Chapter 6: Home Fires 20th May 1939.
Four weeks into his time in Ireland, James could finally say he was fully adjusted to the Derry way of life. London already began to feel like a lifetime away as the days passed, a gradual stability establishing in the Englishman's day to day existence. Days at the bank were long and at times a challenge, hindered by his colleague's lack of assistance when it came to anything he was involved in, but he threw himself into it. Mr Feeney seemed pleased with him though and he was the boss, so that was all that mattered. He would always have a treat on Friday's too, due to Erin continuing to volunteer to pay in the factory's money. The two would take their lunch breaks together, often sitting and eating in one of the park's or in his office if the weather would not allow for an outdoor break. His colleagues were disapproving of it, but Mr Feeney did not mind at all, the disgruntled workers unable to raise a challenge once the boss had his word.
As his friendship with Erin blossomed, his friendship with David did likewise. The two went to the pub every Friday night without failure, for a night of talking and drinking, relaxing their way into the weekend. David's older brothers Peter and Lorcan joined them too on a Friday, the four occupying a spot in the corner of The River. James found that he was accepted there, with the previously anti-English barman softening towards him, happily serving him whenever he went up to the bar. Relying on David for advice at times, James offered the same service in return, with his friend confiding in him over his fears for the future. David was worried that he would make a poor father, admitting to the Englishman that he did not feel ready to take on such a responsibility. James believed differently though and reassured him that he would be become a brilliant father in time, growing into the role as the challenges of fatherhood presented themselves to him.
He found himself with David on that Saturday morning too, the pair in the centre of the city on an important mission. Securing David's suit for the wedding. Offering to pay for it, despite his friend's protests that he did not need to, James was on hand to ensure that they would get him the best suit possible for marrying Orla.
"How is that fitting?" The tailor asked David as he stood in front of the mirror.
"Ach it's not bad like… not bad".
"It looks tight around the shoulders". The tailor put a hand around his right shoulder, confirming his theory. "Of course, that is easily fixed".
"What do ye think James?"
The Englishman took a look over his friend in the suit, analysing it as if he knew exactly what he was doing… which he did not. However, it didn't take a genius to realise that David looked the part in the suit, the perfect attire for him to be married in.
"With those shoulder adjustments, I think you will look like the man that Orla wants to marry".
"That settles that then". David chuckled back.
James waited by the counter whilst David took the suit back off in the changing room, returning to his own clothes. He would be needing the tailors shop no doubt in the future, finding it useful to note the friendly, helpful service that they'd received. He already had his own suit ready for the wedding that was only few weeks away, a quick turnaround from the announcement only a month before. Having brought all the suits he could fit into his luggage, the one that he'd arrived in when he reached Derry was the smartest of them all. He'd worn it that day for that very reason and would wear it for the church service in the future too.
"You sure about this aren't ye James?" David asked once he'd returned from the changing room. "It is a lot of money".
"Orla will want you at your best David. You dare not disappoint or you'll have to face Joe". James chuckled.
"Ach right ye… good point. But seriously, thank ye".
The two shared a friendly nod before approaching the counter to confirm the details of the adjustments and for James to pay the tailor a deposit. The tailor confirmed that the suit would be ready for final fitting a week before the wedding, the last time for any minor alterations. The deposit amount was beyond David's financial reach too when he realised just how much, but James remained adamant that he would pay no matter what the cost. He wasn't exactly short of money from what he'd already got in his account along with his wages from the bank. David could only dream of ever having a balance such as his.
The two of them left the shop in the direction of the Morgan, which was parked a couple of streets away. There were a fair few people out that Saturday morning, but the town wasn't as overly busy as it normally would be, an odd hush around the place.
"How was dinner at the Joyce's again the other night then?" David started up the conversation.
"It was… an experience". James huffed out.
