimanded her. "Have some respect, those French… well some of them died too, ye know!"
The French suffered greatly. In additional to well over a million of their soldiers that were captured, nearly one hundred thousand lost their lives. The actual soldiers were not so cowardly as perceptions placed them to be, their Government being the real cowards that oversaw the downfall of the once great nation. Napoleon, Bonaparte not the wee dog, would have turned in his grave at how poorly the country he'd led to glory in similar fashion to how Hitler was leading his, responded to the threat. Like in his times though, the great thorn in the side of the dictators of Europe remained the old Empire from the Island in the Atlantic.
"Well I didn't kill them!" She retorted as they upped their pace. "Sister Michael was right anyway about the French… come to think of it, Sister Michael has been pretty much right about everythin' she said would happen when we were adults".
"Ye!" Clare snorted. "She said Michelle would have turned to the sisterhood by now… so ye can't say she got everythin' right".
"That is true…". Erin surmised, trailing off. "…. b-but we aren't talkin' about that now, are we? She got the French right and that's what matters".
Coming around to the idea that trying to argue the bravery of the French Army with Erin was a foolish undertaking to persist with, Clare didn't reply. Unlike her friend, she was far more open to accepting that the poor French just simply were not up to the challenge but wouldn't judge them for it. She wasn't convinced that the Brits were either and they would be dragged into the conflict despite not really caring too much for those in London or Manchester. She was more inclined to mention one subject though, as she was shocked that Erin had not.
The city was already suffering from losing sons to the war. Peter and Lorcan Donnelly's deaths in Norway whilst trying to fend off the Northern branch of the German war machine and then Johnny Kells and a few other lads' deaths while fighting with the Expeditionary Force. Families were grieving throughout the city still, the Donnelly's not having fully recovered from losing two of their three sons. Although it did not stop them from eventually supporting David's decision to return to England to fight. Even worse, there were a select few families who did not have the luck to be comforted by knowing that there loved one was indeed in a better place. Some men were listed as missing, potentially captured by the Germans who would no doubt send them to Prisoner of War camps.
One of those families were the O'Reilly's.
John-Paul's unit were amongst some of the furthest away when the order to evacuate Dunkirk was given, and when the rest of the Royal Irish Fusiliers reached the port, he was not with them. In the telegram that they received, it was noted that a fellow soldier last saw him covering the escape of his platoon, but when they turned again, he was nowhere to be seen. When men came to retrieve the bodies under a flag of peace, the Germans allowing the action, his body was not amongst those that were brought back. The family were distraught about it, his mother having to be helped from the church when she completely broke down after Father Peter asked the rest of the churchgoers to think of him in their prayers.
"That was horrible news about John-Paul, wasn't it?" Clare asked.
The Erin Quinn of eighteen months prior would have stopped in her tracks at the mere mention of the name John-Paul. Having been enamoured with him for what appeared like an eternity to the rest of her friends, if they'd have been told at the time that over a year and a half later, she wouldn't even show the slightest emotion at his name, then whoever was telling them would have been told to wise up.
"Yeah, I suppose…". Erin replied, showing her total lack of interest. "… I… I'm strugglin' to care really…".
Expecting that sort of answer from Michelle and Michelle only, Clare was horrified that her fellow blonde could speak so cruelly about John-Paul. She might not have enjoyed the company of men romantically, but she still cared about people as more than just lumps of skin and bones. John-Paul very rarely spoke to her, the two having conversed a grand total of around four times that she could remember. It didn't mean that she would not care when he was reported missing as he was another human being, just like them. Angered at Erin's lack of thought, Clare was not going to let it go.
"WHAT!?"
Stopping, Erin looked at her with a face of confusion but also underlying disgust. John-Paul O'Reilly was an object of prior affection for her… he meant nothing now that she was with James and did not like his name being brought up by her friend.
"Why should I? It's not like I'm together with him…".
"Ye cared about the Donnelly brothers and unless ye have somethin' to tell me, ye weren't ridin' them, were ye?"
Cornered on her favourable hypocrisy, Erin was caught out. She'd been upset for the Donnelly family, extending her sympathies to David and his parents without hesitation. Shedding a tear or two at their service, it was clear that the young Quinn could care about another fella that she wasn't in love or friends with. Clare was not going to be allowed to win though, so as stubbornly as ever, Erin threw herself into a hesitant counter.
"Y-Yeah… w… I… catch yourself on!" She roared at Clare. "Ye know, maybe you'd find yerself a fella if ye weren't so bothered about everybody else's!"
Unaware of how close to the bone it cut her friend, Erin could only watch as Clare refused to look back at her. Turning her head away completely, she was attempting to blink away the tears as quickly as she could. If she could find the confidence to tell Erin, she would do so, but after what happened with Molly O'Keefe, there wasn't a chance of it happening. Molly herself seemed to have vanished, her parents unwilling to offer an explanation to anyone who asked where she'd gone. Many at church were glad for her departure though, happily restoring the family's reputation within the community at her expense, some even going as far as to celebrate ridding themselves of the wee dyke. The truth was somewhat more embarrassing for the church, not that the Father knew what it was. In her infinite wisdom, Sister Michael managed to find her a convent to join out in the middle of nowhere, the only place safe for her. She would have to start a new life of religious devotion, but in her private moments, she would still be able to cherish her dreams, even if they would not come true. It was a better life to the one that the church could offer in return, forcing her sinful ways out of her in any way they saw fit.
"Clare, I…".
Perplexed by the reason for Clare's upset, Erin did still have some form of conscience, immediately feeling guilty for upsetting her so deeply. She knew how nervous Clare would get around fellas, a reaction that she believed stemmed from her friend having little confidence in her image. Whilst it was true to an extent, it was minor compared to the larger truth that remained locked behind an emotional barrier, reinforced by webs of lies.
