Chapter 46: Different Kind of War 20th September 1941
The most pleasant of breezes whipped onto the front wall outside the Quinn residence. The day was tranquil, an oddity in a time of great unrest, while the weather was more than reasonable for the middle of September. Derry was a calm place too, with the lack of bombing raids since Easter Tuesday making the city feel gradually safer. There was always going to be the threat of the German bombers whilst they controlled France, but gradually it became less and less worrying. A lack of anymore young men from the city being killed in action also helped to the lift the mood; the less young men that died, the less young hearts back home there were to be broken.
With the afternoon so pleasant, Erin was out with the rest of the girls. Michelle decreed the day before that they should arrange to do something the following day, an idea that they could all get behind. Orla arranged for Sarah and Joe to look after Marie for the rest of the day, with the girls spending the afternoon at the Mallon house before heading off to a dance in the evening. The cousins took their best dresses with them as they walked to the Mallon's, with Clare joining along when they met her on the way. The group going out together was something of a novelty, especially with Erin who would scarcely go out at all in the months after James' death, work aside. Mary and Gerry were proud of their daughter for showing such fortitude, though they had Sister Michael to thank if they were to look for the source of where her courage came from. The Sister's words worked wonders on the young blonde, who'd improved tenfold when it came to grieving for James. She'd not been back to the graveyard at all since she'd spoken to her old headmistress, a remarkable feat considering the routine she'd fell into.
Back at home it left the Quinn house very quiet. Mary and Gerry were sat out in the front garden on a blanket, enjoying the sunshine that they were allowed. The whole time they were under Joe's eye from next door though, constantly watching for any moves that the Southerner might pull on his daughter. Anna was out in the front garden with them too, although she paid little attention to what her parents were doing. Or she at least tried not to. The problem that the youngest daughter of the Quinn's faced was that her parents were once again finding something to disagree on. Gerry's domestication was incredibly helpful to his wife, but he was also a man that held his own views on how things should be done. Mary, concerned by the potential backlog of washing, wanted to do a wash that lunchtime, hanging the clothes out to dry in the afternoon sun but he was against it, arguing that it simply did not need doing. An argument that was getting out of hand.
"Since when have you been an expert on washing, Gerry!" She snapped at him.
"I haven't ever been love, but I think yer taking things a wee bit too far. Ye'll be doin' a wash tomorrow so ye will, I think that's enough for the weekend". He argued back calmly.
"Enough!? Enough!? I have enough to do tomorrow without having a wash on. These meals don't make themselves ye know, and with all this rationing…".
"Relax, Mary".
Gerry's attempt to calm her down went about as well as any previous attempt to do the same had ever done during their marriage. In an argument such as the one that they were in, there was only ever going to be one loser and it would be him.
"I'll relax when we have the money to employ a maid, Gerry!"
"Now come on love, that's a bit unreasonable, is it not?" He asked. "I'll give ye a hand with the wash now if ye want, it doesn't matter to me now that the vegetable patch is sorted for the day".
"A hand? Ye might have to do it, Gerry, I'm not sure I can cope with all this!"
"Fine. Let's get started on it now then".
Mary's grumbles continued. Gerry's arguments were annoyingly valid, but she'd still won the argument; a wash would be done. He would even be doing it instead of her, which allowed her heartrate to calm to a more sensible pace at least. The two of them took a moment of reflection in the sunshine before heading in, Gerry using it to walk over to Anna to let their daughter know that they would be going back inside.
"Anna love, yer Mammy and I are goin' inside to do some washin'". He informed her, watching her lower the newspaper at the same time".
"Alright Daddy. Can I stay out here please?"
"Of course ye can love, but only if ye stay on the wall there. No wanderin' off".
Nodding to her father, Anna understood the instructions perfectly. If she were to wander off on her own then it would place her mother into a more foul mood than she was in there and then. Other little girls had walked off unsighted by their parents in the city, sparking citywide searches until they were found. One girl never came back, falling in the Foyle and drowning in a particularly distressing incident. Mary and Gerry knew how smart their daughter was, but she was still just a five year old child. Children could be children and no matter how smart she might have been, Anna would not have the strength to fight against the Foyle should she fall in. Albeit, she was far too engrossed in the newspaper to break off anyway.
"Come on then Gerry, let's see yer efforts with this wash". Mary mocked him.
With his back to his wife, Gerry rolled his eyes comically, making Anna giggle when she once again peered up from behind the paper. He soon trooped off behind Mary, the two of them furiously arguing about washing the soon that the door was shut again. Mary certainly did not approve of Gerry thinking that he knew best when it came to the washing, a subject she held far more experience in than he did. Anna shook her head as she heard them again, a smile on her face. She was used to the petty disputes between her parents, that were never strong enough to cause any long-term annoyance on either side but were enough to cause plenty of ructions in the house. Their youngest was the lucky one, along with her older sister, being able to stay out of the way.
Anna was in good spirits too, the start of the new school year going well for her. Still years in advance of those her own age, she was tackling questions that twelve or thirteen years old would struggle with, completing them in her own way. They challenged her to the extreme, but with some help from her teachers, she always overcame them eventually. Respected amongst her peers for the unpatronising help that she gave them too, she was the most popular girl at school. All of the other girls considered themselves her friend and she enjoyed having the friends too, never feeling lonely despite being academically superior. Sister Michael became more terrified of her by the day, often turning away in the corridor when she saw the younger Quinn sister. As she coined her before, Erin but with a brain, Anna was a truly incredible being that she did not wish to understand. No girl of five should be as clever as she was.
The newspaper told of a story of very different spirits. Occasionally, news from the other front of the war would find its way into the Derry Journal, accounts of what was occurring on the Eastern Front being of interest to her. The war was still frightening, but Anna was very much intrigued by the various elements that knitted it all together. She knew very little about the Soviet Union, other than what Joe had commented on occasions, none of it being positive. However, that did not cool her interest in what they were doing to fight off the Germans. The news was not good though, as it often was when any other country attempted to match the Nazi war machine in a land battle. The Red Army, a mighty army in its own right, simply could not match the Germans in the new warfare that they were experiencing.
Kiev was one of those battles, the one which Anna was reading about. The Soviet soldiers were pushed back into the city, but the Germans weren't hanging around. By mid-September, the Panzer divisions in the area cut the line of retreat for the majority of the Red Army that were in the city, effectively trapping them. Some units were still able to make it out, and the commander of the whole area was relieved of said command by Stalin himself when the news of the situation reached Moscow. The city was prepared for a long, drawn out battle, but the Germans were far too quick for them. Bombarding Kiev on a daily basis, citizens who had not already fled were often killed in their beds, the German gunners not discriminating as they poured heavy fire onto the buildings within the city. The Red Army's soldiers did not give up easily though either, digging in to meet their foe, sometimes in hand-to-hand combat as battle lines were drawn and redrawn. The bloodshed was quite extraordinary.
"Those poor wee Ruski fellas". Anna said to herself.
Allowing herself a moment to break from the sombre news that the Derry Journal told her, she noticed three lads walking up the street, one of them with a football in his hand. She didn't know them by name, but Anna was well aware that they were trouble. The lad with the ball, a dark-haired boy who was tall for his age, was always having to be spoken to by Sister Michael in the corridors. His name might have been Rory or Robbie, not that it mattered to the young Quinn, who knew to stay away from him. The other two lads, both blonde, were also known troublemakers. They were always being held back for detention when she looked through the windows into the main hall as she left school each day. They probably weren't the brightest three lads in the city either from what she could tell, although Granda Joe had always told her not to judge a book by its cover so she would not say it to them.