Having regular dinners at the mansion each week, under the guise of keeping his client happy, James consistently had to fend off Jenny's advances. Considering the girls had painted her up as a do-gooder and staunch child of religion, her insinuations towards him were anything but. Arriving earlier that Tuesday, after finishing early due to having worked late the night before, he found only Jenny and her mother to be at home. With Mrs Joyce busy preparing the dinner, James went on a tour of the rest of the mansion that he hadn't previously seen, a trip that conveniently ended at Jenny's bedroom. Anticipating that it would be the case after a few weeks of comments and gestures that implied Jenny's certainty in her belief that they were the perfect match, he managed to excuse himself in order to escape her clutches. As he'd told Erin, he wasn't ready for that level of depth in a relationship just yet, an opinion he'd attempted to convey to Jenny during the prior week's dinner. One that was proving not to have worked.
"I did tell ye about her…".
"I know you did David. It's just… hard… you know. With the Professor being such a respected man and vital client for the bank, I feel that I have to keep up a good working rapport with him, but I just don't want anything to do with Jenny in a romantic regard".
"The Professor knows that though, aye?"
"He does but…". James stopped walking for a second, running a hand through his hair. "… it won't stop her from covertly trying".
"Covertly? Ach come on now mate, she's hardly some spy is she?"
James sniggered at David's comment. Jenny, even with her sneakily placed seductions, was still the furthest person away from espionage that the world could have possibly produced. Except from Michelle perhaps.
"Besides, I think she has some competition for ye anyway". David continued.
"Competition?" James replied quickly, frowning.
"I'm not tellin ye. Ye'll have to figure that one out yerself".
"Come on David, you cannot just say that to me and not tell me who it is!" The Englishman protested.
"Where's the fun in that if I do?"
David laughed at James's protestations, both climbing into the Morgan. James was left shaking his head at his friend. He couldn't think of anyone else that it could have been. He only spoke to a few girls his age, and nobody other than Jenny outside of Michelle's group of friends. David didn't really have much to do with many more either. It couldn't be his cousin or Orla, for obvious reasons, so that only left two other possibilities. He'd not spent too much time with Clare during his weeks in the city and although he did recognise her to be a good friend, he was yet to come across any hint of her liking him in any other way than friendship. And whilst Erin might have been the kindest to him so far out of them all, they were merely just very good friends. Very good friends who liked to spend their Friday lunchtimes talking and laughing… like proper friends would do. Just friends…
"I'll get it out of you…". James told him adamantly.
"No chance!" David snorted back.
"After an afternoon watching football and drinking, I would say my chances will have increased".
The two set off to David's house, where they would be joining Peter and Lorcan for the trip to the football that Saturday afternoon. A Saturday afternoon's football was a treat James believed he'd lost on moving from London.
To his delight, he was wrong.
Whilst the boys were off in the town, the girls were descending on the Mallon house. Often spending their Saturday's round at the Quinn's, they decided upon a change of scenery for that day. Clare led the way to the house, having gone to the Quinn's first to meet Erin and Orla, who were walking together behind her, Napoleon the dog in tow. Orla's bump was beginning to show, a sight which her mother greeted with wonders when it became truly noticeable. Sarah, who doted on her daughter in normal circumstances, would do anything for her at home now, despite Orla's insistence that she need not bother. The young McCool enjoyed the limits of her independence and having her mother fuss around her at all hours of the day could become quite grinding at times. Especially at work as she tried to finish their orders for the day.
"What do ye think to that new fella who's took over from Jim?" Clare, who'd slowed to draw level with them, asked.
"He has a got a very pointy nose". Orla gave her in the clouds remark immediately.
"What was his name again?" Erin enquired with Clare.
"Clearly ye don't think much of him…" Clare rather snarkily replied. "… forgettin' his name, honestly! I didn't even speak to him and I know his name is Daniel".
"It's hardly a problem Clare". Erin grumbled a response to her friend's grumpy comment.
"Hardly a problem!?" Clare reared up. "It's not like you to forget a name Erin".
"I'm always forgettin' names! I called James, John, the second time we met".
"Aye I know ye did…". Orla chimed back in. "… I remember reading yer stuff in yer room about how ye f-".