"Leave it Erin… just leave it…".
If she could get Erin to leave her alone then she would be able to think of something to cover her tracks. The other girl being stubborn as a mule when she wanted to be though, it wasn't going to be an easy proposition, she thought. It turned out that for once, Erin was going to let it drop as she leaned forward to hug her friend instead of saying anything else. The gesture was a kind one, one which Clare relaxed into, knowing that the truth could stay hidden for another day without anyone getting too suspicious.
"Sorry…". Erin mumbled quietly.
"Don't be". Clare answered chipperly. "We can't all have a fella like James though, can we?"
That was too right in her friend's eyes. Erin knew she was incredibly lucky, perhaps the luckiest young woman to have ever lived to be able to be James'. He was a different breed of man altogether, the refined gentleman that did not look down on those whose pockets were not as full as his own. Handsome, caring and funny, he was the young man of every young woman's dreams. Perfection was a quality that was unobtainable and, in some cases, absurdly pursued to try to find ultimate brilliance. To Erin, James was the closest thing to it… and she would not be sharing her slice of the perfection with anyone.
"We can't". Erin laughed as they came apart.
"I am so glad that he got his wee promotion, so I am…". Clare continued to praise the absent Englishman. "… I bet ye that the men that serve under him, really respect him ye know".
She did not know it, but Clare was right. Erin thought she was too, knowing as much from one of James' letters earlier that year when he spoke of enjoying an evening playing cards with the men where many officers would only usually keep each other company. The men of the 815 did indeed hold the young Lieutenant Commander in the highest regard.
"He'll be in charge of all of the pilots in Britain soon if he keeps getting promoted like this". Erin hummed in delight.
"Ye'll be rich if he does".
"Aye".
James' significant wealth, a wealth that he was yet to truly discover, always niggled away at the back of Erin's mind. Most people knew he was wealthy, owning a car and a plane for a start, as well as his stylish outfits that were tailored to the highest quality. She'd heard rumours at work one lunchtime, that some of the other women, mostly the older ones who enjoyed gossiping, thought she was only interested in him for his money. It would have been a lie for her to say that she hadn't thought of the financial comfortability that came from being with him, but her genuine love for him outweighed those thoughts. The balance of his account did not come before his caring soul or the chest that she liked to lay her head on. The chest which she ached to have under her fingers again…
"Erin!"
Clare's whispered hiss brought her away from her thoughts of his features, making her jump slightly. As she looked forward, she realised the need for the hiss to be whispered. They'd come to a stop, with Clare's arm blocking her way. Crouching down they took cover behind a tree to the side to watch on. To anyone watching from the houses nearby, it would be peculiar to see the two skulking around on the pavement, but if they looked up the road then they would see why.
"That's…".
Nodding her head, Clare confirmed the disbelief that Erin held. They should have known better, having been caught out in similar circumstances on the day that the former was supposed to have gone out on a date with the butcher's son. Michelle did not leave them with a half-baked answer this time around, but in fact left early before all of the work was complete. The last half an hour or so, Erin and Clare were left alone to finish, which they did after cursing Michelle's name for most of it. It started with a trip up to management to ask a question about seeing to the maintenance of her machine and ended with her waltzing off, telling them that she was allowed to go for having worked so hard. Finding her on the arm of one of the management team, strolling to what was his house, did not surprise them at all. If anything, it was almost too realistic a scenario.
"For feck's sake…". Erin grumbled.
"We… we can't judge Erin, maybe it's innocent". Clare shyly suggested.
"Innocent!?" She scoffed quietly in reply. "Clare, when have ye know Michelle to be with a fella and the circumstances be… innocent?"
There was no need for a lengthy search of the memory bank. If Michelle was on the arm, or any other part, of a fella's anatomy, then there was never going to be anything innocent about it. Trouble was usually not far behind it, right there in front of them to see that evening. Michelle may have wished to continue sleeping around, a wish that they would not discourage her from, but they would have hoped she would have been smarter when it came to the choice of fella. There were plenty of young lads who would dream for a night with Michelle Mallon, many having found themselves turned down when making a drunken pass at her. Why she had to choose the one they spotted her with was beyond them.
"Do ye…".
"Yes. Come on".
Sensing exactly what Clare was trying to suggest before she'd even said it, Erin was certainly in for a bit of spying on their friend. It was vital that they were able to see just how far it was going with Michelle and the fella, to be able to respond appropriately in turn when they confronted her about. Which they knew they were going to do without speaking of it. It could not go unchallenged, now that fate decided they would get a whiff of what was going on with the young Mallon.
Creeping forward from behind the tree, they watched as Michelle followed the fella into his house, which was located around five houses up on their right. As far as they knew she hadn't seen them, sneaking up on her remaining a realistic ambition. They certainly wouldn't be joining the espionage community with their skills, darting around in crouched positions like their lives depended on it until Clare tripped over the curb, landing flat on her face. Stopping to pick her up, Erin put her hand over her friend's mouth to stop her wincing from the pain, concerned that Michelle might hear the noise from inside and storm out to find them.
Though their surveillance skills required a lot of work, the two of them managed to get themselves up to the front door. With Erin leading the way, they crouched back down again, shuffling along until they were under the window. The familiar noise, at least to Erin, of lips smashing into each other could be heard from inside. If there was any doubt about Michelle's intention of going back to the fella in management's house, then it was certainly cleared up by what she could hear. Taking a look to her left, back against the wall underneath the front window, Clare's face was full of nerves. Although they were doing nothing wrong other than a small amount of trespassing, it did not stop the blonde having a cack attack. If they were caught, she suspected that her Da would get the belt on her for acting so out of line.
