Chapter 48: Untangled Netting
Time passed differently when lying bed, trapped in a solitary room with little more than one's own thoughts for company. No matter what the strength of the mind or character of the person that lay on the bed was, the elements around them were not the same as they were on a normal day where they could raise from the bed. For James in his early days of recovery, there was little to do other than stare at the ceiling while drifting in and out of consciousness. Fevers and infections were unpleasantries that were often dealt with at the same time, which made any extended stay of bedrest even more challenging. It could send a weak-willed man or woman completely mad.
It was no different for Sarah McCool. Her memories of the day of her accident were hazy, darkened by the tremendous pain she was in at the time. It was not until she was brought back to the hospital itself that they were able to give her the pain relief that she so desperately needed when carrying a broken leg. The surgeons were not required to tend to her further at least, as despite the agony she was in, the break was not a complicated one. The doctor that was assigned to her was experienced, tending to her properly in the first few hours after she was brought in. Nurses worked around her too, helping to stich up the wound she'd received when smashing headfirst into Derry's tarmac. Before long it was nightfall, not that she was aware of it, sleeping through until the following morning when her haziness began to clear.
Ever since she'd found herself to be incredibly bored. The Doctor would not release her for a week, which was unfair in her eyes once her head stopped hurting. He wanted to be satisfied that her leg was going to begin to heal properly, deeming that a period of observation in hospital was better for her. Unfortunately, that meant that she was left to sit around in the room that she was in, listening to the cries of those far worse off than her. The man in the bed to the right of her died later on the second day when his heart gave out, which she found revolting when they didn't remove his body for a full hour. She wanted to be back at home in the comfort of her own bed, but that was still days away.
Visitors were allowed though, and the concern of her family made visits a regular occurrence for Sarah. With her out of action, the factory could not be so lenient with letting those in her section have time off, which meant that Mary could only visit her sister outside of work hours. Orla was in a similar position too, leaving them to attend in the evening once they'd settled the children down. Gerry was more than happy to put Anna to bed and look after Marie while they did so that Joe could go with them, walking to the hospital in the near dark of the night. Some would have been terrified to be out walking at the time with the potential for a bombing raid, but with Sarah alone in hospital they were more concerned about her wellbeing than their own.
When they arrived that evening, she was gleaming with happiness to finally have a distraction that she could enjoy. She heard them coming when they turned up, mostly her father who was moaning about one thing or another. Joe was not such a fan of hospitals, avoiding them where he could, making an exception only because he knew how much it meant to his daughter. The nurse showed them to Sarah's room, not that they needed to be shown having already visited her the past two evenings.
"Mammy!"
On each night Orla always called out excitedly when she saw her mother. She might have been in her twenties with a child of her own, but Orla remained the excitable young woman who was always happy to see her mother well. She'd been so worried for her Mammy on the day of the accident, spending the evening crying at home after Marie was put to bed. Joe hated that she had to be upset, but there was little that he could say to make it better. With the support of her friends though, Orla was able to cope immediately the day after when it was made clear to her that Sarah would not face any long term problems from the injury. It would take plenty of time to heal still, without anymore complexities though, which Orla was thankful for.
"Hello love". Sarah replied, accepting the hug her daughter gave her. "Yer lookin' well".
Wrapped up warmly in a lovely jacket that was handed to her as a wedding gift, Orla did indeed look at her best. Her hair was tied up at the back, neatly done to make her beauty stand out even more than it usually did. Blushing slightly at a compliment that she did not receive very often, she was smiling majestically at her mother in the proceeding seconds.
"Ach thanks Mammy!"
Orla pulled away from her mother, Sarah looking over her daughter's shoulder to find Mary and Joe smiling towards her too. Delighted by the support that she was receiving from her close family, Sarah could ask for nothing else from them when they turned up to see her every night. Their schedules would have been thrown into disarray from having to take the time out to see her, she knew, finding herself experiencing feelings of sincere gratitude that she hadn't felt for a long time. Their support was not unknown to her though, having received it throughout her pregnancy with Orla, at a time where the family was dealing with grief too. Like any good family though, they were always there for each other.
"Evening love…". Joe addressed her next. "… how are ye?"
Asking the most simple of questions, Sarah struggled for a moment to provide her father with an answer. She was no better or worse than she had been the day before, only more bored. The pain in her leg was not too bad although that was because of the nurses administering pain relief at various points of the day. She could feel some pain still, but it was not too bad at all. Her head pain was non existent, leaving only the stitching as a reminder that she'd lost a fight with the Derry tarmac.
"I'm alright Da. A wee bit bored, so I am". She admitted.
"Aye well that's the problem with feckin' hospitals! No entertainment!" He moaned.
"Da!"
Mary was fed up with having to listen to Joe's complaints about hospitals, having heard them all the way there. She knew where the dislike stemmed from and was smart enough not to tackle him about it, not that it made it any easier to bear. She was certain that some of the nurses must have heard his complaints when he walked in with her, praying to the Lord that they were not too offended by his mouth. To Joe's side, Orla remained oblivious to his complaints, focusing on her mother instead. She picked up Sarah's right hand, squeezing it with a grin.
"I've missed ye at home Mammy".
"I know love…". Sarah sighed. "… I want to be at home so I do but they won't let me".
Her frustrations were let out once again, this time in the presence of the rest of the family. The doctors were treating her far too kindly for her liking, mollycoddling her when she wanted to return home. She could have been in bed at home resting up her leg, when she could at least do her nails or sort through the washing. The whites and the colours could not be separated from her hospital bed a couple of miles away.
"That's another problem!" Joe started to moan again. "These doctors are keeping her like a prisoner in here Mary! In her own city! Disgraceful, so it is!"
"It's for her own good Da…". Mary reminded him. "… do ye want them to release her too early before she's ready".
"She is ready! I can look after her at home, so I can!"
"Not when ye keep visitin' Pump Street Da!"
Mary and Joe suddenly found themselves arguing, the former mentioning a sore subject between them all. Joe's demeanour changed the second the name of the street left her mouth, huffing under his breath as his visits to the street were once again brought into question. There was nothing that he had to say about what he was doing that morning, unwilling to give them the answer that they wanted. He was fed up of the questions about what he was doing, especially when he knew that the only reason his daughter ended up in the accident was from their curiosity about his private life. Neither of his daughter's appeared to understand the word privacy though, a constant battle for him to retain it.
The subject needed to be changed, with Joe finding it upon his shoulders to do so as his daughters looked at him for answers on Pump Street and Orla did not add anything more. There was always someone that he could rely on as a topic changer, even if it was another line of conversation where Mary would find herself having to tell him off.
"Are ye sure we should all come again love…". He started. "… I'm not sure that useless husband of yer's can be trusted to watch the girls for another evening".
"Leave Gerry alone Da! He's doin' a lot for us this week".
"Aye makes a change. He's usually a lazy fecker".
