Chapter 72: A Ghost
"I… I…".
James couldn't find the words to say anything in reply to Captain Smithers. Everything he knew about himself, his whole life… it was a lie.
The firstborn son of the King of England. A fairytale story that surely could not have been true. The Intelligence Services must have been playing some sort of joke, one which was not a funny one at all. He would have thought that without his mother having told him not to seek the truth, an instruction that he could fully understand. She was trying to protect him from what had happened in her own past, a scandalous act if it were to ever become public knowledge. All of the mystery to why his country cared about him so much fell into place for James. If the Nazi's were to pass on the message that they held him, and that word reached the King himself, they would have had the greatest bargaining chip of all.
He wasn't Captain James Maguire like he'd told Molinari and Van Der Heijden, he wasn't even Vice Air Admiral James Maguire after his promotion. He was Prince James, the heir to the throne, but with a claim that would only ever be recognised as illegitimate. How it came to pass that his mother was able to gain access to the King, he did not know, though it would not have been during his reign. The King would have been a much younger man then, before his marriage and the full responsibility of trying to lead the country. His mother's beauty was not something that could be denied but the logistical possibility of them being in the same place where they could have relations was incredibly low. She was not of noble standing where consideration could even be given to her being a candidate for marriage. In comparison to the royals, they were peasants.
"I do not understand…". The words finally came out. "… how… how is this possible?"
The full complexities of the story were not known to Smithers but Lieutenant Colonel Menzies once summarised it for him to ensure he understood. He wasn't really that interested at first, he thought, but once he'd been given the summary of the past actions that led to the young man's conception, he was almost fascinated. It was a story that would have been befitting of a childhood tale where love and harmony were not shackled by the divisions between classes. Kathy was almost Cinderella if compared to any story, though she wasn't required to fit a glass slipper to her foot to prove her worth. Amazingly though, there was no fairytale about the story he was told. It had happened, James really was the heir to the throne.
"Your mother moved to England some time before you were born…". Smithers repeated the story, starting slowly. "From what I have been told she thought there would be more opportunities for her in England than back home".
"But that does not explain how she could have met the King…". The words fell in disbelief from his mouth.
"She'd found work as a waitress and one of the events where she was working, happened to have a guest at the dinner. The man that we now call King".
A waitress was a very different occupation to the agent for the Crown that she was upon death. Her mother's skills certainly would have been able to cover the role, James knew, but her later career clearly showed how much higher value she was worth. Her skills as an actress would have no doubt seen her become the greatest stage actress of the time but she fought for a greater cause other than money and entertainment. Why she decided to become an agent was another question that festered in the back of his mind, though given how much else he was discovering about both her past and his own, it was worth waiting for in case the answer was given. Watching the young man digest the information, Smithers continued with a story with plenty more still to tell.
"Your mother happened to serve him, and he took a shine to her immediately. From how I have heard it, he asked her to sit with him towards the end of the dinner so that he could get to know her better".
"Surely there were advisors… men who would stop her from talking to him. She would have been classed as beneath him?" A confused James enquired.
"One does not tend to deny a potential King whatever he wants. And he was adamant that he at least spoke to your mother that night. However, you are the living proof that it went much… much further than that…".
Putting a hand to his head and looking away, James could not deny the truth that Smithers spoke. His mother's beauty was good enough for a King, which he could have told anyone anyway when she was as beautiful as she was. His comment was still true though; she was of far lower standing than the man now sat on the throne. Any chance of them holding a lasting relationship was impossible without causing a monumental public affair. The King's very own brother abdicated the throne before him because he could not marry the woman that he wished due to her own past divorces and background. She was a socialite in America. Kathy was a working woman from the lower classes of Northern Ireland. Aptly, the King's own dalliances were hidden when his brother's were not. James' existence was more a miracle than anything else. A man capable of miracles, he was born as one.
"How did the King know about me?" He asked, still referring to the man by his title, but with a more timid disposition.
"You will have to take my word for it, James, but from all accounts, he was infatuated with your mother from their very first night together. There were other nights, arranged in secret by those with the ability and resources to do so. For a time, your mother worked at Trinity College in Cambridge, coinciding with the King's year of study there".
"So they did have a relationship? It was not just one night where I was… conceived?"
"No it was not". Smithers huffed out a breath. "There was genuine love between the two. It was only during the time towards the end of his studies, when your mother realised that she was pregnant with you".
"And she told him this?"
The most difficult part of the story was to come, a tragic tale of a love that could not be allowed to continue. Even Lieutenant Colonel Menzies, professional and down to earth as he was, couldn't help but see the unfortunate side to the events when he'd told Smithers. A more boring version of the story was part of James' official file, but to sit through and read the reports in detail, including the King's own version of events would have been monotonous and perhaps even more painful. Captain Smithers never saw himself as ever having to complete such a duty when he'd became a member of British Intelligence, but duty could take a man anywhere. There were men serving the British Empire all across the world that would contemplate the same, an Empire that was weakening by the day in its efforts to hold back the Nazi tide on its doorstep. Storyteller of tales that were long suppressed by the Royal Household itself, was another duty to add to a list of roles a prospective agent may be asked to perform.
"The King's own recollection was that one night that they met, she was in tears". Sighing, Smithers did not enjoy having to tell James about his past whatsoever. "Your mother informed him of the pregnancy and… he turned to those he trusted the most in order to plan a way forward".
"Why did they not force her into…". James, emotionally loosening, had to wipe a tear away at his own suggestion, one which Smithers understood. "… or at least giving me away whilst I was still a baby".