With a dip of her head, Erin signalled that they were to slowly peer up over the window ledge to see for themselves. What they were greeted with was far more than they wanted to see, the pair of them having glowing red faces and ducking down straight away. They didn't stick around for long either, making a run for it to put distance between themselves and what they'd seen. The utterly shocking scene that neither of them would forget in a hurry.
"Well that was more of Michelle than I ever wanted to see!" Clare started, angered.
"Tell me about it!" An equally annoyed Erin huffed back. "Of all the feckin' people!"
"I know! Christ, Norah will be ragin' if she finds out!"
Of all the people indeed. Michelle's decision to go to management was one that the other two did not realise was totally pre-meditated. She went up the stairs with a plan, a plan which was executed to complete perfection by being able to leave a half hour earlier. The girls didn't pay attention when he slipped out not five minutes later, no doubt legging it home to be ready for her arrival. Norah must have been back at her own home for the night, as there was no evidence of a ménage à trois from the brief glance into the house.
The house that belonged to Eddie Walsh.
They were determined to find out why.
It was bloody hot.
Ridiculously hot.
Then again, it was hardly a surprise given where they were.
The newly commissioned Lieutenant Commander Maguire's life seemed to be changing constantly. He did not mind it too much, as it was ultimately necessary, but after just under a month or so of active service, he was yet to feel as if he'd truly found his footing. He hesitated to think of it as finding a more relaxed environment, as there were no relaxed environments in the middle of a war, but ever since disembarking from Devonport the first time, he hadn't stopped. Borrett made the role of squadron commander look easy in comparison, but he'd had years of practice after years of service. James was yet to even see out a year after signing up and yet there he was in, in a position of senior authority, expected to carry out his duties diligently.
The original plan for the Illustrious was to leave her in the Channel, returning to Devonport for fuel and supplies whilst the air crews could train. The crew onboard the carrier would also need the additional training, as many of them were newly recruited sailors too. Issues soon arose though, though they were not issues that were foreseen by the men in higher office who planned the Illustrious' training programme months before. The problems that they faced were also the same problems that the rest of the country faced. As France was dismantled before their very eyes, the risk of attacks became very imminent and realistic, from German bombers who could now fly from airfields along the French coast. Before those airfields could be operational, the ship's Captain, Boyd and James, came to the decision that they were better off elsewhere. Having contacted London for further instruction, suggesting that they could perhaps work off of the coast of Northern Scotland whilst screened by destroyers, they were instead told to head for much warmer shores. A voyage across the Atlantic, to a land that out of all of the air crew, James and David were the only two to even know of the place. The latter only because the former gave him forewarning…
Bermuda
The Island, a territory of the British Empire stuck out in the Atlantic, was home to a naval base. For the crews that required training, it offered the shelter of distant waters to be able to train in. Although the German Navy's U-boats could operate as far as Bermuda, the presence of other Royal Navy ships as well as their own submarines made any attack on a carrier such as Illustrious, quite the challenge. High Command's belief that this would be the case, meant that they could allocate the base for them to use, manoeuvring other ships out of the area to compensate. They were joined by the light cruiser HMS Fiji too, the crew of the Fiji requiring training to be up to the operational standard that would soon be needed.
Having arrived before the end of June, the first couple of days were spent acclimatising. Although the temperatures in Bermuda did not get up to the extremes of the Caribbean Islands, at an average of twenty seven degrees every day, it certainly was more than most of them were used to back home. David was one of those who struggled during the first two days, sweating buckets on day one and nearly collapsing on day two. However, he'd soon found his legs by the third day, when the aerial trials for the pilots began, having spent the first two days training with the crew of the Navy. Taking the lead, James led the squadron on a flight test which saw every single one of them taking off successfully and landing perfectly. Setting the example, he was the lead plane on take off and landing, showing the men exactly how it was done before they tried for themselves. Having perfect conditions off of the coast, the Swordfish excelled, with the Skua's and Fulmer's doing equally well from 806 squadron.
By the first day of July, with a few days under their belt, the airmen were ready to move onto their next stage of training. The Swordfish's many qualities made it special to the men who flew it, but a significant weakness of the stringbag was the protection that it offered against enemy fighters. When up against an ME109, it was a sitting duck due to the superior speed of the German's favourite fighter. There were defensive strategies though, ones which were fairly untested and with the Skua's onboard, it gave them a chance to practice the skill. It still would not be perfect, as the Swordfish would need to be operating at near to sea level for the defensive strategies to be effective, but in its role, it would not need to gain too much height to conduct torpedo attacks.
Commanding the exercise, James stood on the bridge with Captain Boyd. The Captain himself paid keen attention to the progress that they were making, respectful of the lengths the brave biplane pilots were going to in order to improve. He respected the young Lieutenant Commander too, knowing what it was like to be a young man with responsibility. In his younger days, he'd served as a torpedo officer in the Great War, fighting in legendary battles like Jutland during his time aboard the HMS Fearless. He'd served throughout the wars too, steadily being promoted until he received command of a torpedo school in Portsmouth. He, more than most on board the Illustrious, knew what it took for a carrier to operate successfully and greatly enjoyed James' mutual respect when it came to experience. Decisions were made between the two rather than them being against each other, either man willing to listen to the other if they believed that they were right.
As he was on the bridge, it would not be James' responsibility to pilot the Swordfish in question. That job fell to one of his Lieutenants, Charles Lamb, who was gearing up on the flight deck, ready to pilot his aircraft along with his spotter Grieve. The two of them looked up to the bridge, as the Lieutenant Commander looked down upon them.
"Stick to the plan Charles!". James called down.