"Enough Orla! Yer too old to be sneakin' into my room and reading my work!"
Erin used the pretence of anger at Orla's craftiness to disguise her heart nearly falling from her chest when her cousin went to recite what she'd wrote out about her second meeting with James in their front garden. Orla knew now. Knew how Erin's knees were ready to scream a bloody surrender, how his eyes sent shivers of pleasure throughout her body when they gazed upon her… about how she wanted to take his shirt off right there and then, and…
"Calm down Erin, Christ!"
Clare's moaning continued all the way up the road, mostly focusing on Erin's inattentiveness about the new fella at the factory. He'd fully taken over the role that Jim Quinn hastily left after the argument with Mr Meyler, barring one role. Going to the bank on a Friday. Successfully lobbying to the supervisor that she should be the one to go to the bank each week instead, using the excuse that the new fella would be better off not having to be interrupted each Friday to do the paying in, Erin managed to avoid telling the truth. She would have been devastated if her Friday lunchtimes spent with James would have been taken away. It was a void she was unwilling to fulfil and one which required all of her charm in order to avoid it becoming one.
Reaching the Mallon house, Erin knocked on the door for the group. The Quinn house might have been one where visitors were welcome to come and go as they pleased, but at the Mallon's, you weren't allowed in unless Deirdre or Martin said so. When the door opened to them that morning, it was the latter who greeted them.
"Ach, good morning girls". He addressed the three.
"Mornin' Martin". Orla nodded to him. "How are ye?"
"I'm grand Orla. How's… erm… well ye know, how's everythin' going?" He awkwardly blurted out his question, pointing towards her stomach.
"Everything is fine so far". She confirmed with a smile.
"That's good…. She's not up yet".
He tilted his head upward in the direction of Michelle's bedroom, with the girls all sighing at their friend's inability to be ready on time. She was well aware that they would be visiting, having discussed the plans at length during break time at work the day before. Evidently it still wasn't enough time for Michelle…
"Morning girls!" Deirdre called out to them as she walked behind Martin, in order to head up the stairs.
They made small talk with him at the door whilst they waited for Michelle, none of them asking for him to allow them in, instead waiting for his signal. He leant down to pat Napoleon, who'd loyally sat down at Orla's feet. She adored the Labrador, who was the polar opposite to the girl that they were waiting for, obedient and well behaved at all times.
"WHAT THE… MARTIN!"
Michelle's father moved this time, which did allow the girls to step inside, mainly in order to strain their necks to be able to understand the commotion. Deirdre appeared at the top of the stairs, fists clenched and a dark red rage bursting out across her face.
"SHE'S GOT A BOY IN THERE! THEY HAVE BEEN HAVING SEX!"
"WHAT!" Martin roared back.
Erin and Clare put their heads in their hands, whilst Orla, uninterested by the chaos unfolding around them, went back to stroking Napoleon.
"WHERE DO YE THINK YER GOIN… MARTIN, HE'S TRYIN' TO GET OUT THROUGH THE WINDOW!"
"DON'T WORRY LOVE! I'LL GET THE BASTARD!"
They could hear Michelle shouting back at her mother, the two bickering about what Deirdre had walked in on. Erin and Clare were chastising themselves for not accompanying Michelle when she'd said she was going out drinking that night. Too tired from a hard week, they'd declined, but the full of energy Michelle had clearly enjoyed herself. So much so, she'd brought a lad home with her. An incomprehensibly stupid error.
"Excuse me girls". Martin said as he stormed out past them. "Can I borrow the dog?"
"Aye he's all yer's". Orla, who wasn't exactly certain of what was going on, gave him the dog's lead.
"Thank ye love".
Intrigued to see who it might be, but also concerned that Martin might be about to kill the unlucky lad, the girls followed him outside. They could hear Deirdre tearing strips off of Michelle from within, the familiar sound of a wooden spoon pummelling soft skin flooding into the tense air of the Mallon household.