Returning to the paper, she continued to read about what was happening in the Ukraine. Charlene's father, Colonel Kavanagh had been asked by the paper to give his view of what was happening. With interest, Anna noted what he was saying. The old Colonel, a very able commander back in his day, was scathing of the Russian Commander, from the information that the paper were able to gleam. It appeared he was a poor leader of men, positioning them terribly to meet the German advances. Colonel Kavanagh did not think highly to the man at all, offering his own opinion of what he'd have done in the circumstances. A retreat to a more favourable position was what he would have done, one where forces could have regrouped far more efficiently to stop the Panzer divisions. The Panzer divisions might have been quick, but they were not unstoppable, a point proven in France by James and David during the Dunkirk evacuation.
What the paper, the Colonel and Anna did not know, was that the commander was under strict orders not to retreat. No matter what the circumstances, the man was told that retreat was not an option at all, the order coming directly from Stalin. Having incurred defeats wherever they went, morale could not afford a retreat of any kind in his eyes, the soldiers instead being forced to fight to the very last. Whether they would or not would remain to be seen, though trapped by the Germans as they were, it was one of the few options that were left. Trying to break out of the encirclement would be a retreat of sorts, though not as disgraceful as it would be a fighting one, being one option and the other was surrender. The Soviet mentality begged for Stalin's option but human nature deviated to one of the latter two.
As she continued to peruse the reports from the East, Anna happened to quickly glance up to where the three lads she spotted earlier had been playing football. She could hear them playing in the street without having to look, but her attention was alerted when she could no longer hear the sound of the ball being kicked. When she did look up, the three of them were stood in a huddle whispering to each other, taking the odd glance in her direction. When they realised she was looking they quickly broke up again, returning to kicking the ball about in the empty road. The odd behaviour noted, Anna cautiously kept a wandering eye on the three lads, knowing of the trouble that they could cause and that she would potentially be in the thick of it.
Finishing the news from the East, she turned the page over to find news from the African front. Although Rommel had pushed the British forces back well into Egypt, his advanced stalled. Unable to wrestle Tobruk from the control of allied forces, he was left to plan for his next move, which would likely be another attempting at taking the port city. The main allied force were the Australians, who were toughing it out under extreme conditions. Often short of equipment and rations, the men were on their limits as the Germans pummelled them but could not find a way through. That did not stop the spirits being high though, something which the paper was keen to point out. Whether the quotes from the soldiers were genuine or not remained to be seen, but every single one told of the camaraderie between men on the front. Anna admired it, thinking of how harsh the conditions that they were operating in must have been. Watching friends die as they were expected to continue on was a harrowing thought in her young mind.
The conditions in the desert were far hotter than they were on the residential streets of Derry, but young Anna knew that things were about to heat up. She'd kept her eye on the boys playing football in the street, aware that they were up to something without knowing exactly what. When the sound of the ball stopped again, she once more peered up over the paper. This time they weren't all in a huddle but were walking towards her. There was a menacing look in the dark-haired boy's eyes, one most unpleasant when being faced with. The other two lads did not look as menacing, but they did have mischievous glints in their eyes that she could make out clearly. A five year old was well within their rights to feel frightened by the sudden approach of the three young lads. Anna was not.
She kept her eyes peering over the top of the newspaper, analysing the lads throughout their approach towards her. The two blonde lads looked at each other and smiled, a detail that she quickly picked up on. The way in which they walked towards her suggested that whatever they were doing was premeditated, something which she'd suspected anyway. Given how quickly they'd broken their huddle when she'd spotted them before, it was abundantly clear that they were going to annoy her somehow. There were plenty of ways in which they could do so, and she was entertained by how they might try.
"Oi". The dark-haired lad huffed out in her direction.
Delivering the most unsatisfied look that she could muster, Anna lowered the newspaper fully to look the boy in the eyes. If she were to guess their ages, she would have said they were about ten, double her age if not more. The dark-haired lad held the ball under his arm as he came to a stop, flanked on either side by his two blonde mates. The three of them were all dressed in their scruffs for the football, in far worse clothing than she was wearing. They were not the prettiest of sights.
"Can I help ye?" She asked, watching every move as she did.
The three of them all looked around each other, as if they were signalling to each other to commence whatever the ridiculous plan they'd concocted was. A five year old girl was vulnerable against three ten, going on eleven, year old lads, yet with her it was an even playing field. She could outsmart the three of them, despite their superior number.
"What are ye doin' there?" The lad with the dark hair was the one to speak again.
"Reading the paper". She answered calmly.
"Why are ye doin' that? Yer a girl, ye should be in doin' the washin' with yer Ma".
The other two lads appeared to find his comment incredibly amusing, breaking out into laughter at their mates joke. The only joke that Anna could find was their attempt to rile her, which was an incredibly poor one. Annoying her would take a lot more than that.
"Because I want to…". She answered with a smile put on too. "… have you ever read the newspaper yerself? It's quite interestin' actually".
Her reply contained silent venom, which the young lad recognised. Handing the football over to his friend to the right, his previously menacing look turned into one of fury as she insulted him. In her mind, he was probably too stupid to ever contemplate doing something sensible such as keeping up with world events. Searching her mind for a brief second, she desperately tried to remember his name. A successful scan of her memory it was too; he was definitely a Robbie. His last name still escaped her, but should they get too aggressive, and her Ma hear them, she was certain her mother would know it. Mary Quinn knew just about everyone in Derry.
"What's it say?" He continued to enquire.
"It's about the war. Russia, Africa… ye can learn a lot from reading the paper. Ye should try it sometime, I reckon ye might find it useful… all of you's".
Anna was not just testing the waters, she was rocking the boat. Rocking the boat was not always a sensible idea, especially for a young girl facing up against three older lads who clearly wanted to anger her in one way or another. The odds didn't scare her though, not one bit.
"Ye get some mouth on ye". One of the blonde lads commented.
"Aye". The other two hummed in agreement.
Diplomacy didn't appear to work with the three of them, most likely because they were too stupid to understand it, leaving Anna to think of her next plan. The house was only a short way behind her, and running in screaming for her parents would certainly drive the lads right off. However, she did not want to do that. Like many situations she always had one thought in her mind. What would James do in the same situation. He might have been long deceased, nearly a year having passed since he was lost over the skies of Taranto, but she still went back to his template on handling situations. The Englishman, she knew, upon failing with a light hearted approach, would be far sterner if it did not work.
Sighing loudly, she began to fold up the newspaper, intent on putting it down before enacting the next part of her plan. The dark-haired lad acted faster though, ripping the partially folded paper out of her hands, tossing it to the floor. Between them, the lads had done enough to rile Anna right up, her fury ready to be unleashed not that they knew it. On the outside she remained calm and composed, despite what her inner feelings were saying.
"Ye dropped ye paper ye silly bitch".
With language that would have earned him a soapy mouth had any of the elders in her family heard it, Robbie decided that incredible rudeness towards Anna was his best move. The other two lads once more found it highly amusing that he was rude to her, setting off the three of them to tear shreds off of the young Quinn, who had to stand in front of the three and listen to all of their barbs.
"Ye forgot the fat in their Robbie". One of the lads sniggered, pointing towards Anna's stomach.
"She was probably goin' to eat the paper!" The other chortled.
The three young lads were well in control of the situation, fully prepared to bully the girl half their age. From what their fathers told them, a girl's place was not outside reading the newspaper, it was inside learning the ways of the house with their mothers. Unable to put up with her silently sitting on the wall while they played football, their only aim was to force her back in doors. Unafraid of being personal towards her, they continued in their despicable taunting of young Anna.
"Hold on…". One of the blondes spoke aloud, thinking to himself as he did. "… isn't she the sister of that Erin, ye know the one who me brother said was ridin' that English that died".
"I reckon she is ye know". Robbie answered him. "Say, what's it like havin' a sister who fancied a dirty English. You and yer family are all traitors for allowin' that".
"Aye that's mingin'". The other piped up.
"You deaf now or somethin'? Answer me ye stupid minger".