"The King specifically ordered that you were not to be harmed in any way. I think he may have believed it was the least he could do when he could not be with your mother to raise you. Those around him followed his instructions without failure".
"My mother… was she just left to have me without any support? We both know what people would have thought of a woman pregnant without a husband or at least a partner!"
"No, she was never alone". Smithers stated firmly. "The King loved your mother James… and though I am committing treason by saying this, I think your mother would have been the Queen Consort if the rules allowed it. He ensured that she would never struggle to raise you, though of course there was an element of secrecy surrounding each action. A cover story was given to her by his advisors, that she'd married but her husband died of illness whilst stationed in India".
"And that story was believed? Wouldn't have anyone close to her realised that it was not true and dug deeper for the truth?" James pried.
"Katherine did not have many friends from what I am told. Not long after revealing the pregnancy, she returned home anyway, against the advice that she was given".
For the first time he forced himself into a grin, amused by how free-spirited she'd been. His mother carried the illegitimate son of the then Prince Albert, across the Irish Sea when specifically told to stay in London. The skills she'd later put to use in serving the country as an agent must have been on full show the day that she'd done so, as in his mind, there would have no doubt been multiple men keeping an eye on her every move. To summon the courage to return home when showing with child, and no ring on her finger or man on her arm, was also quite immense in his eyes. The damaged reputation to the family that he'd heard his Aunt Deirdre speak of was clear to see, as her presence in Derry would have no doubt caused uproar in the state she was in. He knew himself from months living there, that word of just about anything spread incredibly quickly.
"I was told by my Aunt of how she lowered the family's standing in Derry…". James took over with his own story, Smithers listening intently. "I cannot imagine what would have happened if she would have told anyone the identity of the man who'd left her pregnant with me".
"Your mother was a very smart woman, James… I think you know that". Feeling for the young man, he offered a curve of the lips. "She never told anyone about her relationship with The King but she was allowed to write to her sister to inform her that she'd decided to keep you. I believe your Aunt may have aided the situation by making any curious soul aware that she'd travelled back to England to terminate her pregnancy".
Unsurprised by learning of his Aunt's actions, even if they were unintentionally aiding the larger picture of a poor reputation on his mother's behalf, it fit her character perfectly. Her anger at her sister's recklessness, may have driven her to inform the whole community of the abortion anyway, but it was at a severe cost to the family name. As soon as a young woman made the journey to England unaccompanied, the rumours would swirl about where she was going. There were discreet Doctors and physicians who were able to end a pregnancy ahead of birth for the right price, though the survival rate of women could vary. Some met their ends in such dingy backstreet hovels, dying in bloody messes thanks to the dangers that came with such procedures. There was little that could be done to stop such practices, with any woman travelling across the sea knowing that death could await. Whether they came back or not, the shame it left upon the rest of their family was an unmoveable stain that lasted for years. There were still some who did not trust Deirdre to that day, thanks to Kathy's behaviour over twenty years earlier.
"The King could never acknowledge you nor could he ever see your mother again…". Continuing, Smithers did not withhold the sad turn of events that his conception created. "When you were born later that year, the King broke down in tears when he was told of your successful birth. In secret, he saw you as a baby".
"He… he did?"
Now crying, James couldn't help but show his emotions. For a man who could sustain torture, and show little pain or fear through it, the story of his own life was far more suitable in breaking him. To discover that his father, the King, not only knew of his existence but made sure to care for his mother, reduced him to tears. His heart fluttered with the sensational knowledge that he was not simply a mistake made by a young member of the Royalty that took his pleasures too far. He was a much-loved child, created out of a legitimate love between a man with the world on his shoulders and an attractive young Irishwoman, that fell in love with a future English King. He'd never expected that his father would have ever seen him at all, but to hear from Captain Smithers that he'd done so was truly heart-warming.
"An excuse was made… a visit to a hospital to thank the staff for their hard work in treating patients, one that incorporated a trip to see midwives. Your mother happened to be in the very hospital that he was visiting and from there, he saw you and her".
"Was that… was that the only time…". James sniffed, wiping away tears with a handkerchief that Smithers handed to him. "Did… did they see each other again?"
A nod was received to answer both parts of the question.
"The King never saw either you or Katherine again. It would have been too difficult to arrange without any suspicion when there was a child involved. There were no excuses left to find a way for them to meet and by then, he was already beginning to become involved with Her Majesty on the urgings of his advisors".
"But I have never been forgotten?" The young man sniffled again, overcome with emotion. "He could have so easily stopped thinking about me… but he never has?"
"As I said, his love for your mother was unconditional. That is why when you were progressing as a healthy young boy, she was offered a role within the Intelligence Services".
Correct in his belief to stay silent and wait to see if the story was told to him, another part of the young pilot's curiosity was becoming satisfied. Her entrance into service for Britain did not make any sense without the context that Smithers had just given him. An Irishwoman, a Catholic no less though she was far from devout, was not the most natural of recruits for those in London to induct into an espionage network. If word ever got out back at home that she was a spy working for Britain, the standing the family was already left in would only lower. Luckily, it wasn't ever lowered any further by Kathy throughout her life, the only damage coming from Michelle's pursuits in more recent years, picking up where her Aunt left off, barring the relationship with a member of the Royal Family. Even she knew better than to shag a future King…
"Why offer her that role? Did she not hold a job of her own when I was a baby? I… I cannot remember myself…".
"No". Smithers shook his head. "She received funds to be able to raise you on from the Royal coffers, with some… creative, shall we say, accountancy, in order to hide the true reason for the expenditure. Not once did she ever ask for more".