Grumbling at her father's repeated jabs towards her husband, nothing much changed for Mary. For more than twenty years Gerry had been slighted at almost every turn by Joe, who would never see him as good enough. Having sneaked her way around him when it came to marrying Gerry, at a time where Joe still grieved for his deceased wife, their union was never truly approved by the man that she was now stood with. Gerry always did his best for his family though, not once failing to step up to the mark when it was asked of him. He was constantly faced with little support himself but did not complain where he could have done. Manifesting the spirit that now gripped the rest of Britain, he just got on with the task at hand every time.
"Ye know Da, Gerry could have said no". She reasoned.
"I was expectin' that he would! But by Christ love, could ye not have married someone more useful? He doesn't know what he's doin' lookin' after our Marie!"
Orla's head shot up at the mention of her daughter, eyes flickering between Mary and Joe as they continued to argue. Any mention of her precious little one would always pique her interest, worrying for her at all times of the day no matter how innocent the conversation was. She loved her far too much to miss anything about her.
"We have two children Da!" Mary found herself having to remind him again. "Erin and Anna have turned out well after Gerry's looked after them!"
"I did more lookin' after Anna than he did!" Joe pointed out angrily.
"And we'll always be grateful Da, but Gerry did his bit too. Can ye not be kind to him for once in yer life when he's tryin' to help?!"
"I'll be nice to him when he stops being Southern… and a prick".
"He'll always be Southern, Granda". Orla noted to him.
"Exactly! And he'll always be a prick too!"
Mary could gain no more by continuing to argue with her father, although her heart demanded that she did in the defence of her husband. Finding more ways to criticise him when all he did was help, she was disgusted by Joe's attitude. She could deal with the petty arguments at home when Joe would become riled up for the sake of it but doing so when her husband was doing something for him crossed the line. The loving wife couldn't let him get away with the horrible comments completely, her heart beginning to rule over her head. Luckily, Sarah read the situation well from her position on the bed, turning to the side to take over the room by talking to Orla.
"How was yer day at work, love? Are the girls well?"
Moving away from monitoring her Aunt and Granda, Orla's smile was flashed back to her mother. The factory was still quiet as a whole, with the lack of demand remaining throughout the week with the lack of major battles on the continent that Britain were involved in.
"They are, so they are Mammy. There wasn't much to do today again, so Michelle spent most of it tellin' us stories, so she did".
"Anythin' interestin?" Sarah fished for gossip.
"Aye there is Mammy. Ye know Kathleen with the red hair?"
"Oh aye".
"Well Michelle was telling us about what she'd heard she was up to. Shockin', so it is".
Already aware of the fictious, in her opinion, story that Michelle Mallon was peddling, Mary settled in to hear it again. Most stories from Michelle would have to be taken with a pinch of salt, despite the fact that she'd been proven to be correct multiple times in the past. She'd told them all about Norah and Eddie's affair months before anyone knew for certain. However, whilst there could be some logic to why that affair had occurred, Mary could find absolutely none in Michelle's latest story. Rolling his eyes, Joe did not want to have to listen to the story either, knowing that the dark-haired girl's mouth could not be trusted to tell the truth. He turned on his heel and walked out without saying a word, though Sarah could appreciate why he did not want to stay. He was not a gossiping man.
"Go on then, love". Sarah encouraged Orla to tell her.
"Right, so she's a married woman, ye remember Mammy?"
Sarah might have hit her head, but she hadn't lost all of her knowledge. She'd been in the third row at Kathleen's wedding years earlier, jealously watching on as another woman other than her found happiness. Nodding, she was too pained to speak when she remembered how angry she'd been that day.
"Well Michelle was sayin' that one of the girls from one of the other factories, I can't remember her name, was tellin' her about what Kathleen was up to on Fountain Street".
"Fountain Street!?" Sarah's pitched raised. "She doesn't live up Fountain Street!".
"I know Mammy, that's what I thought. But there was this party, so there was. I thought Michelle would be ragin' that she wasn't invited but she said it was a private party".
Sarah was worldly wise enough, despite often acting as if she wasn't, to know what the private party signalled. She'd never been to one of those parties in her life and she wasn't about to start to either. Organised in secret in order for them not to be stopped from what they were getting up to, as well as taking care to keep it well away from the eyes of the church, an invite was a ticket to an evening of debauchery. No one would ever admit to attending one of the parties for the fear of being castigated by the rest of the community, not that it stopped what happened at them for leaking out secretly into the minds of those who wished to listen. Michelle would always listen intently.
"Well Kathleen was ridin' three fellas at once, so she was".
"Orla!" Mary reprimanded her for telling such a lewd story.
"Sorry Aunt Mary, but that's what Michelle said, so she did. I'm just repeatin' it".
Shaking her head, Mary allowed her niece to continue without telling her off any further. A lewd story from the mouth of Michelle Mallon was as predictable as a German bombing raid on London. Both were difficult to stop, and both were often missing key details in the iterations that were given to the general public.
"That is shockin', so it is". Sarah commented whilst thinking. "What did the girls think?"
"Well, Clare was not happy at all. She was rippin' at Michelle for spreading rumours like that because Kathleen was around today, so she was, and Clare was terrified of bein' caught talkin' about her. I didn't mind so much but our wee Clare did not enjoy it at all".
"She's right ye know". Mary added. "You's shouldn't be trustin' what Michelle says and talkin' about it. That girl's mouth can be dangerous".
"And how about Erin?"
Mary and Orla both turned to each other at the same time, sharing similar looks. As the Autumn began, so did the return of the moody Erin that had annoyed everyone for two years straight. The anniversary of James and David's deaths loomed on the horizon as well, which did not help her, but the foul snipes that she would often bring out at the time of year were present again. Mary had been counting down the days since the start of the month, waiting for the morning where Erin would wake up a changed woman. The Erin that went to bed before that night would not be seen again until the New Year at least, and when the day did come, it was immediately clear that the foul moods would only get worse. Some days her word count numbered less than ten it was that poor. Only Anna appeared to have any luck in getting through to her, although her successes were far from consistent.
"It's best not to tell Erin anything Mammy…". Orla commented with a deep sigh. "… she's all moody again and doesn't want to be nice to anyone".
"She needs to stop all that". Sarah fairly shared her opinion.
"I want her to Mammy!"
"We all do love, we all do".
Avoiding being drawn into a comment, Mary opted instead to listen to the conversation with only half interest. She was more tolerant of her daughter's moods along with Gerry, even if their patience was being tested yet again like it had been the previous year. The lack of appreciation for anything that they did for her was the most galling of all, Erin failing to say thank you on a regular basis. Joe angrily rounded on her one morning when she didn't and with Erin happy to fight back with all the anger she could muster, it required Gerry's intervention to stop it getting out of hand. Sacrificing his own peace, he made himself the target of Joe's anger in place of his daughter. Not that he wasn't the target at all times anyway…
For another ten minutes they talked away about work and what was going on in the world. Sarah wasn't one to read the newspaper, relying on her family for news of what was going on when there was no radio in the room that she was in. She would sometimes hear the feint crackling from out in the corridor where the nurses would listen to it, but she could never pick up on what was being said. Although she understood little about warfare, she was always intrigued to hear if the Germans were going to invade. Mostly for the warning, in case it meant rearranging her hair appointment. In the case that they did, she'd been having words with the little Hitler fella for ruining her carefully planned schedule again.