Robbie's coarse mouth, along with the rest of his friend's insults was about to land him in more serious trouble than he could have imagined. The lads thought they were being clever, laying into her to make her run away and cry, they hoped. Anna did nothing to discourage them from doing so, standing still to hear whatever horrible things they had to say about her. That was her plan though. Cunning brilliance was one of her many traits, one which the three unsuspecting bullies were about to discover. All the while she looked down as if hurt by their insults, she was in fact looking at their feet. They'd done many things right in their own minds, performing their plan to get her off their turf for good with nasty words that would drive any girl to tears. Sadly, they'd decided to stand in a position that a five year old with the brain of an adult could take advantage of.
No time was wasted, not that Robbie saw it coming. His feet were on the edge of the kerb of the road, making him a very easy target to someone with the smarts of Anna Quinn. She was not weak by any measure, but she didn't need to be very strong to knock him down. One quick, almost violent swing of her right leg cracked into his left ankle and left in a claw like position, she lifted him completely off of his feet. With a cry he fell backwards, his other leg being unable to sustain the rest of his weight on the kerb's edge. Deposited into the road, he smacked his head off the ground, forcing the previously menacing young boy to tears. Before those tears started, his friend to the left was left completely aghast by what he'd witnessed. Left stunned with a rampaging Anna in front of him, he felt every fibre of her fury as she turned, raising her left leg up with power to strike him in the crotch. Striking the weakest spot on the male body, he yelped in agony as he joined his mate in the road, not crying but instead wriggling around in pain.
The only lad left had a couple more seconds to react to avoid meeting the same fate as his friends. One on one against a five year old girl who'd just laid out two lads his own age, he was nowhere near as confident as he would have been normally. Parents taught their children not to hit girls, but after her display against his mates, he'd decided that enough was enough. Swinging at her with his right hand, the blonde nearly managed to make contact. With incredible reflexes Anna managed to duck out to the side, booting him in the shin for good measure as he over balanced. She was far too quick for the lad, kicking him in the other shin to send him onto his knees. The lad was not quite done for… for another second or two. Anna was not a violent girl normally, but with her adrenaline at sky high levels, she punched him cleanly in the face, forcing him backwards like his friends.
Three ten year old lads, one crying, were flat on their backs in the middle of the street with a five year old girl standing over them. It was an embarrassing sight for them to say the least. Outsmarted by the talented younger Quinn sister, Sister Michael's feeling of terror towards her was validated. Like the man she'd considered a mentor, Anna didn't seem to find any challenge too much for her, being good at anything. He might not have been there in person, but James' legacy lived on.
She did not see it as triumph though. Her pleasant time outside the front of the house in the sunshine reading the paper was ruined, the main thought that was at the forefront of her mind.
Retrieving the Derry Journal from where it was thrown to the floor by Robbie, she took a look over to the ground behind her where the three lads still lay back, licking their wounds. Ensuring that she was not harmed, Anna had also ensured that no lads would ever try to annoy her again.
Sighing loudly for the second time, Anna shook her head.
"Boys".
Strolling into the house, newspaper under her arm and a smile on her face, it was almost as if nothing ever happened. The front door of the house was open when she looked up, finding her father standing there waiting for her. Witnessing almost the whole of the confrontation covertly, Gerry was not too surprised to find Anna walking away unharmed. His daughter, both of his daughters, were unique and special, and he loved them for it. Holding his hand out in the air, a high five was exchanged between father and daughter as they beamed at each other. Between himself and Joe, they'd taught her well.
"Good girl".
Ruffling her hair as she walked into the house, Gerry produced a sigh of his own before heading outside. He couldn't just leave the lads who'd tried to bully his daughter in the middle of the road. A story needed to be straightened out for the lads to tell their parents, one that for their sakes omitted the detail of the three of them being beaten up by a girl half their age. It didn't matter what he told them though, as some of their nosy neighbours happened to have noticed the commotion too, ensuring that the truth of the incident would spread anyway. The lads would be roundly mocked at school on the following Monday, something which Sister Michael would no doubt fail to stop.
Anna Quinn really was something else.
The band was loud and the revelry louder.
It was the kind of night that Michelle Mallon lived for.
The girls being able to enjoy a night out as a full compliment was a treat long forgotten. Most nights out were limited to her on her own or with Clare, though after the disastrous double date, she was flying solo again. Erin hadn't been on a night out in a long time, and neither had Orla really, but the two of them were up for it that Saturday. The cack attack Queen wouldn't have gone without them, too scared by what tricks Michelle might pull on her. Although it was true that the dark-haired girl had not given up on finding Clare a fella, she was only out to enjoy herself that night, with no plan to find the little blonde a lad to even chat to.
Usually finding dances held at the Guildhall, they were instead at another dance hall in the city. It might not have been a large venue but in a way, it improved the mood, the young people of Derry all packed in together. The band were playing fast paced music, the sort that Michelle liked the most, allowing her to get into a proper rhythm when she danced. When they arrived, she headed straight for the dance floor for a few minutes to understand the mood of the room, whilst Erin led the other two to the bar to get themselves something to drink. Finding a spot in the corner once it was received, the girls sat down at a table to wait for Michelle. She was soon back from her dancing escapade, with plenty to say for herself.
"How's it lookin' Michelle?" Orla enquired with her.
"Absolutely cracker Orla. I'm right into this, so I am".
"Aye it sounds it". Erin chuckled.
Michelle laughed with her friends, heartened by Erin's positivity. Privately, Michelle and Clare were concerned about how she would act while they were out, knowing that it was a momentous occasion for her. To many, it was only a drink and a dance, but for their blonde friend, it was a rite of passage on her road to the future. After Sister Michael's wise words, the more confident Erin returned, to their delight. Sat in her best dress at the dance hall, she looked happier than they'd seen her in a long time, which only made them even more elated. It was almost like having a new friend.
"I reckon I can find myself some company tonight, if ye know what I mean girls". Michelle smirked.
"Which one…". Erin giggled again. "… or ones".
A few winks were shared between the two, Orla joining in with the winking when she cottoned onto what they were saying. Adding absolutely nothing, Clare was going to stay well out of the way. She still worried about whether Michelle would try to set her up with some lad or not, despite her friend not saying anything to suggest that she would. Any talk about fellas would not be including her, she'd decided, instead sipping at her drink whilst watching the crowd. It wasn't going to stop the other three though.
"Are you askin' me what my limit is, Erin?"
"I might be Michelle. Didn't know you had a limit if I'm honest".
"Aye neither did I". Orla added. "What limit though?"
Completely oblivious to what they were actually talking about despite having appeared to previously, Orla made one of her traditionally normal comments which brought smiles from her friends. It could annoy them sometimes when she zoned out or didn't understand, but in the relaxed setting of the dance hall that evening, it did the opposite. Even Clare who was trying to stay out of the way forced a smile out at the scene.
"Well…". Michelle started, thinking about how to deliver her answer. "… I'm proven with two and I reckon I can handle three… four's a bit of a stretch for one night but I'd give it a try, ye know. Five's a bit much…".
"Five's too much? Since when has anything been too much for the incredible Michelle Mallon".
"Cheeky". Michelle playfully slapped Erin. "Nice to see yer happy".
Erin truly was. She didn't realise how much she'd missed the times out with the girls but reminded of how fun it could be, she was gleaming with happiness. They'd enjoyed plenty of great nights long ago, the memories rekindled as she observed the scene of young people enjoying themselves for the night. The Germans could not take away their spirit, even if their bombs were taking lives.
"I am. Thank ye Michelle, I'm glad I came".
"So am I".
The two of them hugged tightly, embracing at Erin finally being happy again. There was still a lot of progress that needed to be made, but for the first time since his death was confirmed, the front of her mind was not filled with thoughts about James. They were still in her head, but they were pushed further back so that she could kick back and enjoy herself. When she'd walked in without feeling the need to walk back out again, she could almost sense that he was looking down on her with a smile. Honouring his final wishes not to spend the rest of her life thinking about the one she'd lost with him, it made the young Quinn proud. Proud that she could adhere to what the best fella she'd ever met wanted even when he was gone.