"I have always been well provided for". Fondly, the young man's mind was transported back to his childhood. "No doubt she met some of the nobility of the country during her years. I remember playing cricket with some young gentleman of the highest echelons".
"Her various assignments required it, even requiring you to be brought along at times!" Smithers light-heartedly told him, making James chuckle. "Her files show that she has been a Welsh heiress, a Scottish Countess… and even a German Duchess, in her time".
"Not a Swiss noblewoman?"
His question was asked with a hint of immaturity and sarcasm, referencing the letter he knew to be fake that was meant to have come from her. Kathy was no member of the Swiss nobility, even finding it amusing how poor the lies that London were making were. Smithers found himself amused too, when he was the one to have put together the title which she was falsely given. The majority of the contents of the letter were still Kathy's work, lifted from various other letters which she'd written to her sister, copies of which were always taken before she'd sent them. James' own response to her first letter, forwarded on through Emerald Two, also helped him to draft the second too. Even he knew it wasn't his best work.
"I regret my choice of title may have been poor…". He laughed, finding James smiling back at him. "The salary that the role gave has always kept you well looked after as you have seen. When you turned fourteen, some money began to be saved in order to supplement your own account if it was ever required beyond the age of eighteen. You will never run out of money, James".
"I… I do not deserve it…". James replied, shocked.
"You are the son of the King, may I remind you. It does not matter whether you deserve the money or not, it is the King's wish that it be available to you if you need it. I do not think any man dare overrule him when it comes to you".
Practically set for life, it was a life that was vastly different to the one he'd known up until that morning. To a lesser man, knowing that he would always be able to have a safety net no matter what happened would have been a comfort to fall upon, but it was not in his nature to do so. Working incredibly hard for every penny that he'd ever earned apart from that, his gentlemanly nature almost made him ashamed to have the money to rely on. It didn't stop him from having a job or putting in the effort to make money, but if he ever fell upon hard times, it did not sit well that he wouldn't have to work to pay off any debts accrued. The country would pay his debts for him when it shouldn't have to. He was not going to sit on the throne, a child of secrecy as far as the rest of Britain knew.
"I am almost the man in the iron mask…". He jokingly changed the subject. "Not that I am held in the Bastille nor the subject of myth".
"You are very much real, James… and do give us some credit. We have treated your life with far more care than the French would have done".
Snorting at Smithers' comment, he couldn't find an opinion either way when it came to the French. He wasn't a child hidden out of view of the public for the fear of what knowledge of him might do, quite the opposite, a young man with a career. Without the title that he'd unknowingly carried his whole life, he would have been celebrated as a decorated war hero anyway thanks to his exploits in Taranto. In another world, he might have led the Fleet Air Arm to more glories in the Med, not being shot down like that he'd been on that night. David would have been alive to share the glories with him, making Orla proud in the same way he would make Erin proud. The King never appeared to have stopped caring about his life, and the sudden promotions were no doubt on the orders of the man on the throne. It simply wasn't possible for a man of an age so youthful, to ascend the ranks so quickly without a significant supporter.
"The promotions…".
"The King has taken an active interest in your career since signing up…". Smithers talked over the young man to monologue. "There were already provisions in place to start you at the rank of Lieutenant but you impressed him with your skills. The reports were always glowing in his eyes, even if to some, you were recklessly disobeying orders…".
"Did Captain Penrose think I was a dangerous young officer?" James chuckled, raising an eyebrow.
"Captain Smithers believed you were a bloody fool at the time. A brave fool though. His Majesty saw fit to accelerate you through the ranks far quicker than we did, but you were already causing far too many waves amongst those who cared more for dancing in the ballroom, than waltzing in the air. They were silenced though… at a cost".
"The Joyce's, too?"
James didn't even know what made him think of the family. Kurt told him of the allegiance that the Professor held to the Nazi cause, but also of the man's death in somewhat suspicious circumstances. The Nazi spy in Derry was able to find that information out and pass it on, and though Kurt did not specifically mention Jenny's death, he assumed it may have been implied along with her mother's. To silently remove a man of such high standing without removing the rest of his family was almost impossible. Slightly recoiling at the statement that he too did not expect, Smithers could only wonder how the young man knew of what they'd done. It was an act that he found very much regrettable when it came to Jenny's death, without holding any qualms that her father was served the justice that he deserved. The crime of his daughter was to have feelings for the young pilot. The son of King George the Sixth could not have relations with the daughter of a Nazi sympathiser. It would not do…
"Doctor Van Der Heijden told me of their allegiance…". He clarified, allowing Smithers' heartrate to drop back to a sensible level.
"Mrs Joyce still lives but the grief has driven her to insanity. I would not be sure that she will see the end of the year. Miss Joyce and her father… they knew too much. Too involved with both the Doctor and yourself".
"Jenny was innocent…".
"I know, James!" Smithers growled. "You have seen more than enough service to know that you do not always agree with the orders that you are given. We still have to perform them".
Reminded of the massacre upon Smithers' passioned words, he stopped for a moment. His brain ached from everything he'd learned that morning, a mind that now cogitated on thoughts of him being the heir to the throne of the country he fought for. The pilot of the Fleet Air Arm and junior bank manager of the Ulster Bank… he would still be seen that way by the vast majority, but to himself and certain others in Britain, the title of Prince was adorned in front of him, even if it could not be openly acknowledged. Service to his country was something he no longer needed to perform though, something which he assumed the King was behind too.
"Of course… we must speak of your intentions… now that you know the truth".