"Yes, Sir!". The older man called back. "Just as you said, I'll take it easy along the water and wait for our friends in the Skua".
"Just like that Charles, just like that!".
The Lieutenant and his spotter quickly made their way to the aircraft, which had been brought up from the hangar deck by the Illustrious' crew. James watched on as they boarded, the spotter taking up his position but under strict instructions not to use the machine gun during the training. Some of the spotters had a tendency to want to practice when they got up into the sky, with gunnery opportunities limited in the air. With adequate forewarning, James believed that the man would not try, but he'd already emptied the guns of their ammunition anyway, should the man change his mind.
Lamb set off a few minutes later, taking off to the North East under James' watchful eye. Though he was six years younger than the Lieutenant, James' command over him was still recognised, Lamb understanding that despite his younger years, his compatriot was in charge. He was a very able pilot in his own right, though not quite up to James' standard, which was a bar that no man was yet to get near, not that the Lieutenant Commander would agree. He trusted Lamb to be able to pull of the training flight as much as anyone, refusing to accept David's view that he could have done it himself to a much higher standard, without breaking sweat. The Irishman just wanted some time away from the carrier back in the air, but knowing that was his reason, James deliberately avoiding flying the exercise himself. It also gave Lamb the chance to have a bit of the glory, proving that he could steer the biplane to safety in the event of fighter attack by the enemy.
The Skua went on its way a couple of minutes later. A two-seat fighter, the pilot and co-pilot of the 806 were chosen by their Lieutenant Commander, Charles Evans, who was second in command of the air contingent should anything happen to James. It would climb to a higher altitude than the Swordfish, which after an initial few minutes at higher altitude, would drop down to sea level to await the fighter's surprise dive and attack whenever it would come. Although on the first few runs, the Skua pilot was told to announce their intention to commit the mock attack, so that Lamb could successfully master the plan with warning instead of diving straight into it without warning.
Hearing a noise behind them, The Lieutenant Commander and Captain both turned to find a visitor on the bridge behind them. Summoned by the younger man, Leading Airman Donnelly presented himself in full uniform, accompanied by one of the sailors who'd shown him the way up. Boyd nodded to the sailor to leave them, the bridge only being occupied by the three men once he'd gone.
"You needed to see me, Sir". David addressed James in his comically posh voice.
Captain Boyd was having as equally hard a time as James was in keeping a straight face as David's attempts to sound more refined went poorly once again. Being honest, the Lieutenant Commander would rather he answered in his laid back, everyday manner than try to be something that he was not; a posh young gentleman.
"Yes, Leading Airman Donnelly". James confirmed, keeping the conversation professional. "I seek your opinion on the trials. I would be grateful if you would join the Captain and I on the bridge for this morning's exercise".
"Of course, Sir". He replied, saluting.
"Good".
Moving away, Boyd allowed the two men to observe the air side by side. James was open and honest the first time they met about his friendship with David, making it no secret to the man captaining the aircraft carrier that he would often seek his friend's counsel. The Captain did not see the harm of it, finding David to be a polite enough young man that he did not harbour any ill feeling toward. Standing side by side over the bridge, the sun shone onto them, almost illuminating the two friends as they attempted to block it out in order to see the practising Swordfish and Skua.
"You can spare me the professionalism, David". James joked. "The Captain is aware that our friendship exists beyond our duty".
"Thank you, S-… James".
He chuckled at his own near utterance at addressing James as his better, the Englishman joining in too as they waited for the aircraft to get into position. Below them, the landing deck was clear with the aircraft having taken off, apart from two Skua's which were being refuelled, intended to be used in a training run that afternoon.
"Christ, I am sweatin' again". David complained once more about the weather.
"You will have to get used to worse than this David…". James commented whilst looking skyward. "… if we ever dock in Africa then you will certainly find out about the heat".
He could not tell his friend the details, but James knew that once they got to the Mediterranean, they would most likely head for Alexandria in Egypt. An important port for the Royal Navy to occupy, there was also a repairs yard where the battle-damaged warships could be patched up before returning to their duties. It would be far hotter there than it was in Bermuda, with temperatures well in advance of the thirty degree highs of the island in July.
"Africa… it doesn't rain down in Africa too much, does it?" David asked.
"It does not. Although I suspect it could be raining shellfire by the time that we get there".
The Italian Fleet was a cause of concern. Though their reputation was nothing compared to the all-conquering Royal Navy, the number of resources that the Italians could throw at the British Fleet in the Med was substantial. With no other waters to consider, compared to the Royal Navy being stretched across the world, it could concentrate almost all of its ships onto the small fleet that Britain could muster in the theatre. Not that the fleet was short on power, as there were plenty of battleships that made up its core, but it was not the extensive list of ships that their counterparts could throw at them. If they could catch the British fleet in a trap, an organised Italian effort would see the chance to knock the Royal Navy out of the Med for good.
"Those Italians… aye they don't know what they're gettin' themselves into". The Irishman began to monologue. "… they're in bed with the wrong side, so they are".
"That is true David. But then, we do not have much hope or many victories to offer them in order to entice them to change sides".
"I know… bastards. And them French feckers too, their Fleet needs somethin' doing about it".
Equally a concern, was the French Fleet that was sat in North Africa. Having been kept abreast of developments by the Lieutenant Commander, David grew just as wary as James at what the intentions of the French might be. They might have been out of the war, an armistice signed with Germany, but that agreement did not firmly conclude what was done about the warships away from the mainland. There were powerful battleships moored at the French held port of Mers-el-Kébir, in their territory of Algeria. If the battleships were to fall into either German or Italian hands, then the British Fleet faced yet more guns being brought to bear against their own. One way or another they were going to need to be neutralised, though from what James could gather from communications he'd received from Headquarters, the French were not quite so keen on negotiating.