The nurse returned to the room to inform the family that their time was up. Another visit too short for Sarah's liking, she was saddened by their departure. Receiving a kiss goodbye from all of them, including one from her Da which was very rare indeed, it comforted her to know how loved she truly was. Waving them off, watching their figures disappear beyond the far door, she was prepared to settle down for the night. She'd probably be awake for another hour at least, looking around the room to the other patients who were sleeping opposite her. A lot of them were more seriously ill than she was and were already asleep, Sarah noticing their snoring once her family were no longer there to distract her.
Derry could often throw up unexpected events though. Whether it be in the schools, the streets or the Hospitals, the city always had something bubbling under the surface. The variety of different scenarios that could play out ranged from incredible to unwanted, from the poor residents to the rich ones. Sarah was about to experience one of those.
It began less than two minutes after her family left her side. The nurse who'd escorted them out was suddenly back in the room again. Assuming that she was escorting someone else in to see one of the other patients, Sarah took no notice of her at first. Looking at her bandaged leg, held up in the air on a sling to keep the most comfortable position, she did not expect the nurse to head towards her. Whoever she was with was waiting in the doorway, Sarah just able to make out a hand from behind where the nurse was walking.
"Ye have another visitor if yer up for it". The nurse got straight to the point.
"Aye". She dipped her head, smiling.
Beckoning the visitor over with a flick of her wrist, the nurse crossed paths with them as she exited the room to leave them to it. The visitor in question was a mystery to Sarah; a man that she'd never seen before in her entire life. Wondering for a second if there'd been a mistake, her eyes clocked his arm, which was in a sling. He must have been another patient in the hospital from what she deduced with the sling, but the smile on his face indicated that he was not in much pain from it or that he was hiding it extremely well. Her brows were furrowed at his appearance at her bedside, though her suspicious mind made her interested to find out who he was.
"Hello there". He greeted her. "How's the leg?"
For a moment, she did not respond, her head still searching for a clue as to who he might be. His arm being in the sling did not give it away for her nor did his face at first, but she still tried to search her mind for who he could be. He certainly wasn't one of the managers at the factory nor was he anyone that she recognised from church. Shaking off her search, she responded to him with a fair amount of suspicion evident in her voice.
"Hurts a wee bit".
"Right…". He nodded for a couple of seconds. "… ye don't know who I am, do ye?"
His question was not one asked with venom or annoyance, toned more on the side of sympathetic than anything else. She was embarrassed to admit that she did not, but there was nothing else for Sarah to say. If he was someone that she should have known, he mustn't have been very memorable in her life at all.
"Sorry… should I?"
Laughing softly the man shook his head.
"No. I don't think ye saw me when we met".
The lightbulb went on for Sarah when he made his comment, suddenly realising exactly who he was. The poor fella that she'd walked out in front of, creating the incident that saw her leg and his collarbone broken. Her face heated up with further embarrassment, ashamed that she'd injured him as well as herself by failing to look where she was going. They hadn't seen much of each other after the incident, the man making his own way to hospital rather than travelling in the ambulance with her. He knew that she was far more hurt than he was, and he was not selfish enough to take up a spot that she needed more.
"I'm sorry, so I am". She whispered.
"Don't be". He smiled. "Accidents happen, so they do".
His soft words calmed Sarah from her suddenly tense state, which allowed her to take a better look at him. He was a tall man, easily over six foot in height. His hair was short, receding if anything, but was kept very well from what she could see. Bright blue eyes accompanied his light hazel coloured hair, a full beard and moustache that were showing signs of aging, grey wisps present. A man with a weathered but handsome face, she found herself more than comfortable with his presence. She could tell too that he was fairly muscular, having broad shoulders that screamed of strength and warmth. Grinning to herself, she shifted slightly on her bed, patting a spot to her left where she offered him a seat. For a couple of seconds he hesitated, but Sarah was insistent, patting the spot for a second time.
"I'm not goin' to hurt ye again". She chuckled.
Unable to hold his amusement any longer, he laughed at her comment, moving forward to take the spot as she'd requested him to. It allowed her to spy on him a little more, finding his muscles amplified when he sat down, shirt hugging his chest. With a handsome, muscular man sat on the side of her bed, Sarah couldn't say that she was bored any longer. His landing on the spot was a little awkward, with one arm out of action, but he was in place smiling at her after a moment.
"I'm Shane… Shane Devaux". He told her, holding his good hand out for her to shake.
"Sarah… Sarah McCool". She replied with her own. "That's a strange last name, so it is, if ye don't mind me sayin' so".
"Everyone always says it when I tell them for the first time". He responded, holding his hand up to tell her he was not offended. "My da was a French sailor who ended up livin' in Belfast where he met my Ma".
"Ach right I get ye… I like it, it sounds like one of those fancy perfume brands, so it does".
Busting out into cacophonous laughter, he found the injured woman to be very amusing. Sarah's spirits were lifted by his presence, which brought a return of her innocently hilarious comments that would always make the family smile. Shane certainly would agree with them, grinning from ear to ear from hearing what she'd said. He'd received plenty of comments about his name in the past, but none before had compared him to a luxurious perfume. Then again, he'd never met a woman quite like Sarah before.
"Well I do hope I smell alright". He joked.
"Not bad". She snorted. "How's the arm?"
"My collarbone's broken but other than that I'm alright". He explained to her. "My bike's done for though which is a shame. It is what it is, there'll be another bike I can use out there".
Mortified that she'd broken his bicycle with her own carelessness, Sarah stayed silent for a moment while her conscience mellowed. The nice man who'd come to see how she was, now was without his bike thanks to her. After having thought of him as a handsome man she would like to get to know, she suddenly found herself confronted with the thought that he might not want to know her after breaking his bike. Noticing her silence, Shane quickly ensured that the hush would not remain, making sure that Sarah knew that he was not upset with her.
"I'm not bothered about the bike. You were my concern".
Years.
It was years since a man other than a family member cared for her. A heart which had experienced so much pain and suffering beat faster than it had in all that time, Sarah glad that she was in Hospital of all places when it did. Should it go into complete arrest from surprise, she was in the right place. The simmering heat developing in her cheeks could not be hidden from the man paying her the compliment, as she hoped desperately that he wouldn't notice. The forty year old woman was being made to feel as if she was fourteen again and Shane was a young lad who she dreamt about at night during her years of adolescence. He was not that man, but a man of similar age and endearing beauty to her, shone out like a bright light in her eyes.
"Th-Thank ye, Shane". She replied, full of nervous excitement. "No one… well… no… I don't get people sayin' that very often is all".
"Well ye should". He replied, again with a wide smile. "If ye don't mind me sayin', a beautiful woman like yerself should be complimented often".