The roof was where Martin and the girls' attentions were drawn to. Erin quickly identified the previously fortunate, about to be very unfortunate, lad, as Johnny Kells. It wasn't the first time that Michelle had been up to something with him, according to her anyway, coming as little surprise to Clare too. Johnny proved during their schooldays that he was not the sharpest tool in the shed by constantly getting questions wrong and coming up with stupid answers. Michelle considered him to be a massive ride though, a physical attraction that appeared to have been acted upon the night before.
"OI! YOU BOY! GET DOWN HERE NOW!"
"Aye… erm… well I'm grand up here for now Mister Mallon".
Johnny, only managing to get his shoes and trousers on before being barged in on by Deirdre, stood bare chested at the edge of the small roof beneath Michelle's bedroom. Shirt and jumper in hand, he was absolutely terrified. The commotion had drawn quite the crowd too, with neighbours from across the street staring from behind their curtains. It would give the city gossip for weeks to come, that was certain.
"How dare you deflower my daughter!" Martin continued to shout at him. "You dirty fecker!"
"Deflower?" A bemused Johnny called back. "I'm not the first bee that's been at that bush Sir".
Four sets of wide eyes stared up at him from below. Even Orla understood the heights of his stupidity, the unintelligent young man uttering his own death sentence from the small roof. He appeared to realise this a second later with a cack attack that even Clare would have struggled to top.
"RIGHT YOU…".
Out of options, Johnny leapt off the roof into the neighbours garden, rolling on the other side as he landed in order to break the fall. They were all in awe for a second as he threw himself to safety, but it would be a joy short lived for the young Kells man.
"Right, Napoleon… after him!"
Releasing the dog from his leash, the Labrador tore out down to the path and onto the road, with Martin running off in pursuit too. The dog didn't need telling what duty he was to perform, sprinting after Johnny, who'd made his way out of the neighbour's garden. He had a head start on his four-legged pursuer, which sent the two charging off into the distance as Martin struggled to keep up. They could still hear the shouting from the front garden of the Mallon house, the rest of the street following the chase up the road from their windows.
"Oh my god!" Clare declared with a voice that betrayed some fear. "What has Michelle done!?"
"Jesus Clare, I'm not goin' to run through it for ye". Erin huffed back at her.
"I know she's done… that! I meant to the poor fella. Martin… he-he's goin' to kill him!"
"Not if Napoleon gets there first". Orla wagged her finger in her friend's direction.
They remained outside the Mallon house for another thirty minutes, unwilling to go inside to further disrupt the volcanic eruption that was no doubt coming from Deirdre. During their time out on the lawn, Martin returned with Napoleon, handing the Labrador back over to Orla. They didn't ask him what had happened with Johnny. His bloody knuckles suggested that the young man took the beating of his life the moment that Martin caught up with him. A poor, but stupid young man. When Michelle did eventually make it to them, she was still arguing with her mother.
"YER A DISGRACE!" Deirdre shouted at her from the door.
"CATCH YOURSELF ON MAMMY! Ye tellin' me ye weren't screwin' around at this age!"
"HOW DARE YE!"
Erin couldn't believe Michelle's audacity with her mother. Secretly, she wished she was far away from the Mallon house that morning, despite how amusing seeing Michelle caught out was at first. The humour had long since dissipated.
"That is the last night out ye are havin, ye hear me!" Deirdre laid down the law to her daughter.
"I can do what I want ma! I'm Eighteen not eight!" Michelle shouted in return.
"As long as you live at my house, ye live be my rules! But don't ye dare show ye face again here until after Church tomorrow".
"Fine! But ye won't see me there!"
"Oh I will! Yer stayin' the night at yer cousin's cottage and he will make sure ye get there!"
"What!"
Deirdre slammed the door to end their argument, leaving Michelle in the front garden with the girls and Napoleon, who was recovering from his efforts in chasing Johnny. They were all staring at her as if she were a stranger, which in many ways the version of Michelle that stood before them was, instantly displeasing her.
"What!?"