"I fear the difficult way, might be the only way, David". James sighed. "It is not the done thing to attack one's friend but when said friend could be an unintentional enemy, then one is left with little choice".
Putting a hand on his shoulder, David sympathised.
"I know mate, it's shit!" He exclaimed. "I hope our boys sort it out soon though. Better to get it sorted early before it comes back to bite, aye…".
"Yes. Proactivity is best in that regard, I agree".
"Me too". The Captain said from behind them. "You are quite correct Lieutenant Commander, there is little choice in the matter and little time too".
"Time is a worse enemy than any Nazi, Captain".
Boyd nodded his head at James' remark, feeling the sincerity in the tone of the Englishman. Time was certainly his worst enemy with its best friend fate in tow. Time and fate saw to it that he would have to set off for war after having spent the greatest couple of months of his life with Erin, their summer of love bringing a warm smile to his face. The deadly pair acted again at Christmas, preventing him from returning to her side to be able to spend the festive season with her wrapped up in his grasp, submitting to the love and pleasure they'd missed during the previous few months. No man in the Fleet Air Arm had suffered as badly when it came to the laws of time, than the Lieutenant Commander of the 815.
Chastising himself from becoming lost within his own thoughts, David indicated to his friend and superior officer that the Swordfish was in position. They could not see the Skua in the distance, though they both suspected that the Skua pilot was hiding in a bank of clouds a few thousand feet up. James was soon on the radio, first to Lamb to check in with him and then on to the Skua pilot, letting him know that the Swordfish pilot was ready. The pilot of the Skua indicated that he was going to make his dive, giving Lamb notice as was agreed. The first dive went smoothly, the Skua pilot firing blanks as Lamb attempted to shake him by staying close to the water and using the manoeuvrability of his biplane to his advantage. After a few seconds, the Skua needed to break off, heading back to the clouds to re-position for another run. Lamb did the same as the Lieutenant Commander turned to his friend for his thoughts.
"I thought the Lieutenant did pretty well". David told him honestly. "But he did get a wee bit lucky, I reckon. Another few runs will be needed for sure".
"That was my thought too…". James nodded. "Captain Boyd?"
"I would agree with the two of you as well. Your Lieutenant might wish to avoid getting too close to the sea next time, as I fear we may have to pull him from it".
Lamb had come almightily close to ditching his aircraft into the water, flying so low that one sudden jerk in the wrong direction, would see him requiring to avoid sharks on his way back to the Illustrious.
Getting on the radio, he notified his Lieutenant of the feedback, which Lamb accepted. He too thought he'd gotten dangerously low, agreeing to stay higher on the second run whilst hoping it did not affect his ability to avoid the blanks. Waiting for them to return and radio in, there was time for the friends to converse again.
"You know, it has been a year today since I first took Erin up into the skies".
Smiling at the memory, it was the same day that they'd shared their first kiss too, though it did begin a week of Erin avoiding him after she ran away in the aftermath. Remembering how scared she was about flying, he wished that they could explore the skies together again, perhaps even out in Bermuda should the situation be possible. After all, for their relationship, the sky was the limit.
"Don't be gettin' yerself distracted there, Lieutenant Commander. Ye know, I've heard that if a…".
"That's enough, Leading Airman Donnelly". James cut in. "Anatomical discussions are best left for the scientists, not for mere men of the air like us".
"Aye… but I'm not wrong, am I?"
Huffing, a few words escaped under James' breath, David giggling in his victory of being able to get under his best friend's skin. A joking shake of the head from James indicated his own humorous view of David's attempted story, with Boyd smirking behind them having heard the whole conversation. Any further banter was stopped however, as the radio began to blare with Lamb ready to go again, having re-positioned.
"This is Command, go ahead Red Three, over!". James replied.
"I am ready in position Command, will commence evasive action as discussed, over!"
"Copy that, Red Three, over!"
As Lamb was ready, James turned his attention to the pilot of the Skua, who he needed to inform Lamb's position of. The Skua was back up behind the clouds again, hidden around three thousand feet if he had to guess.
"Blue Five, this is Command, over!"
"Blue Five, received, over!" The Pilot replied.
"Red Three is ready, do you have a visual, over!".
"I have visual Command, will broadcast to Red Three, over!".
"Copy, Over!"
James heard the pilot of the Skua inform Lamb that he was about to dive, the Lieutenant preparing to begin his manoeuvres to avoid the blanks once the Skua was in range. On the bridge, Captain Boyd returned to the side of the Lieutenant Commander, on his left whilst David was to his right. The aircraft were off to the port side of the Illustrious, around a mile or so out, within visual range of the officers onboard.
As the three trained their eyes on the clouds, hands up to avoid the sun, they quickly found the Skua that was rapidly diving. Rapidly diving in a way that caused alarmed for all three men. Relying on the pilot to plot his own trajectory, within a couple of seconds of the aircraft appearing, James knew it was a mistake. Calculating the mathematics of the scenario in an instant, there was only going to be one destination for the fighter plane, and it was not up behind the Swordfish as intended.
"James…".
David knew as much too, as he could work out with his own eyes that if the Skua did not pull out of the dive soon, it would carene straight into the Atlantic. Rushing backwards, James ran over to the radio on the bridge, trying to get hold of the aircraft. David and the Captain watched on, the latter already knowing what the outcome would be despite James's attempts to stop it.
"BLUE FIVE! PULL UP! PULL UP!"