If her leg wasn't broken, she would have jumped on him there and then. The last man to call her beautiful… it was too long ago for her to remember, discounting James as his ties to Erin eliminated him. Becoming shy like never before, Sarah didn't know what else to say to what he'd said other than to thank him again. The thoughts running through her head at what he'd said were setting it alight, facial expressions changing every couple of seconds. The feelings that he was stirring inside her were long since forgotten when it came to men. What she'd told Anna that she wanted the most in the world, a man who would care for her again, compliment her and understand her, was thrust into the immediate horizon but frozen in fear of how to conduct herself at forty, she didn't know what to do.
"I'm sorry". He rushed into an apology when she did not reply. "I shouldn't have said that… christ ye must have a husband who cares a lot for y…".
"I'm not married!" She almost roared, stopping him in his tracks.
Sarah couldn't be sure of it when her heart was racing the way it was and her mind was so far taken, but she could have sworn she'd seen a little smile tugging at the corner of Shane's lips. Whilst she'd given away her marital status quickly, she was sure he would have a wife at home who cared for him. A man who looked so well couldn't have been alone, a disappointing thought joining the others in her mind, as he wouldn't keep the shape he was in just for himself. Even when she had a track record of asking very personal questions at inopportune moments, experience of prior love told her not to ask. She didn't have to though. Catching a glimpse at his hands, she found no trace of a ring to symbolise a union.
"Neither am I, as ye can see…". He spoke up out of the blue, having spotted where her eyes diverted to. "… not any more anyway".
"Oh…".
"I was for fifteen years…". Shane explained, his voice laced with previously unheard emotion. "… we were sweet on each other at school, ye see. We never had children or anything, but Arlene and I were very happy until… until the bombings at Easter. The Germans took her away from me".
Shane wasn't crying by the end of his speech but the way his eyes glinted indicated that there were tears ready to be released should he fail to hold his emotions in check. Hold them he did though, lifting his head up high as memories of his wife flooded his mind. In a way, the woman he was sat next to reminded him of his dearly departed beloved. They both carried slender figures with happy smiles that could make a man's heart turn gooey like caramel. A man with few outlets to speak freely to about his deceased wife, the woman he'd accidentally injured was a new confidant that he hadn't expected, yet somehow she'd coaxed the story from him.
"I… I am so sorry". She apologised, not for the first time that evening.
"Thank ye". He graciously offered her another wide smile before opting to change the conversation. "Are ye native then?"
"Aye, I am. Lived here all my life so I have".
"I've just moved. Since Arlene's death I've found it hard to be in Belfast ye know and when I had the chance to transfer here, I took it".
"What do ye do then?"
"I'm a firefighter. So I suppose moving here is me moving off the frontlines a bit".
A firefighter… it explained the muscular body. Shane couldn't have painted himself any more heroic if he tried, she thought to herself, as her interest in him continued to grow. A handsome firefighter whose job was to save lives was almost a fairytale from one of Erin's books, or worse, Erin's stories. Except this firefighter was different. A compassionate man still grieving over the loss of a woman that he loved made him a kindred spirit to her. Both were longing to be loved again, to give their hearts which still had so much love in them, to someone else. This was not the heroic knight of Erin's stories, who'd come to whisk her away to a dreamland of joy and adventure. It was a man rebuilding from the greatest of losses, opening himself to a new theatre with a blank script on which to act from.
She'd only known him a few minutes, but Sarah liked him a lot already.
"If the house ever catches fire, I know I'm in safe hands…". She giggled, flirting openly with new confidence found somewhere within.
"When I get the sling off…". Shane reminded her gently. "… but aye, ye can count on me if ye have a wee cooking mishap".
"Are ye sayin I will?" Sarah replied, pretending to be outraged.
"Well until I've seen yer cookin' and tried it, I'm not sayin' anythin'".
The two forty years olds both knew what they were doing, subtly trying to impress the other. She didn't know if his intentions were exactly the same as hers, or whether he was being kind simply because he'd hurt her, but the mood of the room was far from what it was minutes earlier. When the handsome, husky firefighter was sat on her bed making comments like the ones he was making, Sarah felt she had every right to take advantage. Finally, it was her time to seek the happiness that she saw so many others experiencing, yet always seemed to miss out on herself.
"I suppose when I'm better, I could come and cook for ye… and then ye can see what I can do". Sarah suggested. "If ye'd risk me burning yer kitchen down".
"Like I said Sarah, I'm a firefighter… I know what to do".
If she hadn't dreamt it, which if she was honest she might have done because she could not believe what was happening, Sarah was convinced he'd shifted closer to her. She was correct despite believing it could all be a dream, the widowed man had moved up right alongside her in the time that they were talking, subconsciously doing it without any pre-meditated plan to.
"Well where are ye livin'. When my leg's better I'll come round and show ye".
She who dares.
"Ferguson Street, number twenty five".
Wins.
"Then I'll be round, so I will".
"I look forward to it".
The two of them chuckled at the scenario that neither set out to create at the start of their conversation, but equally did not try to stop nearer to the end of it. Shane stayed with her for another twenty minutes as they swapped stories about family and times gone by, speaking to each other as if they'd known each other for years. The warmth of an old feeling flowed around Sarah like it had done with few men in the past, those lucky few who were in the category being long forgotten by her. That feeling had a name, a name which she never thought she'd utter again when talking about herself and another fella. It was what she'd seen between her own daughter and David before he'd lost his life… between Erin and James before the Englishman was killed.
It was love.
Love.
A couple of weeks later…
A school Friday morning could be very tiring for some.
The end of the week beckoned come the first few hours of the day, and the hopes and excitement of the children ahead of the weekend were amplified. It was the time of the week that dragged on the most for those who did not find themselves lost in their education, wishing it would be over quicker when it trundled along so slowly. The teachers too could find it a frustrating time, hoping as much as the children that the week would be over, mostly so that they would not have to deal with the children for a couple of days. Sister Michael was one who loved a Friday afternoon but detested a Friday morning, although the mornings had improved since Jenny Joyce left school. Those mornings where she would sing to such a poor extent that it threatened the structural integrity of the windows were amongst the worst Friday mornings the establishment had ever faced.
Anna Quinn was not one of those who felt it dragged at all. Loving every minute of her school life thanks to her incredible brain, she relished whatever academic challenges were thrown at her throughout the week. Her performance was never affected by her wish to go home for the weekend, not that she particularly did not want to return home either. Being the one of a kind girl that she was, she was happy wherever she found herself, even if life at home was more difficult again. Erin's moods were causing a lot of aggravation in the Quinn house. She might not have been on the receiving end of the comments the majority of the time, however, she felt helpless when everything she tried in order to help Erin appeared to fail. There were occasional flashes of smiles when she tried to make her big sister happy, but it did not always work. For every step forward with Erin, there was another two or three steps backwards or a complete stumble. Her Granda had whispered to her to stop trying, but Anna was determined to overcome the challenge, even if it took her years to do.