There was a hesitancy about Smithers' demeanour, almost not wanting to ask whatever it was that he was trying to. Recognising his uneasy nature about the words he was speaking, James almost immediately knew what he was speaking of. The truth changed a lot for the young man when he looked into the past and the present, but it was the future that needed to be spoke of. In receipt of potentially war ending information, he could be a danger if he decided to go public with the knowledge he'd received. Retrieving another document from the pile to his left, Smithers produced another pot of ink as well, that was pushed over towards the young man along with a pen. Frowning, James took hold of the document to read its contents, though did not need to finish the small print to understand what was being asked of him. He was after all the illegitimate heir to the throne. The King's eldest daughter, Elizabeth, would take the throne after him.
"Do you not take my word for it?" He huffed, though not in anger.
"I take your word for it, James…". Smithers replied. "… but we really need a signature when it comes to promising not to pursue a claim for the throne".
"I understand. I shall sign it".
It took no thought at all for James. To pursue a claim for the throne would have been the most foolish idea he could have ever had. It would have made his mother's death completely pointless if he'd then broken the country they both served with the news of his paternal parentage. He was not prepared for the role that was an offer anyway, not that it was what it once was when the country was governed more effectively through the government not the monarchy. He would never escape the fact that he would be, up until the King's death and beyond, Prince James, first born son of the King George the Sixth. His life back home was still available to be lived, the life where Erin Quinn would soon become his wife and their family would begin from there. Forever he would remain the anomaly in the royal bloodline, an offshoot that would be buried in the eyes of the public forever. As far as Great Britain was aware, there was no Prince James. It made him no less worthy of holding the honour though, not when he was the gentleman that he always tried to be.
The shores of Britain would soon be receiving him too, the end of more than three years away by the time he would set foot on home soil once again. Three long years away from the love of his life, who would be delighted to see him alive, ready to start the life they'd spoke of during their blissful summer together before the start of the war. He would finally be able to give her the Christmas that he'd once promised her.
James, the dashing young gentleman, not the Prince, was ready to return to Derry.
But Derry was not quite prepared for him… Prince or no Prince.
A week later…
Meeting up on a weekend over a summer was nothing new in the Quinn house, neither was it completely foreign for all of their family and friends to be present too. Thanks to various issues, including the weather, it was the first weekend of September before the get together took place, but it was one that nearly all of them were looking forward to. The only exceptions were Sean, who thought the gatherings to be a waste of his time but went along because Geraldine thought it would be rude if he didn't, and Clare, who was constantly worrying about any backlash she would face from the Bishop's nephew's death. She'd already been interviewed by the cops once, putting on quite the show to prove to them and her Da that she really liked the fella. The truth was the exact opposite, but as long as they held no inkling to it, she would be fine. Unless they found a reason to link her to the crime… or if Michelle dropped her in it, not that she truly thought her friend would do such a thing.
Out in the back garden at the Quinn's, there was a lively atmosphere to proceedings. An almost full back garden always made for good craic and a memorable experience, that afternoon being no different despite the war. Mary was in good spirits, which was a surprise considering there was one person there that she did not want to be there, as was Gerry. Hosting such an event at the house in wartime was no mean feat, but thanks to a few more smuggled supplies that Joe managed to obtain from his friends on the other side of the border, they were more than good for an afternoon of fun in the sunshine. He was the only one of the family not in such a good mood. It was not obvious why it was so poor, but Sarah held her own suspicions that she'd told her sister. Her thoughts were a fallout with Maeve, who they still believed he was seeing. Whatever it was though, it made him incredibly quiet and tetchy. Colm being better to talk to spoke volumes about the mood his brother was in.
Stood down in the dip by their Anderson shelter, Erin was accompanied by Michelle and the person that her mother didn't want to be there. Coinciding with another few hours of shore leave, Lance dragged himself over to the house in order to keep up appearances. Despite his own plans, he was aware it would be painfully slow progress when it came to getting Erin into bed, thanks to what Michelle had told him when they'd spoken weeks earlier. The amount of time that the blonde grieved over James told him that he would have to play his game slowly, and as long as he was getting fed then he could put up with the wait. His ship was still far from through training the whole complement of the crew, making it highly unlikely that they would be utilised in combat until at least January, barring any need to change plans due to external factors out of the control of the ship's officers.
"That's fuckin' bollocks!" Michelle moaned. "Why can't he have leave like you!?"
"Mr Johnson is not part of my section, Miss. I did try but Lieutenant Masterson was adamant that he stay onboard the ship".
"This Masterson… I'll fuckin…".
"Ye'll do nothing Michelle". Erin shook her head. "If Clint has to do his job, he has to do his job. I wanted to see Lance last Wednesday, but he couldn't come off the ship, could ye?"
"I couldn't ma'am… as much as I wanted to".
When he walked off to allegedly find his Captain to ask for permission to leave the ship when she arrived at the docks, Lance in fact went to the toilet. He could have left if he wanted to, as he did not have watch that night and the Captain trusted him enough to not cause a scene if he went out into the city without word. The rather better offer of a game of cards in the officers mess was on offer, and she ranked very lowly when compared with Poker. Fully understanding that she was taking his apparent willingness to be with her as a sign of love, the young American couldn't care less if she was going to be left with a broken heart at the end of it. He needed to ensure that his bloodline lived on from him. In case that he was killed in action, it was going to have to be with an Irishwoman when he was yet to secure a legacy back home. Sadly for Erin, she was the perfect target. Infatuated with no clue of his real intentions… he couldn't have asked for anyone better.