There was a short pause as they all looked at each other, with no initial urgency to engage the dark-haired girl in her current state. They could all see the bruises on the backs of her hands, where Deirdre's wooden spoon had left its mark.
"Ye… ye took Johnny Kells home with ye… to have sex… what were ye thinkin' Michelle!" Erin was the first to speak up.
"He's a massive ride, I couldn't resist!"
"It's wrong!" Clare chided her.
"No, it's not, he used a… ye know!" She tried to justify her decision, her voice sounding shakier than intended.
"That's worse!" The fretting Clare almost screamed this time.
"Look, just calm down the lot of ye's! I've got a bigger problem now… spending the night at the English fucker's cottage… feck's sake ma!"
Taking command of the situation, Michelle finally began to calm down after her arguments with her mother. They'd sparred viciously in the house, to the point where she'd nearly turned over to tears at some of her mother's broadsides. She didn't need to be reminded of how much of a fool she'd been in having sex with Johnny under the roof of her own house. To then be reminded by her friends didn't help too much either. At least they were not too cruel with her though. Deirdre hadn't spared her a millimetre, let alone an inch. Erin, though angered by her friend's poor choices, held more of an issue with Michelle criticising James. She'd give the world to be able to spend a night at James' cottage, albeit carrying a vastly different intention for that night. Vastly different…
"For the last time Michelle, James is nice, ye need to start respectin' him more". She complained.
"Aye I think he's cracker!" Orla spoke up in agreement.
"Me too". Clare spoke, outvoting Michelle.
"Alright then… but if I have to stay the night, then you's can all stay too. Then ye'll see what a moronic British prick he really is!"
She didn't need to give the world after all…
An idea that sounded very plausible under any other circumstance, Erin entered a minor crisis upon Michelle's suggestion. Going to sleep knowing he was only a few miles away was bad enough, often fighting the wishes of her body to sneak out to the cottage at night.
Having to sleep with him only a few metres away was a tantalisingly fearful thought.
An entertaining football match that afternoon saw Derry City come out on top, with the boys celebrating wildly as the winner came in the last minute of the game. Despite the intake of alcohol, David was still unwilling to reveal the identity of who Jenny's rival for James was, though not through a lack of trying on the Englishman's part. Intrigued by whoever the mysterious girl was, he was straight onto David the moment they left the Donnelly house after the game. The offers of an evening meal and more drink, accepted by his friend, still couldn't prize the details from him. Pulling up towards the drive that led to the house, James decided to give it up for the day. He would find out though. One way or another.
As the tires crunched across the gravel, David's eyes were drawn to four figures coming out from the fields to the side of the house. Four very familiar figures.
"This can't be good…". He surmised, flicking his head in the direction of the fields for James to follow.
Those were James' thoughts too, especially at that time of the day. The girls arriving at the cottage spelt trouble. Trouble which was confirmed when the car stopped, allowing him a glance at the demeanour of some of them. Erin spotted him first, rolling her eyes and flickering them slightly to the left, towards the direction of Michelle.
David exited the vehicle and headed straight to his wife-to-be, hugging and kissing her as his hand came to lay on her ever-expanding stomach. The others waited for James to arrive, watching as his frown remained fixed in place until one of them explained what they were doing walking to his cottage at night.
"There erm…". Erin started to explain.
"Michelle was caught with a boy in her room!" Clare rather abruptly shouted out.
Michelle shot her a deathly look as the little blonde cowered away in fear, realising the error of her fretted cries. Erin shook her head in the former's direction, in an attempt to stop the latter completely breaking down on the gravel outside the cottage.
"I see. I assume that you have been asked to spend the night here".
"How did ye k-".
"Intuition my dear cousin…". James interrupted her, in a mocking tone that amused Erin. "… a punishment suitable for the crime".
"Crime!? There'll be a crime in a minute when I…".
"That's enough Michelle!" It was Erin's turn to cut her ranting off. "We… we thought that… we might all stay… if ye can fit us all in?"