It was indeed too late. Out of control, the pilot could not retain even a slither as the aircraft plummeted, his co-pilot screaming when he realised what was going to happen. As he tried to pull up, the aircraft slammed into the ocean with an almighty crash, shaking even the fortified steel hulk of the aircraft carrier with the impact. The few men left on deck were all running over to the port side to see what was going on, a couple having watched the Skua's descent to its watery resting place.
Boyd reacted quickly, shouting to a junior officer who'd sprinted up to the bridge after seeing what had happened port side.
"SOUND THE ALARMS! LAUNCH BOATS!"
The boats would not be sent for survivors as there was no chance that either man would have survived the crash, but they still would need to go to check for their bodies or anything that could help to identify the men. James only a second or so behind him, began to bellow orders of his own.
"LIEUTENANT COMMANDER EVANS!" He roared.
"SIR!" Evans shouted up from the flight deck.
"BRING FIVE MEN AND REPORT TO A BOAT NOW!"
"YES, SIR!"
Evans did as he was told, gathering the first few of his men that he could find to join the Lieutenant Commander at the boats. James was still upon on the bridge and as he watched Evans frantically run off in search of his men, he turned to his best friend, who was still looking on in horror.
"David, with me!"
Without hesitation, David followed the Lieutenant Commander down from the bridge. Inside, the ship was frantic with action, as the sailors went to their stations upon hearing the alarms going. The alarms would usually be used to signal an approaching enemy, but Boyd sounded them to ensure that his crew were fully prepared for whatever they were to find. Two boats would be launched to be sent to the wreckage, one full of the Navy medics aboard and the other full of the accompanying airmen. James did not have to be the one who went out as the man was not even from his squadron but being an officer who led from the front, he continued in his image of remaining the all-action young man that the men respected.
Jumping into the boat, the other Airmen having already boarded, David was by his side as they set off towards the site of the crash. Evans took over on the bridge with Boyd, radioing instructions for Lamb to conduct a fly over of the site of the crash to see what he could make out. The men on the boats watched as the Swordfish conducted a low pass overhead. Lamb radioed back to Evans that he could see little other than the spill of oil from where the tank came away from the aircraft, staining the luscious blue waves of the ocean with the chemical. The Lieutenant soon landed back aboard the aircraft carrier, whilst the two boats reached the same scene he'd just flown over.
There was no hope for any survivors, and the Skua was already settled deep beneath the ocean. The only debris left on the surface were a few parts of the wing which had been severed, nothing of value to retrieve for the families of the two men who'd lost their lives in the crash. A solemn silence fell over the men on the boats, which was tinged with fear too, the outline of a shark being seen close by in the water. The last thing that they wanted was a meeting with the water-based predator miles off of the coast of Bermuda.
"There is nothing we can do, Lieutenant Commander". The ship's surgeon called to him from the other boat. "We should return to the ship".
"Thank you Perry, I can see that". He replied, huffing.
The realities of the war, and of life in general, suddenly began to creep up on him as he surveyed the scene. He'd seen death before, noting the bodies on the beaches when they flew over Dunkirk and even caused it himself over the North Sea and outside Bourbourg. Now though, as the officer in operational command of the Air Arm contingent onboard the Illustrious, he felt responsible for their deaths. It was his training that the men were completing, training which he'd carefully planned to avoid incidents such as the one he'd just witnessed. The men might not have been part of his squadron, his men, but the two airmen from the 806 were still under his overall command. He might not have known them well at all, yet to the young Englishman, it did not really matter. They were still human beings lost in a dreadful way, not even being allowed the glory of dying in battle. An individual error on the part of the pilot it may have been. A blow to the Lieutenant Commander's conscience, it certainly was.
"Sir, ye couldn't have done anything".
Finding himself low and torturing himself mentally, James was incredibly lucky to have a friend like David Donnelly at his side. Noticing the distraction across his friend's face, David knew he would be blaming himself about what happened as that was what James did. If the men were his responsibility, then the book stopped with him, that was what he told the Irishman. Being too much of a gentleman for his own good, and not for the first or even second time, it took David to pull him out of the dark thoughts that were occupying his mind.
"Y… Yes, you are right Leading Airman Donnelly". He stuttered, getting the words out eventually. "Let's get back to the ship everyone, we'll debrief once we are on deck".
As the boats headed back to the carrier, the young Lieutenant Commander gazed across the vast empty expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. His heart and mind went to the families of the two men that were killed. It would be he who would have to write the report of what happened not only to headquarters, but to the families too. A telegram would be sent home first, one which would cause pain and upset that he did not wish upon anyone. Some officers would have left an explanation to those based back home, but he would make the time at even his own detriment to ensure that the families of the two men knew of their bravery and dedication to service.
He'd written many letters in his life, but this would be the most difficult one yet.
The shirt factories of Derry had seen their fair share of scandals and arguments, in between hard work and lasting friendships. Scandals that were not spoken of openly, out of fear that the management would remove anyone who spoke of them. The morning after the night before, Erin and Clare planned to continue the tradition of trying to keep things as quiet as possible, even though they were dealing with Michelle.
They could not ignore what they'd seen the night before. Neither was really ever going to forget it. Getting full view of Michelle's baps was not something they were wishing for, being especially embarrassing for Clare, not that she wished to let onto Erin about… that. Eddie Walsh's hands all over them didn't help the matter either. Clearly being a quick worker, anyone in the world could have correctly guessed what was going to happen next, the two of them not even needing to stick around to confirm it. The discussions went on the rest of the way to the Devlin house that evening, with Erin walking the extra distance just to continue the gossip. The very same gossip that picked up when the two met up that morning, before it was quickly dropped again when Michelle joined them.