"Right, as much as I love talkin' to you girls, there's fellas for me to chase so if ye don't mind…". Michelle paused, downing her drink with ease. "… I'm heading out onto the dancefloor. Any of you's comin'?"
"Aye". Orla put herself into the mix, downing her own drink.
"Christ steady Orla, I don't want you bokin' on me!"
Looking to Erin and Clare, Michelle focused on the former to see if she wanted to get up to start dancing. Although she was having plenty of fun watching on, Erin was going over her limit when it came to actually getting properly involved. Being in such close proximity to the other young fellas of the city was not something that she was ready for yet, especially with some of them only there with one thing on their mind. There would be another dance in the future where caution would be forgotten, she thought to herself, a night when she would loosen herself up. That night was not the correct one though, Erin hoping that her friend would understand.
"I… I'll sit this out". She informed Michelle tentatively.
"Aye that's alright, I understand". Michelle flashed her a smile as she spoke, confirming the understanding. "What about you Clare?"
Silently drifting into her latest cack attack, Clare could not find the words to respond for a couple of seconds. There was still no indication from Michelle that she would be forced into any situations with a fella, but the diminutive blonde couldn't trust her fully. She might have been friends with Michelle for years, yet there was always a sense for her that the dark-haired girl enjoyed pushing her into situations that she hated. Her consistent attempts to get her onto a date with a fella showed her intent to try have some influence on her life, influence that was unwanted. Trying to find a suitable excuse, there was only one thing that she could think of to say. It would at least buy her a temporary reprieve from her friend, even if it was not a permanent solution.
"I… I'm goin' to the loo!" She almost shouted.
"Alright, fine. Ye don't need to tell everyone else in here".
Rolling her eyes, Michelle soon forgot their exchange, heading off to the dancefloor with Orla to find some fellas to dance with. Orla was far further along in her own handling of grief, more than ready to relax to the music and dance around anyone. David's wishes were similar to James', and she was not going to be holding back when it came to fulfilling them. She enjoyed the relaxing nights dancing like Michelle did, the two of them being at home on the dancefloor in contrast to Clare who would try to avoid it. Finding a fella was not an immediate priority for the young mother, but it was not out of the question either. She hadn't consulted anyone else about her feelings on finding love again before she went out, keeping the thoughts to herself. In quieter moments while Marie lay sleeping at night that week, she'd convinced herself that when they went out as a group again, she would not hold back should a fella wish to take her home.
Finding herself alone when she got to the bathroom, Clare grabbed herself some toilet paper to dry her eyes with. One the way to the loo, she'd started to cry, the fear of the night out that they were on completely gripping her. She was miles out of her comfort zone in the tight space of the dance hall, scared of what might happen with any of the fellas if Michelle did act on her behalf. The lies that she perpetuated, the ones that spoke of only being nervous around men, were eating away at her. The truth being what it was, unspoken and painful, she wanted to be back at home in her bedroom, cowering away from the world that did not even know that it was against her. There would be no one like her at the dance, no young women that were interested in those of their own sex instead of the opposite. Her tears ran freely in the toilet cubicle where she could sit away from the rest of the world around her, with just her negative thoughts for company.
After fifteen minutes of weeping, the tears were brought to a stop. Clare knew that if she were to stay any longer, Erin or, even worse, Michelle, would start looking for her. There would be nothing worse than having to explain another bout of crying to the latter, who would hold little sympathy, she assumed. Having ruined the double date night for her friend, then having a confrontation in the street with her the week after, they were still somewhat on uneasy terms. Michelle had been amicable enough minutes earlier when they walked in, as well as the rest of the day, but there was tension between the two still. Her own feelings for her friend only complicated matters further. In her best dress, showing off plenty of her figure, Michelle was stunning in her eyes. The description burned at her chest though, knowing that it was not one that should be applied to a friend. The title of friend was all that she could be to Clare, even if one corner of the blonde's mind hoped she could be something more.
Walking out from the women's bathroom, she headed back for the main dance hall. There was a long corridor back down to the door to re-enter at the bottom, one which she traversed at pace. Another cack attack began, her mind turning to how long she'd been away from the girls and wondering what they might have to say. The Erin of old would have been a nightmare to deal with until she got some sort of answer out of her friend, but Erin's days of being so controlling seemed to be in the past. She couldn't even remember the last time her fellow blonde had been so aggressive in her questioning, making an explanation seem less daunting in Clare's head. Orla probably hadn't noticed that she'd gone but Michelle… if Michelle had even the slightest inkling that she'd been gone for ages then there would be tr…
Oof!
From being locked away in her own mind thinking about Michelle's reaction to her short absence, Clare Devlin suddenly found her nose in the carpet of the corridor. In such deep cogitation, she failed to notice the slight scuff in the carpet. Her right foot caught it as she stormed past, the young Devlin thrown forward, her momentum too great to stop a complete nosedive. Smashing into the carpet, her nose was immediately in pain along with the rest of her front. Her right shoe had also come off once it caught the scruff. Luckily nobody else saw her fall, sparing her blushes from the story of her fall spreading at least.
"Oww… oh god… owww!" She murmured quietly.
Tears were soon ready to escape her eyes again, although Clare was determined not to start crying. Lying face down on the floor for a moment, she gathered her strength, ready to lift herself up from where she'd landed. More embarrassed than in pain, she cursed herself silently for not paying more attentions to her surroundings. It was far from her proudest moment.
"Can I help you?"
The last thing that Clare expected as she lay prone, was the voice of an Englishman. The only Englishman's voice she'd ever enjoyed hearing was James', and he was dead, so it couldn't be him. The accent was not as refined as his anyway, a much rougher voice than the dulcet tones of the pilot that once graced her life. English soldiers were stationed in and around the city, many using the countryside as a training ground before being either left in the area to wait for orders or sent straight away to whatever front they were needed on. For those that remained in the area, they were allowed out into the city on leave every so often, the lucky ones getting to enjoy Friday and Saturday nights out dancing with the local girls. Plenty had been further than that, multiple unwanted pregnancies occurring thanks to the limeys that would invade the dance halls.
"I… I'm alright, just give me a minute". She replied.
The young soldier did not move from where he was stood to her side waiting for her to move as she said she would. Glancing down behind her, he noticed that her shoe had come off, reaching down to retrieve it for her.
"Here Miss, you lost your shoe". He told her, handing it to her as he bent down.
"Thank ye".
Reaching around to her feet, Clare placed her right shoe back on her foot before raising herself from the ground. She struggled for a second, the pain from where she'd fell giving a reminder that it was still there. Uncontented by her struggling, the young soldier offered his arm for her to grip onto and without hesitation, she used him to lever herself up onto her feet. Adjusting her dress once she was stood up straight, she wiped at her eyes again where the rogue tears were beginning to trickle out. The last thing that she wanted was the young Brit asking questions about whether she was truly alright and if she needed any further medical attention.
"Thank ye again…". She addressed him. "… I… I must have tripped or something".
"Yeah I think you did…". He grinned. "… you should be careful, Miss, you might hurt yourself".
"Aye I need to be".
The Englishman fidgeted nervously for a second before holding out his hand for her to shake. A strange choice of gesture for a young man when it came to interacting with a young woman, it was perfect for Clare, who did not want any stronger gestures to be given. A firm handshake would do her nicely.
"Jack… Jack Robbins".
"Clare Devlin".
"Take care of yourself, Clare…". He said to her again as they finished the handshake. "… you won't enjoy the rest of your evening if you keep falling over like that".
Walking away with a laugh, he made for the entrance back into the main dance hall himself. Finding Clare on the floor outside the gents toilets was hardly what he was expecting, but a good soldier was always prepared for the unexpected. Helping her to her feet like a true English gentleman, he walked off back to where he'd left the girl he'd been chatting up was dancing, resuming his night of merriment after the brief interlude to rescue the damsel who was not in that much distress.