The question was put to James, who's eyebrows shot up at it. Slightly blindsided by the request, he quickly recovered, the calm young gentleman returning in place of the shocked boy. The cottage only had two bedrooms, which didn't leave much room for them all to sleep in, the spare bedroom particularly small. There was no doubt that David would stay either, which would make it the six of them to two bedrooms. Not the best…
"Of course you can".
He hummed his reply, watching as Erin's cheeks turned a bright shade of pink and Michelle growled under her breath. She'd wanted him to say no, to her too, enabling her to go out into the city to the pub to get as drunk as she possibly could. Even a night in the gutter appealed more than a night at the cottage.
Assigning his thoughts to exactly how he was going to feed them all became his next task, leading them into the living room whilst he contemplated it. He had enough food but had never cooked on that scale before. Back home in London, James would often cook for himself and Kathy when she was home, a passion which she allowed him to indulge. Whether his cooking met the Derry standard remained to be seen.
Hours later, as the night set in and the six of them were sat around the fireplace in the living room, James had the answer. His cooking was more than up to scratch according to David and the girls. Apart from Michelle. A lying Michelle. She'd complained about the stew from the moment it was placed in front of her; it took an incredible few minutes of acting to hide the fact that it was the best meal she'd ever had. James' apparent domestication was becoming very clear to Erin too, who'd already seen his tea making skills in actions weeks earlier, with cooking clearly part of his repertoire too. Men like that were hard to come across according to her mother, who would spend hours in a week moaning about Gerry's attempts at making the tea.
"What are we doin' about sleepin'?" Orla addressed them all.
"James can sleep outside". Michelle snorted in reply.
That was a comment they were all expecting, with more than one of the others rolling their eyes at its predictability. James remained as calm as ever though, brushing off his cousin's viperous tongue.
"It may be a lovely evening Michelle, but I would rather not ruin my clothes sleeping out on the grass".
"Grass… grass!" Michelle tried to mimic his accent, doing a poor job of it. "Prick!"
"Endearment from you again, I am honoured Michelle. As regards to sleeping, I would think it pertinent to allow Orla and David to have my room".
"Are ye sure James, we wouldn't to turf ye out of yers…". David replied honestly.
"Absolutely, I wouldn't feel comfortable if you did not do so. The rest of you will have to share the spare room and I'll sleep here in front of the fire tonight".
The friends exchanged nods, David thankful of James' honourable offer. It came as no surprise to any of them that Michelle was not so thankful.
"For a bank man, yer pretty shite with numbers, aren't ya?" She sneered at him. "There's three of us and one double bed… those numbers don't work ye eejit".
"One of you's will have to sleep in front of the fire…". Orla suggested.
"Not me, no chance!" Michelle quickly set out her stall. "And Clare will shite the tights out there with you… ye English bastard".
"Ever full of compliments aren't you Michelle?" He rather dryly snapped back.
"Well then I'll sleep out here!"
A general ability to keep herself under control lost, Erin ended up shouting instead of calmly stating her intention to give up the spot in the room. Clare looked at her slightly confused, Michelle thoroughly, whilst Orla didn't appear to be too bothered regardless. David's wry smile was a concern for her though. He might have caught the scent for the reason she was so loud in her statement. First Orla reading what she'd wrote about James, now David giving her looks that indicated he could read her thoughts. Christ No!
"I mean… if everyone else has a problem with it of course". Erin tried to quickly rectify her loss of control.
"Yer making the ultimate sacrifice there Erin".
"Catch yourself on Michelle! James is hardly Oliver Cromwell".
"Ach I like him!" Orla jumped in.
The infamous English statesman had fascinated Orla at school, to the point where the teachers modified the curriculum to avoid the subject altogether, due to her being too enthusiastic. The girls were just as horrified as they were and Erin made a mental note to slap herself on the wrist at a quieter time, punishment for bringing his name up. Reading the situation, James could tell that Cromwell was a sour point, rapidly changing the topic back to sleeping.