Tuesday was nowhere near as busy as Monday though, making it difficult for the two blondes to keep their mouths shut without work to distract them. Michelle did not sense anything wrong at first, as the first couple of hours they worked quickly so that the rest of the day would be more relaxing but when the other two barely said a word to her by eleven o'clock, not even welcoming her in from the mid-morning break, she became very suspicious. Her suspicions were based on a comment she'd made at work the day before, an innocuous one that the other two hadn't even thought about, or that she'd left without saying anything. Of course, she'd prepared her defence for what she was going to say should they question her but for that to happen, they'd need to start talking to her.
"You's are quiet…". She commented.
Looking to each other, Clare begged silently with her eyes for Erin to respond. She knew she would have to say something, as every time she looked at the dark-haired girl, she saw what she'd seen through Eddie Walsh's window the night before.
"We're fine Michelle". Erin answered calmly and assuredly. "Just ye know… tired from yesterday. About an extra half hour tired…".
The comment wasn't at all the one which Clare wanted from her friend, doing her best not to scowl at Erin, otherwise it would have given the game away. Michelle did expect the comment though, the typical Erin Quinn response to having to put in a bit more effort to get the job done. It was only half an hour, so she didn't see the problem, but to lead them away from digging into the subject any further, she quickly gave her response.
"Look, I'm sorry, alright…". She started. "… I remembered when I was on my way up to ask about the machine, that my Da needed my help with somethin'…"
They knew the truth anyway, but independently, Erin and Clare came to the conclusion within their own minds that they wouldn't have bought it even without the knowledge of her illicit rendezvous. A very obvious lie, there was absolutely no way that Martin would have asked for Michelle's help for anything that would require her to finish earlier.
"I was meant to ask at lunchtime if I could go earlier and I… well ye know I asked Meyler if I could go early, and he said that I could".
"Aye right…".
Learning how to deliver the words like her mother, Erin allowed Michelle to believe that she might have bought it but also might not have. She knew that Michelle couldn't have asked Meyler as they spoke to him whilst she was upstairs with management. However, nothing more was said, and they returned to working hard before lunchtime.
The afternoon did not see any upturn in the workload, which made it very awkward between the three young women. Michelle was beginning to be concerned that her friends may have known about her real destination the night before. It would explain the apparent hostility lasting longer than it should have done, although one could never be sure how long Erin would hold onto resentment. Clare's continued silence was what worried her the most. Should it turn out that they did know, then she was impressed at how well Clare was keeping the truth, having usually blurted it out in a cacking hurricane after a few seconds. She did not push for an answer, though she wasn't sure whether that was because she was not bothered or was absolutely terrified that they'd seen what she was up to, knowing the conclusions that they or anyone would draw from it.
Despite the suspicions, she found herself unable to not look up when Eddie looked out over the factory floor. The two did not make eye contact, though both knew the other one was looking in their direction. Erin caught her looking too, though carefully avoiding letting onto Michelle that she knew, in order to delay the confrontation until after work hours. Making it all the way until eight o'clock that evening was a challenge, but Erin and Clare were ready for the moment they were a suitable distance away from the factory to begin their inquisition. The three friends walked out together, without the usual flow of conversation that would accompany them. Unnerved by the display from her friends, unusually it was Michelle who cracked and cacked first, even before Clare.
"Right, what the fuck is it?"
She too waited until a safe distance away before she stopped on the pavement, rounding on the other two. They looked at each for a brief second, before looking back to the dark-haired girl, whose eyes darted between them at frightening speed.
"What?" Erin replied nonchalantly.
"Catch yourself on! Ye know what! You two's have barely said a word to me all feckin' day and I even said sorry for leavin' early… what's yer problem!?"
"We… we… we were just a-angry about ye leavin' early".
Clare's stuttered response made Erin want to put her hands over her face as the elements of their plan to confront Michelle were going out of the window thanks to her. Realistically, she should never have expected her small friend to be able to remain confident for long around Michelle, but she'd fallen before the first hurdle. Erin was going to have to fly solo, it seemed.
"Yeah, really feckin' likely that is…". Michelle huffed at Clare, before turning to Erin. "Come on Erin, what the fuck is it!?".
Glancing at Clare, whose eyes appeared to be glazing over with tears, Erin certainly was alone when it came to tackling Michelle. An easier proposition without Clare's frantic panicking, she stared down her friend, who was beginning to think that the two of them did indeed know, desperately thinking of what she might say to cover herself.
"We saw ye with Eddie Walsh last night, Michelle. Care to explain?"
Shit!
They did know.
There was always an element of risk, given that his house lay on the way to the Devlin's, but she'd hoped that fate would be on her side. The girls could have passed seconds later and never suspected a thing. That would have been too easy though, a luck that she did not hold, leaving her to attempt to explain what they'd seen. Inside, she began to feel herself flap like Clare. Apart from when her parents would investigate where she'd been whenever she was out of the house outside work hours, the interrogation that they were conducting was one she was not used to.
"Aye… I was with him!" She stood her ground, ready to lie.
"Ye were just… with Eddie Walsh…". Erin probed. "… ye can't just BE with Eddie Walsh, Michelle!".
"I can!"
Eyes locked in a silent challenge, Michelle still believed that she could fight her way out of the argument, unaware of Erin's trump card awaiting her should she wish to continue. Clare wanted to stop them yet found herself unable to muster the courage to try to get them to change topic. The two most headstrong young women of their group, they squared up like bulls locking horns with each other in a Colosseum.
"He asked me to look after his kids, alright!?"
Every last ounce of Erin's strength went on not bursting out laughing at Michelle's lies. Of all of the lies she could have come up with, emergency babysitter to the Walsh wains was one of the worst. She might not have hated children, being very good with Marie whenever she saw her, but Michelle was not someone who could be called upon to look after a young child or children for an afternoon. Deirdre attempted to get her to babysit for a friend of hers once, the evening ending with Michelle breaking into the drink's cabinet at the friend's home and getting hammered, completely ignoring the child that she was supposed to be looking after. She was never asked again.