After another minute of contemplation about what she would say to explain her lengthy absence from the dancing, Clare began her walk back to the dance floor. The corridor that she was in contained several pillars to the side every couple of metres along. Some of the pillars had notices stuck up on them, her interest piqued by the craic. There was an events list up on one board, telling her that every Saturday for the next month the dance hall would be hosting events for the young people of the city to attend. Michelle could not be allowed to get her hands or her eyes on the list, or she would have to spend another four nights avoiding getting into any situations with fellas whilst trying to pacify her friend.
Looking over at the next notice on the pillar, Clare quickly saw that it was for an event in Belfast. With the war being what it was, getting to Belfast was not exactly straight forward, although the trains did still run between the two cities. Mostly they were used for military purposes but at least one train a day would still carry civilian passengers. The event in question was another dance, one that was due to take place in the centre of Belfast just before Christmas. As much as she did not enjoy the dances, the chance to get to Belfast for a night out did hold some appeal to her. It was a chance to explore something different and expand her horizons, a chance that Clare did not get that often. Michelle certainly would be up for it, she concluded in her head, making a note to tell her about it when she next got the chance.
A chance that came far quicker than she anticipated.
Jumping out from behind the next pillar along, Michelle suddenly made her presence in the corridor known, Clare proceeding to react exactly how anyone could have predicted she would. Scared out of her skin, she nearly found herself on the floor again, stumbling in her heels from the fright delivered by her friend.
"Jesus Michelle, are ye tryin' to kill me!?" She whispered furiously once she regained her footing.
Snorting, Michelle couldn't stop herself from laughing, whilst maintaining a raised eyebrow at her friend. Having found her balance again, Clare stared at her through narrowed eyes of anger, displeased at being mocked by her friend. The raised eyebrow raised her stress levels too, yet another cack attack beginning that night. There wasn't a solidified cack attack record for one night out, but the way she was going, Clare was going to break whatever figure the other girls had in their heads for it.
"I know yer game now Clare… yer a sneaky little minx aren't ye". Michelle winked suggestively.
"Excuse me!" A riled-up Clare came close to bellowing her response.
"Ye've been leading us astray with yer 'I'm too nervous around fellas' talk because yer ridin' a soldier… an English!"
Clare's faced turned a colour of red that would have to be added to the colour charts, a shade that had never been seen before. Michelle appeared to be misinterpreting what she'd seen, although how much she'd seen eluded her panicking friend. As well as having a cack attack, Clare began to seethe at the mere suggestion that she would ride a fella. Unaware of her persuasions, Michelle made the comment without a thought for her friends feelings that were being eroded in the process.
"I am not ridin' an English!" Clare yelled as quietly as she could. "Why the hell would ye say that!?"
"Don't give me that Clare, ye've been away for twenty minutes and I happen to then see ye sayin' farewell to that English lad".
Whilst Michelle reasoned her comment, Clare realised how it looked to anyone who would stumble across the scene. The amount of time she'd been away, coupled with being seen with a lad in a deserted corridor was suspicious for someone insisting nothing had happened. Her friend was reading into what she'd seen in the way her mischievous mind told her, diverting her onto a path that was far from the truth.
"No! No, No, No! Nothin' happened, I swear!" She shrieked.
"Ha! Really… ach the girls are gunna love this, yer ridin' an English… ha!"
Michelle turned on her heel, ready to spread false information to their friends, and most likely the rest of Derry, that she'd caught Clare with an English fella. With her whole world at stake, Clare could not let it happen, her heart unable to live with the thought that the city would think that she was ridin' an Englishman. Erin might have done so successfully, but it was James, and he was very different to the rest of his countrymen, and he was Michelle's cousin. Taking the only measure she could still think of, she yanked her friend back, nearly forcing her off of her feet too. The floor might have been carpeted, but judging by the performances on it that night, it could have been ice in disguise.
"Michelle please, don't start sayin' things about me… I did nothin'!" Clare cried.
"Ye can't go regrettin' it now Clare". Michelle wagged her finger at her, ignoring the fact that she'd nearly been pulled to the floor. "I have to admit, I thought ye had more standards than doin' it in the bogs but whatever suits ye I suppose. I bet he enjoyed it, absolute savages those English…".
"MICHELLE PLEASE!" She begged again. "Nothin' happened, I'm serious! I fell over that's all, I fell over and he helped me up and… and I said thank you. That's it! I SWEAR!"
Studying her friend's facial expressions, the cogs in Michelle's brain began to tick over. Clare was wearing a very serious expression, the type she normally reserved for those occasions where she needed to be taken seriously. Fighting against the logic in front of her was the images in her mind of the scene she'd came across, the lad walking off from Clare after the two had been away from the dance hall for ages. In her own lewd mind, she'd told herself that was what would happen because it would have if it were her in that situation. Somehow she'd been blinded by the images, forgetting that Clare Devlin was in fact Clare Devlin. There was absolutely no way the daughter of Sean Devlin would be found ridin' an English in the toilet of a dance hall on a Saturday night. He'd kill her and she knew better than to anger her Da.
"For feck's sakes yer serious, aren't ye? Ye really didn't have it off with the lad…". Her voice trailed off in disbelief.
"Of course I'm bein' serious Michelle! Do ye think I'd have the confidence to do something like that!"
Clare raised another valid point about herself, her lack of confidence when it came to fellas. The true reason for her lack of confidence, her lack of attraction, was safely hidden in a web that Michelle could not untangle, but she could agree that the unconfident blonde would hardly change in a night to a young woman unafraid to get some in a toilet cubicle.
"Well why didn't ye?" She instead challenged in her reply.
"WHAT!?" Clare shrieked.
"What? That was about the best chance you probably had of getting a bit and ye did nothin' about it! Honestly Clare, I'm gettin' worried about you, I really am!"
"Ye just said it was mingin' and now ye saying I should have! Why are ye bein' such a hyprocite!"
"I'm not bein' a hypocrite!" Michelle defiantly took a stop forward as she shouted.
"Yes ye are!"
A legendary match of words ensued between the two friends, Michelle raging at being called a hypocrite, a title that Clare refused to refrain from applying to her. There was hypocrisy in her statements, Michelle knew, but once again she remained dumbfounded by Clare's unwillingness to make a move on a fella when a clear opportunity presented itself. If she'd have stumbled over, suffering the embarrassment of such an incident yet still getting a hand up from the fella, she'd be all over him. Clare once again found herself with the perfect opportunity to truly become an adult but blew it like she had done with poor young Colm. Luckily for the diminutive blonde, Michelle was yet to put the pieces together to find the exact truth that bubbled away beneath the nervy exterior. For their friendship, and her life, it needed to stay that way.
Whilst the two of them continued to argue in the corridor outside, Erin was back in the main dance hall enjoying the atmosphere. She'd considered trying to find out where Clare had got to herself, but spotting Michelle walking that way she decided to leave them to it. There was clear tension between the pair of them that frustrated her at times. Clare's lack of interest in finding a fella was the usual spark that kicked the pair of them off, but Erin felt there was more to it than just that. Conflict was not required between her and either of them, so she never said a word, not that it stopped her from thinking there was more than met the eye. From Clare's perspective, Erin was completely correct, although she, like Michelle, was yet to stumble upon their friend's most precious secret. For their own standing in society, as well as their friendship with the blonde, remaining blissfully unaware of it was the best course of action.
Scanning the crowd as she sipped at her drink, every so often Erin would search for her cousin. Orla was having an absolute blast dancing with a couple of fellas, who seemed to be enjoying her too. She might not have always held any skills academically, but physically, Orla was impressive, especially with her dancing skills. In her younger years she would practice at Sarah's urgings, believing it important for her wain to learn how to dance to impress potential suitors further down the line. It was time well spent, Orla being the amazing dancer that she was, as within ten minutes she'd got at least three lads wooing her impressive skills. Whether she even knew the effect she was having on the fellas, Erin did not know, but she couldn't help but smile at her cousin's dedication.