"I cannot offer a mattress I'm afraid Erin. But I have plenty of blankets".
"That will be cracker James. Thanks". She smiled back at him.
Except it wasn't totally cracker. Through her own foolishness, she was now not only spending the night in the same house as James, but the same room… where she could literally reach out and touch him if she wanted to.
Which of course… she did.
SHITE!
It didn't take too long for the cottage to fall fairly silent. Orla and David were the first to settle, cuddled up together on James's spacious bed in perfect harmony. When they'd shut the door to the bedroom, it spurred Clare into action, forcing Michelle into an early night. An early night that she needed, and they all did, having spent most of the evening listening to her moaning about Deirdre's reaction to finding her in bed with Johnny Kells. For once she wasn't drunk at least, James having tightly regulated how much alcohol she was allowed from his small collection. Unbeknownst to her, he'd even kept his best whisky hidden all evening. That wasn't for her consumption. Not at all.
There were few moans from the dark-haired girl once she'd started to settle down in the room, though it did suddenly appear to bother Clare. The moment they retired to the room, she'd decided to sleep on the floor instead of the bed, a decision that none of them really understood. It might have been a tight squeeze for both her and Michelle to fit, but it wasn't as if it were with James or David. Sharing a bed with a man would quite understandably have been awkward. Michelle, especially vocal about her annoyance with her friend, tried to force the reason for the odd behaviour out of her, to no avail. Clare was never going to tell any of them about why she found it so awkward to share a bed with another girl. Where they came from, silence was golden on that matter.
The clock crept closely towards midnight, the final moments of Saturday playing out before Sunday's show began. Neither James nor Erin were yet to fall asleep, the two favouring a quiet conversation as opposed to succumbing to tiredness. Fighting a constant battle with her emotions, she was doing her best to keep them talking about fairly uneventful topics that strayed far away from any romantic connotations.
"Should I be worried around your mother then?" He asked as Mary became part of their chatter.
"Well we don't think she's got powers but… ye never know". Erin replied jokingly.
"I would rather avoid any curses".
Mary having seemingly hexed Bridie four years earlier was not something Erin, or the rest of Derry for that matter, could forget so easily. Having told the woman to drop down dead, it became a completely different prospect when the woman did just that. For weeks people avoided her, offering to shelter the rest of the family from her, to be able to avoid the perceived witchcraft that she'd committed. Years later it had become a tale told in humour, but at the time being labelled 'The Wicked Witch of the North West', upset her mother deeply.
"What about yer ma James, ye don't say much about her?"
Erin posed the question to him, watching as he took a sip of his whisky, noticing the slight grimace on his face when she'd mentioned Kathy. She continued to watch him as she sipped at her own drink, waiting to see if he would say anything at all or whether she would need to apologise to him. She couldn't upset him…
"I… there's… not much to say really". He finally replied, sighing deeply.
"Ach there must be somethin'?" She pressed. "What about her work? What does she do?"
There was another pause, James trying to gather his thoughts after Erin's questions. It was perfectly natural for her to be inquisitive about his mother, that appeared to exist with more of a mythical status than a living one, but it did not make it any easier.
"To be honest Erin, I am not sure".
"Not sure? How can ye not be sure, ye lived with her for years!"
"She would often work away…". He tried to explain. "… I asked her once about it when she'd left me on my own for a few days. She refused to reply, and I've never enquired since".
"Are ye not worried she might be up to something… illegal?"
"Illegal? My mother?" He laughed heartily at her. "I can't imagine her getting caught up on the wrong side of the law".
Acknowledging that James was either withholding information from her or simply did not want to discuss Kathy any further, Erin quickly ceased any further lines of enquiry into the former Derry resident who'd gone off to England.
"The dance sounds like it will be a spectacular evening".
James deciding to turn to small talk about that evening on the horizon did her no favours at all. All of the young lads and girls their age would be at the dance, held in the main hall of their old school, an event organised by a certain nemesis of hers.