"He must be due some leave soon…". Michelle continued to wonder aloud. "I know yer an officer like, Lance, but Clint can hardly leave the ship!"
"Again, I can only apologise. Lieutenant Masterson is not one of the… most well liked officers".
"I can see why. Prick…".
Feeding her false information as well, Lance's game of deception was in full thrust that afternoon. He'd not asked his fellow Lieutenant on her behalf at all, not caring for her liaisons with one of the other members of the ship. Clint was not of high enough rank for him to care nor did he care at all about Michelle either. From what he'd seen of her, having spoken to her longer than any of the other girls except Erin, she was a no-good loudmouth, who constantly liked to have her say on the world while not caring who she offended. Women like that were ones his mother told him to stay away from because they were trouble, a lesson he continued to pay respect to in his interactions with her. Her own romantic pursuits with Clint were not on his radar at all. Another lie didn't harm him though, not when it kept the peace.
"Lieutenant Masterson's conduct has not gone unnoticed". Lance told her yet more lies. "The Captain is aware that he may need to be dealt with, to be reminded he is an officer".
"Is he really that bad?" Erin asked, intrigued.
"He is one terrible officer, Erin, I can tell you that. The man sits there in the mess every night… moody… doesn't wanna talk to the rest of us. How are we supposed to work together in command of the ship when he won't have a joke around the others?"
The more Michelle heard about Lieutenant Masterson, the more she began to hate the image of the man that he was creating in her head. Lance held a skill in being able to tell lies so convincing, and stories so enthralling, that he could have written plays if he cared to. Firing Michelle up wasn't exactly difficult from what he'd found in his brief stay in Derry knowing her, pure artistry when done correctly. Masterson was almost certainly the best officer on the ship with the potential exception of the Captain himself, the ordinary working men of the ship coming to understand that. He was not a man who would have harshly denied Clint leave if it was available, although if Lance had bothered to find out, he would have been told that the man couldn't leave the ship anyway. Masterson's section were on duty that evening, a section split between some of the regular kitchen staff as well as gunners. Clint would not have been spared in the afternoon when there was plenty to be done aboard the ship.
"Maybe he'll move… then Clint might get to work under you".
"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Michelle…". Lance grinned, sipping at his drink. "… the Captain only has to move sections around when he really needs to. I would expect they would appoint a new arrival as the officer in charge".
"It'd be nice though, wouldn't it?" Erin brightly spoke up, looking at Michelle. "Our fella's working together to get rid of the Nazi's… aye like a dream so it is".
"Aye… say Lance, ye don't think ye could get me another drink, could ye? Mary's been right tight with me because she thinks I'll drink the cupboards out…".
"I guess I can try. Excuse me, ladies".
Walking off in the direction of the matriarch of the house, Lance didn't particularly want a showdown with the women that did not like him at all. Her hatred of him, stemming from her general dislike of all the Yanks, made him wonder whether she might have worked out his true plan with her daughter. The instinct of a mother was always a fearful factor in any plan such as the one he held, whether it was from his own mother or another. As hard as they were, he knew his parents would not have approved of the plan that he was setting course upon, to devilishly use a young woman for her ability to conceive his child. Watching him go, Michelle was beginning to smirk, making Erin very wary of whatever that her friend was thinking about. She could be a real rogue when she wanted to be, breaking many a norm of society where she found that she could. With a smirk like the one she was holding that afternoon, trouble or at least mockery, were never far off.
"What?" She huffed.
"Ye called him yer fella…". Michelle grinned back, bumping her shoulder. "Progress at last!"
For a moment, the blonde froze. Michelle was completely correct in what she was saying. She'd referred to Lance as her fella, a comment he'd not challenged, nor had she held any second thoughts about saying. For the first time since his death, it was not James that she identified as her fella but the American Lieutenant instead. Effortlessly the words rolled out of her mouth to describe him as such, when only a year earlier the thought of conjuring up such a sentence would have made her stomach churn. Yet somehow in that moment, she couldn't stop being assaulted with thoughts of the Englishman that she was trying to put behind her. It was almost as if he were still alive in a tiny part of her brain, which he was in certain dreams. In reality though, her mind was trying to tell her that he lived on and that he was her fella. There were certain side effects, she'd discovered almost all of them, when dealing with grief. That was what the thoughts of him were for. It wasn't as if he was actually alive, not after almost two years of being declared lost in action.
"By the way, I've heard a wee rumour, so I have…". Michelle whispered to her friend as they watched Orla play with Marie in the centre of the garden.
"Which married fella's been fingerin' which nun this time…". Erin groaned in return.
"Thankfully there won't be a repeat of the Sister Brenda instead. That poor little Johnny McDermott… he won't ever unsee what he saw that night. No, not it's… it's to do with…".
She lowered her voice, not wanting anyone else to hear what was being said. The topic wasn't one that needed to get out.
"The cops".
"The cops?" Erin whispered anxiously.
"Aye, what are ye, a fuckin parrot now?" Michelle sniggered, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, I was talking to Big Jack… tall fella, does a lot of smuggling… has a massive co-".
"Michelle!"
"Right… yeah, so, Big Jack was telling me that the cops pulled him in the other night. They know what he's up to like but they take a cut when they bring him in. Well, when he was in there, they asked him about the Bishop's nephew. Whether he saw anyone".