After another couple of minutes of high-octane dancing, Orla returned to the table they'd picked in the corner. A sip of her drink was needed for energy, although when she got closer, Erin noticed that she had another drink in her hand. In the time she'd been watching Orla, there was no way her cousin could have slipped away to the bar to get another one, the queue being huge. Staring at the bizarre coloured liquid in the glass when it was directly in front of her, Erin's curiosity was incredibly high.
"What's that?"
Nose scrunched up and eyebrows furrowed, Erin was a funny sight. She couldn't quite work out what was in the drink at all. The colour of it was green, a darker shade, far darker than a shade of green should have been. Completed with a straw, it made for quite the intriguing mixture, Erin being almost frightened to hear the answer that would be delivered in the seconds that followed.
"Ach, there's a wee punch bowl up near the front, so there is". Orla explained, Erin softening her look at her as she did.
"Right. Why is it so… green?"
Frowning herself for a second, Orla stared into Erin's eyes. The stare was so intense, Erin found herself wondering if Orla was looking into her very soul, until she remembered that it was Orla, who wouldn't have known the difference between a soul and a Pole.
"Ach yeah…". Her memory kicked back into life all of a sudden. "… well ye see, one fella told me that he'd had some of it but it was awful, so it was. He was rippin!"
"What's that got to do with you?"
"Ah, well, he walked off, so he did but I wanted to get a taste of this punch myself. He was right ye know, Erin, I've never tasted anything as bad in my life! So I made an addition as ye do, ye know".
Placing her thumb and index finger over her eyes, a way to show exasperation that James taught her long before, Erin really did wish that she hadn't asked. Her cousin was never one for sensibility, and coupled with a substance such as alcohol, she was already dreading the outcome of Orla's decision to put her own spin on the punch. Disaster and shenanigans followed the girls around like dark clouds at all times. Orla appeared to have created the latest entry on their list of life stories that would be told in years to come at family get togethers. She just hoped it was nothing too illegal.
"And what was that?". Erin asked, her thumb and index finger remaining in place.
Reaching into her small purse that she carried with her, Orla retrieved a little bottle that made Erin's eyes widen in an instant. She would have to wait to hear her cousin confirm it verbally, but if Orla had administered just a small amount of the contents of the bottle to the punch, all hell was about to break loose. Consulting God in a quick silent prayer, Erin had a horrible feeling that the Almighty could do absolutely nothing to salvage the disaster scenario that Orla set into motion.
"I broke about five of these and put them in there. Everyone's flockin' to the punch now, so I brought ye a glass back to try, so I did".
Ripping the bottle from her cousin's grasp, Erin's fears were realised upon reading the contents of the bottle. She'd recognised it from the bathroom of the McCool house next door to hers, having always seen it sat in the cupboard next to the sink there. They were hardly ever used, having been prescribed on a precautionary basis about three years before. Most probably, they were outside of their supposed final date of consumption too. Out of date tablets were a problem no matter the prescription, but the ones from the bottle that Orla handed her presented a more immediate danger.
"Orla… please… please tell me ye didn't!" She sighed loudly.
"Sorry Erin but I did. Everyone's lovin it, sure why don't ye try a bit yerself. If ye don't, I'll have to drink it".
"NO!" Erin shouted at her. "Neither of us can drink that Orla, don't you understand!?"
"Understand what? That it's too nice and we should leave it for everyone else? I did think that might be the right thing to do but…".
"No Orla. Not that".
Erin's main concern, ahead of the rest of the attendee's health at the dance, was how she was going to explain it to Orla. Getting her to understand the consequences of her actions had always been difficult, and although she'd became far more in tune with the world around her following the birth of her daughter, there was still a lot of the old Orla within the young woman. That part of her was often locked away, but a few sips of alcohol appeared to have unlocked it from back within where it was hidden. However, no matter how Erin explained it, what Orla had done by adding an additional ingredient to the punch was no laughing matter. It was about to ruin the nights of anyone who'd consumed even the smallest drop of it.
"I'm confused Erin". Orla admitted.
"Look Orla, do ye know what this is?" Erin questioned once again, holding the bottle back up to her.
"Sure it's the wee bottle in the cupboard at home. I always wondered what was in it, so I did, so I brought it with me tonight to ask ye".
Cursing her cousin for doing so, and then for not asking her what was in the bottle quicker, Erin couldn't help but be annoyed. A totally avoidable situation was created by Orla's lack of common sense when it came to working something out on her own. If she'd just read the bottle's label, then she would have known not to bring it anywhere near the dance hall. This was Orla though; the sensible option didn't rise to the fore very often.
"Orla…". Erin started as calmly as she could as the band kept up their vivacious rhythm. "… those pills… they were Granda's fast actin' laxatives. Their out of date as well… yer gunna have made everyone very poorly!".
"Oh… but they all think the drink is cracker now…".
"Focus Orla!" Erin snapped her fingers. "Ye know what laxatives are don't you?"
Enthusiastic nodding started, which stopped after a couple of seconds to be replaced by the widow's search of her own mind. Once the scan of her head was done, she looked back across to Erin, who'd stood up, to deliver the answer.
"No".
Erin could only clench her fist at it.
"Laxatives… they help people go to the toilet when they can't go. The doctor gave these to Granda a long time ago when he was havin' a bit of trouble". She taught her cousin slowly, speaking as calmly as she could.
"I wouldn't say a few fellas needing to have a wee tinkle is seriously ill, Erin. That's not that bad, is it?"
Rivalling Clare and her sister for the number of sighs that she could produce in a short space of time, it was not going to be easy for Erin that evening. Poor innocent Orla still couldn't grasp the dangerous situation that she'd created by her wish to make the punch taste better, nor did she understand the effects of a laxative on the human body. A car crash of understanding was about to smash into her.
"That's not the end that it makes them go from Orla".
"Oh…oh this is bad, isn't it Erin?" She asked, the reality dawning on her quickly as the penny finally dropped.
"Aye of course it is! Ye put fast actin', out of date laxatives in the punch! We have to stop people from drinkin' it!".
"I don't think we can".
Orla almost cried out when she looked out around the room. At least half of the attendees had a glass of the dark liquid in their hand, some empty and some half empty. There was no discrimination when it came to who got one, the English soldiers, the Irish lads and the girls were all getting a taste of the very dangerous brew. Placing a hand over her mouth in horror, Orla's feet were fully planted to the floor. Realising that she would have to stop people alone when her cousin was frozen to the spot in fear, Erin shifted forward to begin the quest but was just as quickly stopped in her traps too. The first people that tried the punch, including some of the lads Orla had been dancing with and those who'd first flocked to taste the new liquid, all experienced the same side effects at the same time.
A chorus of gurgling stomachs outplayed the band.
"What's goin' on?"
Michelle and Clare returned to the room at that moment, which was suddenly devoid of any music as the band stopped playing. Some of the girls, in an effort to secure a night of pleasure with the band members, happened to have given them sips of the punch too. Their reaction was delayed from the first chorus but was the main provider of sound for the second. The first of the two returning friends was very eager to find out what was interrupting her night of fun.
"Orla put laxatives in the punch Michelle… out of date laxatives!" Erin hissed.
"Ach look there's no queue for the bar, I'm goin' to get myself another drink. Do ye want one Michelle?"
There was no response from the young Mallon for a couple of seconds, before a torrent of laughter flooded out from inside her. Clare gave her a stern look, still tense from their heated words in the corridor outside. Like Erin, she knew what the danger was when she was told what had happened. A laughing matter, it was not. For Michelle though, it was another cracker moment on a memorable night out with the girls.
"Oh my god…". She barely got the words out, almost in tears from the hysterics. "… that's fuckin' brilliant… ahahahah!"