Jenny Joyce
With her loyalties divided between attempting to keep her own sanity and listening to the painful pangs of her heart, Erin was trapped. If she asked James to the dance, then not only would she be unable to control her feelings, but would incur the speculation of the rest of the city. Yet she also couldn't let Jenny get her claws back on James either. However, the moment she'd heard about the party, her head had always intervened on sanity's side and was doing so again.
"Aye. Will ye be goin' with Jenny?" She tentatively asked, fearing the answer.
"I would hope not. I do not think I would feel comfortable accompanying her".
"Too right, she's a real head melter!". Erin grinned, James grinning with her, before becoming agitated a mere few seconds later. "I… I would have asked ye to go with me, but…".
"Erin". He confidently spoke her name. "I understand. Judging by Michelle's reaction to me doing anything more than breathing, I do realise why you would not want her to start shouting incorrect statements about people from the rooftops".
"Yer such a nice fella ye know". She flashed him a warm smile.
"You flatter me Erin, I only try to act as honourably and gentlemanly as I can…". He laughed. "Besides, a young woman as kind and beautiful as yourself ought to be able enjoy an evening dancing. My presence would cause too many raised eyebrows".
"James!"
She would only enjoy it if he were there…
"I am not telling any lies. Erin, you truly are a beautiful young woman, who I am lucky to have as my friend".
Erin could feel her skin heating up as he spoke, turning her head away to try to hide the adorably rose-coloured cheeks that she once again sported. Certainly not turning away because she could have forced her lips onto his at that moment…
A second later, before either had chance to speak, a yawn was ripped from her, acting as an initial indicator into how tired she was. The yawn caught on as he too was yawning a moment later, after what ended up in being a particularly busy day for him. The quick turnaround in getting a meal prepared for six was a difficulty, taking more out of his energy resources than he'd planned for.
"Another drink?" James broke the slightly tense air.
"Ach go on then, another whisky please James".
"Two minutes, and your nightcap will await you".
Chuckling to themselves, James excused himself to hunt down his special bottle of alcohol that he'd deliberately kept stashed away from Michelle earlier on. Having a drink with Erin Quinn, whilst the fireplace crackled in front of them to keep them warm felt special; a special drink could be toasted to it. Remembering that he'd hidden it in the corner of the small pantry at the cottage, the Englishman walked off to retrieve it. It took him a minute, through his own intake plus general tiredness, to fully prepare their nightcaps. He could hear the snores of the other four in the background, Michelle being just as loud when she was asleep did not surprise him one bit. Everything that his cousin opened her mouth about always appeared to clock in with a few too many decimals.
As he prepared the drinks, his thoughts turned to his mother. Erin mentioning her whilst they spoke was not entirely unwelcome, though the after effect had began to hit him hard. There was still no letter as promised, which had niggled away at him throughout that week without ever threatening to cause any emotional overspill. Through his gentlemanly nature of playing devil's advocate, he considered the possibility that she was merely waiting until her life on the continent had settled before getting in contact with him. After all, with the growing influence and power of certain countries, writing a letter back could have been difficult too. He would just have to remain patient. She'd always love him…
However, once the drinks were made, he quickly realised there was no need to have done any of it. Returning to their spot in front of the fireplace, Erin's head had lulled to one side and small snores were drifting out from within. Stopping to admire her enchanting looks again, he studied every inch of her face as it was scrunched up, delving deeper into sleep.
With some careful movement, James placed her down to a more comfortable position to sleep in, Erin muttering a 'Thank You' from deep within the realms of her dreams. Dreams that he hoped were pleasant for her.
Taking another look at her, James hesitated, checking all around them in case any of the others had woken. The last thing he wanted was one of them misunderstanding a simple action as they rose to use the toilet or get a drink of their own. Satisfied they were alone, he leant down and placed a simple kiss to her forehead.
"Good night Erin".
A couple of minutes later, the snores of two very good friends competed with the crackling of the fire to provide the ambient backdrop to that night at the cottage.
Two very good friends.
Nothing more…