An oddity arose that morning in the first lesson of the day, which happened to be History. Their teacher, Mrs Mooney, hadn't turned up. When they arrived at her classroom door, they found it wide open, moving through to take up their seats while they waited for her. Anna sat at the back in History, at a desk right in the corner away from everyone else. Mary raised concerns when she'd first told her, worried that she was being set apart because of her academic ability, but Anna insisted that she preferred it that way. She did not feel any less part of the class by being sat out on her, glad of the space that was afforded her in being so. The one thing that she did have in common with the rest of the class was the need to have a teacher take the lesson, and ten minutes into the schedule hour, Mrs Mooney still was yet to show.
"Maybe we should all go home". One of the boys at the front suggested in a snigger.
"No!" The girl to the right of him cried. "My Mammy would kill me if I ran away".
"Mine too!" Another piped up.
In the corner at the back, Anna wasn't listening to them. There was a newspaper covering her face, her nose buried into the Derry Journal's latest offerings.
The progress of the war still intrigued her, the Eastern front again being the main interest. The Red Army still fought with all it had, but the Nazi war machine was proving to be a step too far for soldiers that were considered amongst the best. On the ground, the German forces were led spectacularly, with clear orders making sure that they achieved all of the objectives that they needed to. Invading Russia, especially with the onset of Winter so close, was an incredibly risky pursuit but one which Nazi Germany appeared to be confident in. From what she knew about the conflict and the history of the world, trying to invade Russia in the winter time was a mistake. It had been made before by Napoleon, the French great not the poor wee dog, coming to symbolise the moment that his hold of Europe slipped. Hitler appeared to be sleepwalking into the same trap, though unlike Napoleon, he stayed well away from the fighting.
Nattering away between themselves, the children didn't look to be receiving any education whatsoever that morning. Until they heard footsteps coming down the corridor, footsteps that sounded thunderous. There was only one person in the school who the footsteps could belong to, the only teacher with the authority to pull them off.
Sister Michael.
Silence was observed around the room before she even reached it, Anna placing the newspaper down on the chair next to her. If Sister Michael walked in to find her nose behind it then she would have gotten herself into a lot of trouble unnecessarily.
Expecting to have to tell the children to be quiet the moment that she walked in, Sister Michael found the classroom to be without any murmurs at all. Children who would normally talk over their teachers at the worst, never spoke a word when her figure loomed up in the doorway. Nearly every student in the school either were, or had at some point, been completely terrified of her. Dressed as a nun at all times, she was the black clothed figure that haunted the dreams of those who were enrolled at the school. To be on her bad side was never a wise move, the only people ever to survive being on her bad side to move out of it were four very lucky girls indeed. Erin, Michelle, Orla and Clare were legends in that regard.
"Hmm… weird". The Sister muttered to herself.
Casting her eye over the room, she spotted Anna in the corner. The younger Quinn sister was more of a terror than she was, at least the Sister believed so. Still completely in fear of just what she was, the younger "Erin with brains", was the last student she hoped was in that class that morning. History was not a subject which the Sister enjoyed speaking of, let alone teaching and when Anna was in the room, intellectual debate was always a possibility. The blonde five-year-old happened to enjoy History as a subject, following a trait of her older sister, albeit being far better at it than she was. Erin's interest was always there, but the ability to tell the truthful history and not the history that she wanted to believe, was always a problem.
"BE QUIET!"
Resisting the temptation to tell the Sister that they were all quiet anyway, Anna bit her lip and glanced out of the window. It was very much in the Sister's nature to make such an unnecessary comment, one that still instilled fear into everyone in the classroom except from her. When she'd first started at school, she was afraid of Sister Michael too, not helped by Erin's descriptions of what she'd experienced while at the school. The fear lasted for all of about an hour until she realised that her academic ability could be channelled into having conversations like an adult would with the head mistress. As soon as she tried to engage the Sister in a debate about politics, the fear dissipated within her conscience.
"Good…". She huffed. "… now, Mrs Mooney won't be taking yer lesson today".
"Why not?" One girl asked, without putting her hand up.
"Miss McConnell, have we not taught you manners at this school?" Sister Michael quickly rounded on her. "Get that hand up!".
Shooting her hand straight up after receiving the glare of the Sister, the young girl was on the edge of tears in front of the whole class, such was the fear that gripped her. It pleased the head mistress to elicit such fear from the students, showcasing to her that she ruled the roost as strongly as she'd ever done at the school.
"Yes Miss McConnell". She addressed the student.
"W… wh- why…".
"Speak up now!"
"Oh… oh… erm… why… why is Mrs Mooney not in?" The girl shakingly delivered her question.
"Mrs Mooney's husband has been reported to have died in service. We will be saying a prayer for unlucky eejit at lunchtime today".
The teacher's husband was a merchant sailor, though he was still in service to the country. Being one of the brave men who would ensure that supplies of food reached the country safely, his freighter was sadly discovered by a pack of three U-Boats. One U-Boat was bad enough, but surrounded by the vicious submersible enemy, he and the rest of the crew stood absolutely no chance. All three U-Boats graciously offered the full terms of surrender, which were ignored by Mr Mooney and the rest of his crew, who made a pact to fight until the bitter end. A bitter one it was, as all of the U-Boats launched their torpedoes at the Freighter, which sank in the middle of the Atlantic just five minutes after it received its first hit. Leaving behind his wife and their two children, he was going to be missed dearly.
"That's terrible…". The young girl sniffled.
"It's very sad, yes". Sister Michael groaned. "But for the rest of us, life goes on. So, while they scrape Mrs Mooney's husbands body off of the Atlantic floor, I'll be takin' yer history class".
Anna's ears pricked up at hearing the Sister would be taking the class. It was an opportunity for her to impress the head mistress, not that she needed to leave any more impressions on the woman. Admiration was not often something which the students had for the authoritarian, but Anna was very respectful of the Sister. A woman who she looked up to as almost an inspiration in how she dealt with the everyday rigours of a challenging life, she wished to be more like her. Not a nun, Anna having her doubts about whether she truly believed in God at all, but being like her in how she approached situations. Reading between the lines, she could see through Sister Michael's armour to find a woman who acted with sense and intelligence, rather than rash emotion. There were far too many women in her life who acted in the latter way, her mother, her aunt and her sister amongst them. Finding another woman who could act with sense was important for her own development in the world, when it could not be taught at home.
"Now, what we're ye doin' last time?" The Sister asked the class openly.
Learning the lesson that the young McConnell girl picked up at the front, one lad raised his hand to answer the open question.
"Sweeney, did I ask you to raise yer hand like a Nazi?"
"B…".
"Ah! No buts! Just answer the question!"
Toying with the class like a puppet master, Sister Michael once again held all of the strings. Running rings around the kids when they would often run rings around the teachers, she was the all powerful one in the room. It left the rest of the class hesitant to do anything when she spoke other than nod or shake their heads.
"We were learning about the Siege of Derry, Sister". Sweeney eventually answered.
Rolling her eyes, she remembered just how much she detested that particular part of history. The stories were well told within the families of the city, some of whom had ancestry that linked back to those times directly. The walls would always be brought into it too, Mrs Mooney having told the children that their walls were legendary, never being breached. Sister Michael had heard the stories that many times that she could repeat the supposed number of casualties on each side without having to think about it, as well as the names of all the commanders on either side. New world history was being made in the war that they were living through, but it would not be taught properly for generations, she knew. That meant it would be the same boring stories of the past that were told, rather than the exciting new ones.