"And what part of looking after his kids involved him having his hands all over yer tits!?"
"FUCK!"
Roaring the word without thinking of her surroundings, plenty of old ladies were throwing piercing stares at Michelle from behind the curtains of their front rooms. It was bad enough that Erin and Clare saw her with the man from management, but they'd even seen what she'd truly been up to with him… which was even worse.
"For Christ's sake, Michelle, he's a married man!" Erin hissed.
"Have ye been livin' in a different country, Erin!?" Michelle reared up. "Lyla's off ridin' some Swiss fella's in Stockholm or… ye knew, feckin' whatever! She's as good as left him, so she has!"
"He's still married!"
Eddie's marriage was one which was at an end in his eyes, his wife yet to send him any correspondence to even say that she was alright. If it was to be the end of their marriage, he at least hoped she would confirm it so that he could start a proper life with another woman. Norah potentially was that woman, and though the community were beginning to learn to accept them, it was still not taken well in all quarters. Though by sleeping with Michelle, it looked as if Norah's time as Eddie's partner may have been coming to an end.
"Ye and he gets none, so he doesn't! Norah's… shit in bed, he was moaning about it when I went to see him!"
"So ye thought… oh, I know, I'll ride him!?" Erin delivered another scathing comment.
"Mutually beneficial!" Michelle shouted back. "He needed some action and I wanted to see if I could get a pay rise!"
Erin's eyes widened, Clare's too, at the second half of her justification. They were all paid the same amount, performing the same number of hours, but if any of them deserved a pay rise then it certainly was not the young Mallon. The laziest of them all, until she decided not to be for a couple of days at a time, there was no way that her performance could be used as a factor in asking for the money. Typically, Michelle was just trying to be greedy. In wartime too, when money was sparse for many, even the big businesses such as the shirt factory.
"A pay rise!? Ye don't do nothin'!"
Erin's words were not completely true, she knew so herself, but hearing that her best friend thought she deserved a pay rise infuriated her. She went above and beyond to get the job done, never asking for anything more than her usual pay. A commitment that was sorely lacking in Michelle.
"Wise up Erin! I worked hard last Thursday!" She argued back.
"I know ye did Michelle, well done". The blonde clapped, mocking her. "But in case ye didn't realise, we also work four other days a week and ye were feckin' lazy for at least three of them!"
"LAZY!? LAZY!?"
"GIRLS!"
Clare's shout, which was almost even a scream, brought silence onto the street. The old ladies behind their curtains were shocked at the pitch that Clare could achieve, clutching at their ears from the ringing sound left behind by the shout. Stopped from advancing with the row any further, Erin and Michelle, faces red, ceased their own mudslinging match to turn to the small blonde. In the second it took for them to do so, Clare was properly shiteing her tights, facing down two of her friends. Outnumbered completely.
"C-Can we not argue p-please?" She enquired timidly.
The other two, faces determined, appeared to disagree, but the silence continued. Neither Erin nor Michelle wanted to be the one to reignite the conflict. After a minute of intense staring, it became clear that one of the headstrong young women was going to have to give. Having lied time and time again before she was caught out, it was going to be Michelle who would have to accept defeat, despite wanting to stand her ground.
"Eugh! Fine!" She shouted.
Slightly gleeful, Erin smiled at her friend throwing the towel in before her. The smile was quickly wiped away though, as Clare scowled intently at her to make sure that she understood that it was not a victory that she could gloat about.
As the minutes ticked by, the girls calmed down, eventually continuing with their journeys home. Erin struggled to wipe the smirk off of her face, even when Clare gave her a thunderous look of fury. Any victory against Michelle was hard earned, and she was not going to forget it anytime soon. She'd been incredibly stupid, riding not only a man in senior management who could easily see her fired, but one who was still married despite everything. The secrets of Lyla Walsh were not known to the girls… or Eddie. What mattered though, was Michelle's reckless attitude to sex once again overshadowing everything else that she did. Sean was not right when he called her a whore, but she did little to prevent people coming to that conclusion when she could so easily be found with a married man. An act of love would have been difficult, but at least understandable, but her visit to his house was only under the pretence of making herself better off in the long run. A way which the rest of her friends could not condone.
"Can I ask ye somethin' Michelle?"
Clare's voice, no longer as high pitched and timid as it was previously, caught the attention of her taller friend, who brought her eyes down to her. Secretly, the latter was quite glad for the former's intervention because she really did not want to end a long day arguing with Erin, who would probably find something poetic to use in the argument. She would always do anything to avoid having to hear anything poetic from her friend.
"Aye… I suppose ye can". She sighed.
Smiling her thanks, Clare proceeded to ask her question.
"Did ye actually get the pay rise?".
A long pause occurred, coinciding with the moment they paused to cross the road, letting a lone car pass by them. Michelle could feel Erin's eyes on hers from behind her, having moved up to join Clare at the front so that she did not have walk next to the sanctimonious Quinn.
"No".
"Eejit!" Erin snorted in an unladylike manner from behind her.
An eejit she was, though coming from the same girl that once believed a kiss on the cheek after church constituted a serious and heartfelt relationship, she took little offence. Erin was not one who could take the moral high ground on ridin' fellas either, as even though he was her cousin, Michelle still saw James as an English fella. An English fella that Erin was ridin', because she was mingin' enough to stoop down and ride English fellas.
She was ridin' like the devil though, whilst the Englishman was out in the deep blue sea.
Where danger lurked….