The cops would not be able to tie her to the crime, but Erin was worried that they would suspect she knew about it beforehand. They were known in the community to be pack animals, her, Michelle, Clare and Orla. Whilst it benefitted their own group to be so closely knit, when it came to getting into trouble, the actions of one quite often counted for them all. Even if they were released without charge, the rumours around church would make it very unpleasant for their families. She didn't want to put her parents in that position when she'd done nothing wrong and neither had they. Her friend's inability to give proper instructions to the Thomas brothers who were supposed to beat the fella up, along with her decision to pursue that option in order to help Clare, was her own problem. Nevertheless, she listened intently.
"He didn't and when he told them that, they said that was it. They didn't know where else they could turn and they were goin' to give it up as a unsolved case. We're off the hook!"
"We?" Snorting, Erin glared at Michelle. "Ye mean… you. You are off the hook, Michelle. The rest of us didn't have anything to do with it!"
"Alright, Jesus Christ… what's in yer knickers!" Annoyed, the dark-haired young woman spat back. "Not Lance clearly…".
"Wh… Michelle! That's…".
"True? Aye I know it is, Erin. For now anyway…".
Without the chance to berate her friend's indecency, Erin needed to wait until another day to have a go back. That was because their attention was taken away by Shane, who tapped on a glass whilst standing in the middle of the garden next to Orla and Marie. He soon held the attention of everyone, Lance returning to Erin's side with Michelle's drink which she thanked him for profusely. In the months they'd known him, the family didn't know Shane to be a man to demand an audience, usually happier to quietly talk with Sarah in the background while the larger characters of the family talked away.
"Thank ye everyone… thank ye".
Shane paused for a second, expecting to be on the end of a verbal lashing from Joe. Ever since the moment he'd joined the family, Joe was always snapping away at him about one thing or the other. He didn't want the fella in the family at all, even if he did find him slightly more appealing than Gerry was. There were already enough pricks in the family without him in it, though he'd attempted to be more civil where he could. Numerous times, Shane would find himself in the man's ire, but Joe did at least try to limit the occasions to where he felt there was no choice. The fireman taking over the get together in the Quinn's back garden would have qualified as acceptable on any other day, but the verbal lashing did not come. Such a surprise it was, that even Martin and Deirdre were left staring at Joe when he didn't sound off. After another few seconds without Joe saying anything, Shane was left in a situation where he would soon be chided by Mary for wasting their time if he didn't continue.
"I… I wanted to say thank ye to Mary and Gerry for such a lovely afternoon". He began by complimenting the hosts, hums of agreement heard throughout the garden. "And to Anna for letting me off easily during our wee card game earlier".
Chuckling, Anna was inwardly smirking to herself at another successful victim taken during a card game. Lance's pockets were still burning from his own losses to her after their dinner just over a week before, one that saw him mocked thoroughly by the other officers in the mess when he admitted to being beaten. He knew he shouldn't have, but he'd been sincere in wanting to bring Anna onboard the ship to take money off of the others. The American cared more about her than her sister, that was for sure. The younger sister was enjoying her afternoon regardless of the card games that were played, mixing with family and friends when the chances to were often few and far between as a whole group. She always enjoyed a chat with Michelle and Clare especially, the former because of her mischievousness and the latter because her cack attacks were a good bit of craic.
"I would also like to say thank ye to my Sarah…". He turned, looking the woman he loved in the eye, who grinned impishly back at him. "… Ye have really made my life so much brighter when I didn't think it would ever be that bright again. Thank ye love".
Sarah was almost crying at his sincerity, snuggling into her fella's side when his own voice started to crack as he finished speaking. Ever the romantic, Erin thought the scene to be beautiful, hoping herself to be in the same position as Sarah one day, paid such a heartful comment by Lance. They were only in the opening days of their relationship, and she wouldn't expect him to be speaking to her like that for some time. As far as the Yank was concerned though, he would not contemplate saying anything so caring towards the means to an end he saw in her. She wasn't worth the effort when there were far more attractive women back home for him to pay compliment to.
Drawing himself away from her for a moment, Shane appeared to have something else to say to her as well. Light bulbs went on in heads around the garden, the first being Gerry's, who immediately looked over towards Joe again. For whatever reason he'd allowed the fella to speak in the first place, but the southerner thought he would surely raise his voice when he realised what Shane was doing. Instead, Joe turned to his son in-law and scowled at him rather than Shane. A shocked Gerry tilted his head towards the scene that was unfolding, Shane already nearly down onto one knee with a ring in his hand, and still Joe said nothing. Mary was witnessing their exchange, shocked too that her Da did not make a comment at all. Glancing over at him when she took her eyes of her fella for a moment, Sarah joined the list of surprised people in the garden. Erin and Anna were added to that list too after a couple of seconds. Completely against his usual nature, Joe said nothing.
"Sarah McCool… would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
When her eyes flickered back to Shane as he began to spoke, they were filled with tears. Finally, she'd reached the stage of her dreams that she thought would never become a reality. When she'd found Shane, Sarah believed herself to be one of the luckiest women around but did not dare to dream that they would one day remarry. Shane's wife's death on the night Belfast was bombed made her think that he would be put off marriage, even though in the eyes of the church they could marry freely. For a long time she'd lacked a partner that she could love and trust, eyeing her own daughter jealousy when she married David, and perhaps even more jealousy was shown by her towards Erin when she was with James. Shane was a fella similar to them, not just because he was good-looking, but because of how much he cared for. That afternoon he was showing it even further, by putting a ring onto her finger. It was perfect.
"A… Aye… oh Shane… yes! Aye!"