An idea did pop into her head though, one which she knew she would run with immediately, as it was such a brilliant one.
"Right well, here's what we're goin' to do. I am going to go to the back of the classroom and take a seat…".
The class all looked at her as if she were a crazy woman who'd just been released from the local mental asylum. A teacher teaching from the back of the room was a radical idea that a group of five years old didn't know whether to be confused or scared by. Having gradually became used to the structure implemented into their lives by beginning school, the rulebook was being rewritten by the outlandish antics of their head mistress. Their effervescence lost, the children looked around each other nervously to try to work out what was going on. All of them, with the exception of Anna, were completely terrified.
"Anna Quinn!" The Sister addressed the star student. "You will be taking this lesson. Go to the front and do what ye want".
"What are you going to do Sister?" Anna enquired.
"Well, when ye've shifted, I'm putting my feet up".
Gasps were pulled from the rest of the class when she revealed her plans, but Sister Michael did not respond to any of them. She couldn't care less whether they told their parents that she'd let a five year old take the class, even if the five year old was a rare talent such as Anna Quinn. She hadn't gotten to where she had without learning a few tricks that would get her out of teaching such a boring lesson like History.
"What about the register, Sister?"
Sighing, and in fact, growling, back at Anna, she couldn't deny that the young Quinn raised a very valuable point. Mrs Mooney would have normally done the register long before they'd got into the lesson, Sister Michael having forgotten to have done so when she walked in. Already in place at the back of the room, it was a long walk back to the front where the paper register was kept. Suffering from the terrible ravages of lethargy and a lack of enthusiasm for teaching five year old children, she decided upon an alternative to compromise.
"Right… I am going to make this very simple". She explained, her head tilting around to get a good view of them all.
"Who is here".
Confused for a second, not a single student answered. Anna wasn't confused, realising before the Sister had even spoken that she was going to do exactly what she'd done. It was not the right way at all, a poor attitude that Anna knew not to learn off of the Sister, who appeared to be having a day where her intelligent decisions were not present. None of the class knew that it was because she'd had one too many glasses of whisky the night before, still feeling the effects of the hangover the following morning. Alongside her general dislike for children as a rule, it made the covering of the lesson a severe annoyance.
"I am".
"Me".
"I'm here Sister Michael!"
The responses all came quick enough, satisfying the Sister. After answering the fictious register herself, Anna moved from her seat, picking up the newspaper from the seat next to her. Sister Michael hadn't set out any guidelines for what she was meant to be teaching her peers, so Anna decided on the spot what the lesson would be about. Utilising her interest in the Eastern front of the war, she was going to break Sister Michael's perception of the events of the war being taught in schools. Anna Quinn was going to tell her class all about what the Red Army was doing in trying to stop the Nazi's.
"Aye so, how many of ye know where Moscow is…".
"Christ…".
Sister Michael whispered the remark to herself, her feet firmly planted onto Anna's desk as she said they would be. She was about to be bored out of her mind for around forty minutes before she dismissed them for their next lesson, which was Maths, one that was guaranteed to place a dampener on things for the students on a morning which they hated anyway.
What Sister Michael did not expect, was to be entertained by it. A storywriter was what Anna's sister pretended to be, a poor one at that. A storyteller was what Anna was, a beautiful voice for narration that the Sister was yet to herald before that morning. Listening in to her talk about the Eastern Front of the war, which she should have found uninteresting, Sister Michael was instead mesmerised by the details. Quite how Anna knew so much about it in the first place was outstanding, inferring strategies that were not even in the articles of the Derry Journal. Stumbling across another incredible talent held by the younger Quinn sister, she was convinced that she'd never came across a girl of her age as smart before. The most shocking trait of all was how mature that Anna was when she spoke. The crisp refinement of an upper class young adult was not something found in the average Derry five year old, the revised answers to questions she faced being ones that would have made the officer within James smile.
If anything, it was all over too quickly as the time ticked away. Outside, the rain smashed onto the windows as Anna relayed the stories of the Russians struggles to the rest of the class. An enthralling morning came to a close for the students of Anna's class when she swapped places with Sister Michael once again. They were dismissed shortly after, but before she could go, being the final student in line to leave, Sister Michael put her hand on Anna's arm.
"You terrify me". She told her.
"Ach I don't bite, Sister". The happy as ever Anna grinned. "Was I a good teacher?"
"You did a fine job. Well done. Do you want a medal?"
Showing her smarts, Anna smiled again, rather than answer the head mistress. The nun was only frightened more by her common sense, wondering whether Anna was even a real human being or something from a different planet. She'd thought that about Erin and the girls when they were at school, for different reasons than to Anna, but all of them appeared to be of the planet Earth, not originating from anywhere else.
"How's yer Sister?" She enquired about Erin.
"Not so good, Sister…". Anna answered honestly. "… she's goin' through a rough patch again".
"Be a good girl for her Anna. Erin needs a lot of looking after, God help me so she does. But if it ever gets too much for her, tell her to come and see me anytime".
"Thank you Sister. I will".
"Good. Now run along now or ye'll be late".
Sprinting out of the classroom to make it to her next one, Anna came out of her teaching debut with flying colours. Not only did she remain a monstrous being in Sister Michael's eyes, she went away knowing that the head mistress truly cared for both her and Erin. She was not aware of the conversation that the two had held at the graveyard, the turning point for Erin's process of grieving but discovered how much the Sister cared without knowing about it.
She would always be there if Erin needed.
Always.
Erin being the moody young woman that she was, once again placed a strain on her group of friends. Only a few weeks before were they enjoying a night out in the city, albeit a hectic, chaotic one, but a night out nonetheless. In the space of that time, she was back to being a woman that no one wanted to be around, whether it be family or friends. Her lack of responses to some questions were frustrating, her vicious replies even more so. Despite two years of practice with the moods, the other three were always taken aback by the severity of them when they arrived. Her work was kept up to standard at least, which was a saving grace, not that it made it any more enjoyable for them.
There were no concrete plans for them to do anything that weekend as a group, leaving it to a restricted meeting of just Michelle and Clare. Erin was not invited to anything with the mood she left work on Friday, not speaking to any of them unless there was no choice for her to. Michelle made some comments of her own about the moods, but her friend brushed them off as if she hadn't heard them, though the young Mallon knew full well that she had. Orla couldn't attend either, but her reasons were far more understandable. Sarah was still rehabilitating at home after her broken leg and could not be expected to look after Marie. Long in advance of the weekend, Joe had declared that he was going to be out, Mary suspecting that he was off to Pump Street again but given what had happened to her sister when she last followed him, she wisely did not.
The awkwardness between Michelle and Clare was still very much present throughout the weeks after the dance hall incident, making that Saturday afternoon quite daunting for the latter. Her feelings for Michelle were as strong as ever, having to stop herself staring at her friend more than once that week at work. Michelle was far too beautiful for her own good in Clare's mind, a beaming ray of sunshine to brighten up her otherwise depressing life. For whatever reason, one she still could not fathom, she was able to look past the swearing and the lies, to feel an attraction to someone who was sadly unobtainable. It was to be another test of her control that afternoon, as they were going to be in close proximity.