"It's not brilliant Michelle! Orla's about to make this place into a brown tributary of the Foyle!" Erin screeched at her.
"Erin's right, Michelle. Christ, we need to call for help… HELP! HELP!"
Smacking her palm against her face, Erin couldn't comprehend just how useless her friends were in a crisis. They were lucky that they weren't needed to act as soldiers, because the three of them could have easily lost the whole war between them thanks to their antics. With Orla getting herself another drink at the bar, Michelle howling with laughter on a chair in the corner and Clare screaming for help which was hundreds of metres outside down the road, she was forced into dealing with the critical scene unfolding in front of her. How everyone else in the dance hall dealt with it was out of her hands though, and with Englishmen mixing it with Irishmen, a happy ending was never going to happen.
"OI YOU'S!" One of the local lads who hadn't had the punch, shouted to the group of soldiers. "You fuckin' Brits did this didn't ye! Tryin' to poison us before ye invade again!"
"Open yer eyes you silly Paddy bastard!" One man shouted back in a strong Mancunian accent. "Six of our lads are keelin' over down here, we're just as clueless as you are!"
"Ye well my girlfriend's got shit tricklin' down her legs because of you filthy fucking limeys".
"Piss off you bloody idiot!" An English voice roared back.
Erin's prayers to God might as well have been to Satan instead because absolute hell rained down on the room as the two groups came together. Hot blooded temperatures met in the middle of the room, surrounded by a ring of boke and excrement. Michelle and Clare suddenly found themselves pulled into the mix as punches were being thrown and expletives were exchanged. One of the dance organisers made a break for the exit, charging off to the nearest policeman to report what was going on. A small army would be needed to stop the fight that broke out in the dance hall though, not just the cops.
With little else possible for Erin, her combat skills non-existent, the only way that she could help was to remove the offending bowl of punch so that no one else could drink from it. Pouring it away would also be an option, but if the cops were going to investigate then she risked being framed for an act that she hadn't committed. Hoping that everyone else would be distracted by the fight, her hastily drawn up plan involved her dashing through the punches to grab the bowl, heroically moving it out of the way somewhere backstage where it could be retrieved later by the cops. She knew if she caught a punch then it would be game over, especially when there were lads on both sides who were incredibly muscular. But she had to try.
"Come on Erin… ye can do this. James could do this… you can do this".
Finally thinking of her deceased beloved, she channelled his spirit to make her move. It was quick at first, as quick as one could be in the confined space, jumping over Tara Martin who'd been one of the first to take a sip of the punch. Lying in a combined pile of her own boke and excrement, she was as white as a sheet, certainly in need of medical attention. Her husband was somewhere in the crowd fighting the Brits while she whispered his name, hoping that he would come to her aid in her time of complete agony. He wouldn't be anytime soon though, as he was the next obstacle that Erin needed to avoid. Knocked clean out by a massive punch from the Mancunian that was partially responsible for whipping up the trouble, Chris fell to the floor like a lump of lumber, narrowly missing a pile of boke that was sat to his side. It was complete and utter carnage.
At the same time as Erin fought her way through the maddening crowd of fighters, Clare was trying to escape it. A tidal wave effect was created as her and Michelle were sucked into the fight, with the small figure of the blonde suddenly spat out the other side where the Brits originally were. Crouching low to avoid being punched, she did take a powerful knee to the ribs which hurt upon impact. Screaming in horror at being involved in the fight anyway, she did not focus on the pain, only looking for a potential exit route. That exit revealed itself, but as she rushed forward to escape the brawl, Clare's rotten luck when it came to staying on her feet that night, struck again. A terribly positioned pile of boke, courtesy of one of the soldiers who'd drank the punch, appeared too late in her vision. Stepping in it, she was sent flying, crashing into a wooden chair that was placed on the edge of the dance floor. Yelping in pain when her back cracked off the leg, the young Devlin used her remaining energy to roll under a nearby table, staying hidden away from any further entanglements.
Michelle meanwhile, had no qualms about fighting any man who decided to lay a hand on her. It was one from her own side who went first, swinging for a Brit, only to miss wildly and catch her in the jaw. She was not having that, shaking her head to shake off the punch before turning around to lamp the lad whose aim was tragically off that night. He was an ugly lad as well, one that she did not know, but one that knew her fist a lot better that night. Sent stumbling backwards, he was dazed and confused, swinging into the air at absolutely nothing. When she'd finished gawking at the moron who'd punched her, she turned to find herself face to face with one of the soldiers. A Brit he might have been, but her brain forgot that momentarily. With one hand still clutching at the glass she'd been drinking out of, her right hand yanked him down to her mouth, kissing him ferociously. In the middle of the fighting, the two of them engaged in a private battle between tongues until Michelle disengaged from the tonsil joust several seconds later.
"Not bad". She nodded, finishing the rest of her drink.
"Thanks". The young Englishman smirked. "Not bad yourself love".
"Aye but yer English… so ye know".
A frown temporarily became etched across the lad's face, until it was wiped clean by Michelle. Having finished her drink, she had no more use for the glass that it was in, smashing it onto his head before he knew what was happening. Startled by the smash, he swayed on his feet, until he was sent flying by a punch from one of the Irish lads who loitered nearby. She didn't know him, but what she did notice immediately was that he was a massive, massive ride. Unlike Clare, Michelle did not let opportunities like that slip through her fingers. Putting her hand on the lads arm, she flicked her head to where the backstage exit behind the band was located.
"Do ye live nearby". She purred.
"Two streets down". He replied, using a hand to pull her close to him.
"How do ye feel about gettin' out of here before the cops come".
He didn't need to respond with any fancy words. Michelle Mallon was offering herself to him, an offer that would be taken without a second thought. Dragging her by the arm to the rear exit, he laughed and she giggled, the two knowing that they were in for a far better night than the rest of them as they would get away without getting into any trouble at all.
Michelle was on a mission outside of the dance hall, in contrast to Erin, who continued her own mission inside. Ducking and weaving out of the way of punches, kicks and knees, she also had to avoid fallen bodies and boke. Very few made it to the toilets before the fast-acting laxatives took effect. The dance hall absolutely reeked of a combination of boke, excrement, sweat and alcohol. A toxic stench to a now toxic atmosphere, the drink that started the free for all brawl was finally in her sights. Seeing that her path was free from any boke, Erin rushed forward to collect the big bowl from the table that it perched on. Arriving at precisely the right moment, she lifted the bowl seconds before an Irish lad went crashing through that very table, having been launched by a burly Brit who'd just about had enough of the Irishmen he was fighting. Cacking it that she would be next, Erin ran for it despite the bowl's weight slowing her down, reaching the safety of the backstage area. The band were still retching on the floor, though they were fortunate to only receiving the boking side of the laxatives, their underwear still intact.
The punch bowl was rescued, secured for the eventual arrival of the cops. Erin sat down with her back against the wall backstage to wait, trying to calm herself down as the incredible burst of energy that saw her avoid taking any damage from the fighting wore off. Enjoying herself the most of all though, was Orla. The barman ended up getting involved in the fight, leaving her to enjoy whatever drinks that she wanted from the safety of the bar. Sat up on it, she sipped away at whisky, watching the chaos unfold that she'd created in the first place, like a Queen gazing out over her kingdom. It was a completely unintentional chaos but one that she was proud of none the less. She wanted to go out for the evening for some entertainment and that's what she'd got. The fact that she'd made multiple men and women severely ill was completely irrelevant.
A combined force of the Cops and a small unit of British soldiers arrived to break up the mass brawl. Utilising a technique that worked for James in Bermuda, a lone shot was fired, only this time it was into the roof above the entrance to the building. The fighting ceased, replaced by shouting as the commanding officer of the army contingent and the leading copper were far from pleased about the scene they'd walked in on. Nobody was allowed to leave as they weeded their way through the carnage, doctors being summoned to treat those who were left with agonising stomach pains and demoralising brown strains. Repeatedly the partygoers were asked who was responsible but the soldiers blamed the local lads and vice versa. The real culprit remained silent, albeit there was good reason for it.