Immediately hugging him as he stood, there was a round of applause across the garden as the family reacted to what they'd witnessed. Shane hadn't told any of them that he was planning to propose to her, apart from Joe who he'd spoken to that morning. If anything, he was more surprised than Gerry was when the answer came back as a positive one. They'd not met in the most ideal circumstances either, Shane left to ask permission out in the street when they bumped into each other as he headed to the McCool household. Joe was in a rush for reasons that he did not quite explain fully, though wanting to avoid any confrontation, he didn't ask for the details. There wasn't so much as a word against the marriage from the older man, who instead criticised him for interrupting his walk to ask questions. Arguably, the most important question to the father of a potential bride to be it was, but Joe would have none of it. He was absolutely fine with the fireman marrying his daughter.
Whilst the family were all elated for the happy couple, one man in the back garden was absolutely seething. Witnessing his father in-law nonchalantly allow proceedings to go ahead when at every other moment he'd moaned about Shane being in the family, Gerry was incensed. For years he'd put up with comments about how he was a lucky man to be married to Mary, accused of taking advantage of Joe's state in the aftermath of the Great War to sneak his way into the family. He'd talked Shane up to Joe, something that he was regretting to a certain extent when the fireman appeared to be able to get away with marrying Sarah completely unchallenged. Back at the time he proposed to Mary, he'd done so in reality too, though immediately paid the price for it when Joe realised his apparent mistake. Walking over towards the family patriarch, he couldn't hold his tongue any longer.
"Did ye agree to this, Joe?" He whispered as groups began to mingle around them.
"Aye of course I did". He grumbled. "You should take that attitude elsewhere boy, it stinks!"
Incredulous at such a response, Gerry couldn't fathom a reply of his own for a moment. Joe looked away in that time anyway, casting a glance over to where Erin was stood with Lance. It appeared they'd decided to hold hands stood up next to the shelter, the blonde right up close to the Yank's side despite the warm weather. Warily making sure that the American wasn't trying anything with his granddaughter, anything more than holding hands at least, he turned his eyes back to Gerry who'd finally found composure once more.
"But… I don't get it… I thought ye hated Shane".
"He's a prick…". Joe sighed, but quickly smiled, putting a hand on Gerry's shoulder. "… but not as much of a prick as you are, Gerry. He'll do Sarah alright so he will".
"Ye… What!?" Gerry almost shouted back at him.
"If I've said it's alright, it's alright. Look at you, big man, trying to steal their moment! Christ, ye've no respect have ye, ye southern shite!"
Aggrieved that he was suddenly turned upon, though he should have known to expect it, Gerry found nothing more to say on the matter. It was frustrating to say the least that Shane could just waltz into the family in the way he'd done, Joe seemingly not being that bothered about it. His whole behaviour throughout the day was bizarre to say the least, though all of those who'd noticed it were yet to get together to compare notes. Like many times before, it was Gerry left to be on the losing end of events that went on in the family. Still, he was happy for Shane and Sarah, who were a couple that worked well together. Shane's sensibility and courage, levelled up with Sarah's laidback and easy demeanour. They were good people fundamentally too, better people than many in the city.
Receiving the attention of her sister first after she'd stopped hugging Shane, Sarah was soon met with plenty of well wishes from the rest of the family. Orla and Marie were next over, granddaughter being excited for her grandmother and asking lots of questions about what would happen. Adorably, she'd asked if she could call Shane, Granda, to which he politely replied that he would not mind, although to the whole family, Joe was Granda no matter what the relation. He'd already asked to marry his daughter that day, he wouldn't push his luck by taking over the moniker that the patriarch coveted so highly. Anna soon congratulated her Aunt too, an extra meaning to her hug than any other that Sarah received. She'd been the one to see her Aunt at rock bottom one day when she was upset herself, Sarah explaining her dreams to the younger Quinn sister. For Anna, to be able to see them come to fruition, was absolutely cracker.
"Be a good girl, Anna, fetch us a couple of extra glasses from the wee cupboard, would ye?" Her mother asked once she'd finished with her Aunt.
"Yes Mammy!"
Eager to please, she sprinted off in the direction of the hallway, in what was an abandoned house. For all of her smarts, Anna hadn't realised what she was walking into by following the request that her mother gave her. Not at all…
Warned of change from the very moment he was back into allied hands, or at least what felt like it, James Maguire didn't understand the thoughts of Amy nor Captain Smithers. They'd told him that a lot had changed during the war, that the way he remembered where he was living might not be the same. He recognised the houses on the landscape of Derry easily though, contradicting everything he'd been told ahead of his voyage. The city hadn't changed a great deal in a little more than three years, which was the last time he'd set foot in it. The fresh air of the Atlantic Ocean was still filling his nostrils as the destroyer he was aboard made its way into the mouth of the River Foyle, it's destination a small dock just outside the main docks in the city.
Smithers hadn't lied to the young man when he informed him that he would leave Gibraltar on the Saturday after their debriefing. One of the most jarring days, if not the most jarring outside of being tortured, he'd ever experienced, James was left with plenty of time to think over his life in his own head when onboard the destroyer. Unfortunately, he was not on the same ship as the auburn-haired woman who he'd struck up such good conversation with whilst waiting for debriefing. She returned on a different destroyer on the same day, husband and son with her for the journey home. An opportunity for friendly conversation lost, the pilot resigned himself to his cabin for the majority of the journey to stay out of the way of the sailors. One of the nights he dined with the Captain, who was more than happy to regale a tale or two of the sea. James in turn told him tales of his days as a high-flying ace in the 815, a stirring rendition of the attack he'd led on Benghazi being uttered. Being three ranks higher than the man in command of the ship, if he was active as an officer, he would have been in command himself for the journey back to Britain. Rest he could though, facing retirement when he'd not yet seen himself to his twenty second birthday.