If she were to be honest, Clare probably didn't need to be there. She couldn't refuse Michelle's offer when it was made, not when the rest of their friends would not be able to assist either. Showing a rare offer of help to her parents, Michelle and her Da were in her room, putting up a new shelf for her to store some of her belongings on. Her room had become a little messy in recent times, ignored by her through simple laziness. Martin and Deirdre were not amused by it, and he decided to do something about it by bringing a piece of wood home from work to use as a shelf. Deirdre very much approved of his plan to give it to Michelle to have for her room and his daughter did too, in such a good mood that the offer to help then came. Clare was not one for such practical pursuits, but she had another use, which was very helpful to them as they worked away. Whenever he needed a new tool or a screw, Martin only had to ask and Clare would provide it.
"Can I have the wee hammer please, Clare?" Martin asked.
"Aye". Clare replied sweetly. "Here ye are".
"Thanks love".
The routine that they'd gotten into was one that was working well. With Clare on tools duty, Michelle was left to do a lot of the holding in place of the shelf, while Martin worked away to finish it off. They were almost a well-oiled machine in description, but Michelle had managed to ensure that the task went on longer when she accidentally let go and Martin ended up hammering it in wonky. They started again immediately though and were on the final nail that required the wee hammer. It was a job well done, barring the final nail to hold the shelf up, Martin very proud of both of the young women for their efforts.
"Right, there we are".
The final nail was hammered in, and Martin was satisfied that they were finished. Taking a good hold of the shelf, he shook it slightly to ensure it was in rigidly, and the lack of movement confirmed that it was. Breathing out a sigh, Michelle collapsed down onto her bed rather dramatically for someone who'd only really stood and held the shelf. The significant efforts were completed by her father, but Martin chose not to say anything, still grateful for the unexpected assistance.
"Thank ye girls". He said to them. "We've done a grand job there".
"It looks cracker". Clare commented.
"Aye…". Michelle agreed. "Let's hope Mammy sees it that way".
Martin wished to test that for himself, calling out for his wife to make her way upstairs to have a look. Deirdre did not dally when she was called, bounding up the stairs to admire the handiwork of her husband. When she appeared in the doorway, she was strangely dressed in a jacket, carrying Martin's along with her. Clare, and the now sat up Michelle, both happened to notice at the same time, but held their tongues to wait until the latter's mother had ran her eye over the new shelf.
"It's lookin' well, Martin". Deirdre nodded. "Well done".
"Thank ye love". He leant in to peck her on the cheek. "Yer not lookin' too bad either".
Michelle shook her head on the bed. She hated it when her parents would show such affection in front of her, especially when one of her friends was there.
"What's with the coat Mammy?" She enquired.
"Me and yer Da are going for a walk while the weathers picked up a little". Deirdre explained. "I hope I can trust ye not to destroy the place?"
"Unless the German bombers are comin' then this place will be standin' when ye get back".
"Good. Come on Martin".
Saying their goodbyes to the two girls, Deirdre and Martin quickly left the house on their walk. The rain had spared them that afternoon, a rare time that it did, allowing for such a walk to take place. They wouldn't go too far in case it decided to come on suddenly like it so often did, but it would be enough to give them a decent amount of exercise. On other afternoons Michelle might have joined them, but as Clare was present she had an excuse not to. Unfortunately for her friend though, the situation had become rather diabolical. Michelle's parents being at home was the barrier that comfortably protected her from doing anything stupid but now they were gone, Clare was back to relying on her own conscience, which so many times had betrayed her. Her secret was suddenly propelled forward to tug at her heart, not helped by being barely a metre apart from Michelle.
"Well that went alright". Michelle broke the ice.
"Aye. We worked well, didn't we?" Clare replied, glad to be speaking of a topic she was comfortable with.
"We did. All the better without moody Quinn too".
Huffing, Michelle still displayed her frustration with Erin. They all knew what they'd be getting that Autumn based upon the last two, yet it remained a sore spot for her. Another year of having to put up with her moods was not something she wanted to do but looked set to have to anyway. If only she knew what the source of them was, she thought, then she could at least try to help. It couldn't have been the anniversary of James' death alone, seeing as she'd been moody the year before that, so it had to be something else that had happened. There was not a standout even that Michelle could remember that would have started the horrendous moves, leaving her again to have to go on without the knowledge.
"She's been bad this week". Clare noted softly.
"This week!? Come off it Clare, she's been fuckin' unbearable again for ages… I'm sick of it".
"Me too…".
Talking about Erin was only going to get them both more annoyed with their absent friend, so in the moments of silence after she'd spoken, Clare tried to think of something else to talk about. There was one thing on her mind that she'd been meaning to bring up with Michelle, although it was an incredibly private matter… though not that one. Without an answer to what she'd seen almost a week earlier, Clare spent the week trying to reason why she'd spotted Michelle where she had when she went out for a walk of her own the prior Sunday afternoon. It was an abnormal place to spot her friend when she was not with parents or the rest of the group, that much was certain.
"What were you doin' come out the back of Church last Sunday?"
The atmosphere of the room, previously jovial and certainly amicable, was shattered in an instant. Michelle was sat up loosely before, but in a split second was bolt upright, her cheeks flushed red from what had been said. She thought she'd done well… but she'd been caught out.
"Nothin!" She became aggressively defensive. "What are ye followin' me for?"
"I wasn't!" Clare protested.
"Well why did ye see me then!?"
"I went for a walk to get out of the house for a bit… is that what you were doing?"
Clare was not stupid and knew full well that Michelle must have been up to far more than a walk. She was, after all, Michelle Mallon. Rumbled by the diminutive blonde of all people and lacking the energy for a protracted battle over it, the truth fell from her lips like a bird dropping dead out of the sky.
"Eugh… fine. I was ridin' Father Peter".
"WHAT!?"
Almost screaming, Clare couldn't believe what she was hearing. Father Peter of all people, a good-looking man in his own right, but a bit of a dick in reality, a label given to him by Michelle ironically. It made sense when it came to Michelle at least, that her random appearance in the house of God was not to reflect on her sins but to create more of them.
"Keep yer voice down Clare, for feck's sake!"
"Yer ridin' Father Peter!?" She incredulously asked again.
"No not ridin' him regularly, Christ no. Look, he made some… ye know, hints, at Sunday Mass and I followed them".
"I can't believe you…".
"Don't blame me Clare! He was leadin' me on, so he was!" Michelle moaned. "I was all for it until he started gettin'… weird. Ye know, he wanted me to… do stuff to him and… let's just say I am not prepared to stick a crucifix where the sun don't shine!".
"That's gross!"
"Tell me about it…".