Hearing the soldiers and cops coming, Orla had leapt off the bar to make a run for it. Shoes covered in boke, Clare did the same, hiding behind the backs of the ongoing brawlers whilst the cops and soldiers charged in to break up the fighting. Erin joined them as they snuck out of the same rear exit that Michelle had made her way out of earlier in the night. Erin and Clare were concerned for their friend as they were leaving, but Orla put their minds at ease by confirming that she'd seen Michelle leave with a fella. Satisfied that they could make a break for it into the dark Derry night, the three of them were walking as fast they feasibly could. Clare's heels were slowing them down, the cousins having opted for flatter shoes for their night out. Although the smaller blonde's shoes had been covered in boke, they came out of the incident otherwise unscathed. Making a bid for home on her own, the usually nervous Clare parted from her friends without another thought, hoping to get home and tucked into bed to let everything blow over.
Erin and Orla had travelled fast on their way back through the darkened streets, but not as fast as gossip had spread. They were not aware of it though, despite noticing a number of people leaving their homes at an unusually late hour as they cut through the streets. Nobody seemed to stop to notice them at least, which was a blessing. Orla was going to be sleeping in Erin's room that night, they'd decided earlier in the day, so that she did not wake Marie when she arrived back from her night out. Chatting away happily after calming down from the eventful night they'd partaken in, peace was shattered when they were greeted with a welcoming committee. Mary, Gerry and Joe were all waiting at the front door of the Quinn house, the first with her arms folded.
"Shite…". Erin whispered into the wind.
"The two of you's are back surprisingly early". Mary addressed them sternly. "I hear there was a wee bit of trouble down at the dance hall… managed to avoid it did ye?"
The accusatory tone in her voice told the girls that they'd been rumbled, because they were the only young people at the dance who'd returned, the rest being either hospitalised or held for questioning. Orla knew well enough not to resist the punishment that would be delivered, but Erin's foolhardy streak still remained despite everything she'd been through. Harking back to a version of herself that belonged in her teenage years, the soon to be twenty one year old decided to act with nonchalance.
"There was no trouble while we were there Mammy. We just left early because it got a little borin'".
Accepting the answer with a dip of the head, Mary moved to one side, to allow Joe to take over. Confident after her triumph over her mother, Erin grinned with happiness that she was finally able to lie successfully to her without her suspecting anything more.
Joe destroyed that illusion seconds later.
"Orla love, have ye seen that old bottle of pills from the cupboard in the bathroom?"
"Ach Granda, Erin's got them, so she has. I gave her them when she was havin' a go about me putting the pills in the punch bowl".
Her eyes clamped shut, Erin was ready to kill Orla on the front pathway. The moment Joe asked the question, there was nothing that she could do to stop him from garnering the truth from Orla. Reaching into her own purse, Erin pulled out the offending item and threw it to Joe, all the while under Mary's watchful gaze. Her daughter might have been in her twenties, but she still could not win in a battle of wits.
"Ye best get inside girls.". She spoke softly but firmly. "Gerry, fetch me the wooden spoon".
"Are ye sure love? It's a wee bit late for that, don't ye think?" He questioned, trying to intervene on their behalf.
"You heard her, ye lazy free state fecker! Go get that spoon or I'll get it and give you their punishment instead… ye prick!"
Doing as he was told to avoid the spoon himself, Gerry retreated into the kitchen as Erin and Orla stepped inside behind Mary and Joe. Still finding foolish energy inside her, Erin once again decided that keeping her mouth shut was not enough. She still had so much to learn… so much…
"We're too old for the spoon Mammy!".
"Erin… yer never too old for the spoon".
The Italian night was still warm, though it was not young. Darkness fell on mansion of Professor Molinari, one of the finest houses in Taranto. He was not used to going out so late at night, but it was a special journey that evening. The night was the only time of the day where it was possible, to avoid the prying eyes of any soldiers or officials who would turn up to the mansion from time to time. Those with less keen medical eyes would cast judgement on the man next to the Professor, believing him to be in full health already, ready for them to assess more thoroughly with their own methods. To the Italian, James was not ready for what they might have in store for him, his legs still requiring some work in order for him to retain his mobility fully.
James was ready for one of the only things that he'd dared to ask the Professor though, a request which was granted without hesitation. Walking slowly through the dark grounds with only a lantern for company, he'd already assured the Professor that he would not try any tricks to escape from his captor. He knew himself that his body was not ready for such exertion, despite his wish to return to Derry to be with the woman that he loved. His love for Erin remained as strong as ever, acting as his determination to one day break free from the captivity he was experiencing. For that, he needed his fellow countrymen to find more success. Their end of the bargain was proving a lot more difficult to fulfil than his was, with no direct attacks on France yet to come to fruition.
Stopping where the Professor knew that the Englishman wanted to stop, they exchanged a look which told of another request from the pilot. Wordlessly permission was received from the Professor. Kneeling down, using the Italian for balance as he did, James found himself in the one area of the grounds he'd wanted to be in ever since finding out about it. Other graves of Italian men were dotted around, but it was only David's that he was interested in.
"Hello my old friend…". James whispered into the night. "… I am so sorry".
Forced to tears within seconds, the agony of losing the best friend he'd ever had in life shook James viciously. His emotions were not always mastered by him throughout various moments of his life, but never had he broken so quickly when his hands felt the now flat ground where David's body lay. There were graves for both of them back in Derry, not that either knew it, but the true resting place of David Donnelly was on Italian soil. The man who'd captured Orla's heart had been treated properly as the Professor promised, buried without prejudice to be honoured like the heroic Irishman that he was. The guilt that he'd taken the burden of the moment David died in his arms, washed over James once again.
"I wish you could be with me still… that we could be out there making names for ourselves. I… I have not forgotten about my promise to you. I will return home to Derry a-an…. and stand guard over Marie and Orla for as long as I draw breath".
Glancing up at the Professor, the Italian indicated that time was up. James was aware that they could not stay for long, unwanted questions arising if he were to be seen. It was enough for him though. He'd seen the grave of his best friend, in the condition that his captor promised him. David was in a better place, no doubt being the most popular man in heaven, James thought to himself. His own view of the afterlife may not have correlated but regardless of which life his old friend lived in, he would be a brilliant friend to anyone lucky enough to garner his acquaintance.
Standing again with the Professor's help, James breathed in the air while he could during his rare dose of freedom. There was no telling when he would have the opportunity to do so again, at least not until his body was ready to drag him to whatever demand was required in order to escape Italy. It would be a very long walk to Spain when he escaped, but it was a journey that he would have to make in order to keep his promise to David, along with his promise to return home to Erin. A high level of patience was required to hold on whilst solitary days ticked away in the basement of the Professor's mansion. The walk back to the room was a short one, whereas the walk to freedom was far longer.
"You should not lie to your friend". The professor finally spoke up once they were back inside. "You are not going 'ome, James. I think you know that".
"It's the hope that kills you, Professor".
Replying softly, with a hint of sadness, James could not find any anger with the man that helped him. The Professor was correct in what he was saying, that in lying to David he was morally wrong, creating a story of ambition where reality spoke louder. He was a prisoner of war, miles away from any territory that could be considered to be in friendly hands. Taranto, the sight of his greatest triumph, was the backdrop for his demise, a fade into obscurity after a time where he was one of the most important men in Europe, who could change the fate of the war in some ways that only men like Menzies knew.
Hope might have been what James thought would kill him, but other forces in play in Europe would give hope a run for its money.
The hazardous horizon in front of him hid dangers that the eye could not see, dangerous secrets to be told and lives to be broken. Glories of the past would count for nothing, not when he was where he was, being who he was.
He'd entered a different kind of war.