Shaking her head, huffing out furiously, it was strangely pleasing for Michelle to get it off her chest. She'd never not finished it off with a fella before, but there was absolutely no way she was going to use the crucifix for what he wanted. Never in all of her shags, and there was plenty to choose from, had a fella ever asked for her to do anything remotely like that to him. Most lads were far too busy admiring her other assets to think about their own bodies. Clare herself had always said that Father Peter was a bit odd, and they'd always disagreed with her as a group, but Michelle now found herself siding with her friend when it turned out that he really was. She was not looking forward to Sunday Mass the next day…
"Why do ye care so much about what I do anyway?"
Clare wanted to answer truthfully.
She wanted to say why… but she couldn't.
"I… I…".
"Yeah alright no need to have a cack attack!" Michelle chided. "That reminds me, we need to find you a fella".
Their conversation was turning against Clare rapidly. She berated herself internally for bringing up what she'd seen the prior Sunday, setting off a chain of events that threatened her secret. This time she was in the worst place of them all though. Sat on Michelle's bed, without anyone else in the house to distract her or anything that she could do to remove herself, all of a sudden, the truth balanced on a knife edge. She did not want to suffer another night of agony, having to go on a date with a fella and try to convince her friend that she held any attraction to men. Fate had always intervened in the past to get her out of the situation, so she prayed to the Lord in her head that it would again.
It was not to be this time… one prayer too far.
"N… no Michelle… I don't want to…".
"That's not an option Clare. Yer gettin' some action before the end of the year or I'm going to take ye to some other priest or doctor or something to get you checked out!".
"Michelle… please! Just…".
"Just what, Clare? Because as far as I'm concerned this is beyond a joke now… Christ, yer about the only girl our age from school who's still got their virginity intact!".
"I'm waiting for marriage!" Clare foolishly argued
"Don't you pull that card on me!" Michelle laughed back in anger. "Even if ye are, ye need to actually find a fella to marry first and yer never interested".
"I…".
"What Clare? What's yer feckin' excuse?"
Not like this… it was not meant to be like this… but it was going to be. The end of the line was a prospect that Clare always knew that she may have to face, hoping to face it when she was on her deathbed, where it would not matter when she admitted it. Society was not going to change to accept her, a naïve dream that even the most optimistic would agree was decades away from making any progress. It was all destined to be Michelle who broke her somehow, despite her hoping it was James that was the first to know. He would have been the most understanding and least judgemental, she thought, but poor James had died being the heroic pilot and lover to Erin that he was. His cousin substituted for him… typically being the one that Clare had feelings for above all others.
The netting, the web of lies became untangled, the sanctuary doors to the truth open with no more traps in the way.
Her whole heart was on the line.
"I… I'm a lesbian, Michelle".
Staring back at her, for a few seconds Michelle tried to work out whether she was joking or not. It was an elaborate excuse if there ever was one, but a dangerous one at that. If the issue at hand really was her nerves, then trying to tell people she wasn't interested in finding a fella because she was a lesbian was hardly a sensible lie to go with. Except Michelle had become fairly adept at reading Clare during their years of friendship. She could tell when she was lying, the lies never being uttered calmly, always being shouted as she would shite the tights at the same time.
Clare hadn't shouted.
"Ye… oh my god… WHAT!?"
"I'm attracted to girls Michelle… not fellas".
"I know what one is thanks Clare". Michelle glared dangers. "Ye… yer a wee dyke! Oh my god… oh my… WHY!?"
"I don't know why!" Clare angrily retorted. "I… I just… am. Ye know Michelle, yer the first person I've told, I was hopin' ye might be supportive!"
"Supportive!? Have you lost yer fuckin' mind!?"
An absolutely fuming Michelle exploded in her room. One of her best friends, someone that she thought she'd known for years, shared with her a revelation that she did not want to know. Clare being a lesbian changed everything in her mind, suddenly uncomfortable of being sat anywhere near her. Michelle could be described as many things, but one thing she was not was a lesbian… the idea of it making her feel sick. She was strictly into fellas and fellas only.
"Ye can't tell anyone Michelle!" Clare began to beg. "Please!? Please don't".
"Tell anyone!? Do ye think I'm fuckin' thick? I'm not tellin' anyone because there goin' to think I'm a wee dyke too… oh my fucking God, Clare, what the fuck's wrong with you?"
"Michelle…". She began to cry. "… there's nothing wrong with me! I can't help it… I…".
"Ye don't fuckin' fancy me do ye?"
Straight to the point as ever, Michelle needed to know. Her whole friendship with Clare was already changing, but if the answer was the one that Michelle hoped it was not, it looked to be lost forever. Her reaction was fair in her raging mind; she could not be friends with another woman who was thinking about riding her. Years of looking after each other and watching each others backs was coming undone because of where Clare placed her affections. The rest of Derry would make a judgement on them all should they find out that little Clare Devlin was a wee dyke, Michelle thinking that she was doing Erin and Orla a favour too by cutting Clare off. Their friendship could survive most things… but Clare's sexuality was not one of them.
The blonde's silence told Michelle everything.
"Get out".
"Wh…".
"I said, get out Clare".
"Michelle…".
"OUT!"
Roaring at her friend, Michelle did not want to look at her, she was that angered. She was upset, more upset than she'd been in a long time. The foundations of her lifestyle started with her family and friends, and Clare was pulling them apart with her sickening revelations. They were at least sickening in the immediate aftermath, Michelle disgusted at the thought that for years, Clare might have been dreaming of her desire to be with her. While the blonde was still in the room, the dark-haired girl was reminded of the incident where they'd fallen down the bank when they were looking for Sarah. When Clare had seemingly accidentally touched her baps, she had to wonder whether it was not an accident at all… that Clare might have been aroused by it.
Her upset paled in comparison to Clare's though.
Running out of the Mallon household, she ran almost all of the way down the long street with tears flooding out of her eyes. The day that she finally admitted her secret was never going to be a good day, with tears expected, society being what it was. Because she'd had to come out to Michelle of all people though, the stinging rejection was magnified. The miniscule candle of hope that was lit, the one that told of a story where Michelle would love her back, was extinguished on her skin. The very depths of her soul were burning from the reaction that Michelle had to what she'd had to say. Her friend could not accept her sexuality, it seemed, a devastation that in reality, she should have expected. The expectations of society were that a young woman like her had to be attracted to men, not women, to eventually become a wife and mother. Michelle may have taken a more liberal approach to the latter half, but the community would not judge her like they would Clare if they knew.
If her father found out, he'd probably kill her.
Sean would be none the wiser, as her eyes were dried by the time she came home, explaining to her parents that Michelle wasn't feeling at her best and asked if they could meet up another time. A disaster at home was averted but she only had until the following morning at Church to concoct a plan to rescue her friendship with the dark-haired girl.
The world was on its head because of her… because she had to be different.
Curled up in a ball in bed that night, with more tears flowing from her already crimson eyes, Clare was starting down a path that could not be turned back from. Thoughts of worthlessness already jostled other thoughts in her mind, the blonde wishing to be able to lock herself away from the world forever so that she would be forgotten.
Derry did not forget though, and neither did Michelle.
She would have to face her demons, no matter how afraid of the outcome she was.