There was one change on the landscape though, one spotted by the Englishman almost immediately once he could get a clear view of the docks. For the final part of the journey, he joined the Captain on the bridge as a guest, to watch their final moments at sea before disembarkation could begin. Apart from one or two bits of cargo that would be unloaded, the only reason they'd came up the Foyle was to drop James off home, on the orders of the Intelligence Services. Originally, the destroyer should have made its way up to Scotland, but when the heir to the throne happened to be aboard, plans were changed. The Captain could have protested but upon seeing the seal of where the orders came from, he'd thought better of it before they left Gibraltar. Picking a fight with the King of England about the destination of a destroyer on a home voyage was not good for one's career.
American flags blew in the light breeze, from the multiple ships that were already docked along both banks of the Foyle. During his time in Gibraltar, James caught up on the events of the war, some that he was happy with, others not. Already knowing that the Americans were involved anyway, he wasn't so surprised to see that Derry appeared to be teeming with them. It made sense, given it was the closest major port in Britain to the arriving convoys of ships that would arrive from across the pond. For the Navy at least, it would be a tactical stronghold, especially for any battles in the Atlantic or if any German ships attempted to travel around the head of Scotland in order to cause mischief in the Irish Sea. A major presence of American warships would deter such an action from occurring, far more so than the British ships already watching the coasts.
"What do you think, James?" The Captain asked him, his Yorkshire accent standing out as it always did. "Plenty of Americans int' 'arbour as I said".
"There are Captain". James chuckled, counting the number of flags he could see. "At least it shows how committed the Americans are to the war".
"Aye it does, lad. But you have to watch them. Crafty little bastards".
Laughing at the comment that the Captain made, it was one that required some context as far as James was concerned. He wasn't that knowledgeable on American culture, knowing some of the basics without knowing anything further. As far as he was concerned anyway, the British Navy was the far superior of the two, awaiting to see whether the Americans could hold their own. Serving with Admiral Cunningham in the Med taught him what a proper Navy operated like, as well as the true power of it against an unsuspecting opponent. He didn't need to know any more about the Americans to know that they wouldn't have been able to pull off a raid like Taranto or Benghazi. Only the discipline of British men could see to such tasks.
"What do you mean?" He finally enquired with the Captain.
"Well lad, I was up int Scotland a couple of months back. I tell ye, when the Jocks are bitin' yer ear off moanin' that the Yanks are nickin' their women… there's a problem. You want to be careful if ye've a lass here… she might have ran off on ye!"
"I doubt she would have done but… thank you for your concern".
Nodding to the young man, the Captain was the third person to have made a warning to him about what he might find, but the first to directly make it about Erin. The Captain didn't realise that he was doing so when he spoke, although his concerns were not shared by the young man that he was stood next to. Erin loved him so much that upon meeting again, he knew that the experience would be blissful. Finally together again after three years, they would make up for the memories lost for the rest of their lives, together as man and wife with the hope of children to come too. Why he was so nervous when the visions visited him so frequently, he did not know, but shaking off the nerves, James attributed them to his worries over what he would say at first. He couldn't simply bend one knee and ask her to marry him on the spot, requiring a greeting of a kind to put to her when they held each other again.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out two items that made his smile grow even wider. The photograph of the two of them together before the war had helped him through the darkest days of confinement, whether they were the boring days in Taranto or the brutal ones outside of Rome. Though the image might have faded through time, Erin's beauty would never lessen in his eyes. In all the years he'd been alive, his eyes never feasted on the pure aesthetic charm of a woman like they did on her. Perfection wasn't something that he knew existed, he knew that too well, but she was the closest he'd ever seen. Her heart was also something that he loved, her nature in general appealing to him more than any other. Not only had she been his lover before the war, they were the greatest of friends too. Both aspects of their relationship would hopefully pick up where they left off. That was what he wanted.
The second item was not the wooden spoon, the regular pocket companion of the photograph over multiple months and various different items of clothing. The spoon remained in its pocket, soon to be returned to its rightful owner. Going where no kitchen utensil had ever been before, it was as much of a hero as James was. History would not know of the wooden spoon that ended the life of one of the most harrowing Nazi's that their regime produced; James would never, ever forget. Instead of the spoon, it was a ring that he pulled out. One of the few possessions he'd managed to hold onto that belonged to his mother, found in her bag on the night of her death, it would also be in the possession of another by the end of the day. What the original purpose of it was, he did not know, but the ring that once belonged to an agent of the British Intelligence Services, would act as an engagement ring on the finger of Erin Quinn.
As the ship drew closer to the shore, the sounds of a working city on a Saturday afternoon filling his ears, James was finally home. The weight of the world that was once on his shoulders, lifted off of them to make him merry with glee. His country got the best out of him over a year or so of service, before two years of pain and isolation were also served. Retired, able to return to the life he did not wish to leave in the first place, he could finally be the man that he wanted to be again. Unless the Nazi's waded up the Foyle, his contribution to the war was over.
Tragically, and unbeknownst to him, there were more battles ahead.
"Where's Anna gotten herself too…".
Mary's words were only to herself, heard by no one else in the garden as family and friends mingled together. Most were crowded around a delighted Sarah, who was held by her new husband to be Shane, their engagement confirmed on what was turning into a special afternoon. There were only a few people stood away from the two of them, two sets of pairings that were conversing separately from each other. One such pairing was two of the fathers that were present, one father disliking the other father's daughter immensely, though Sean kept his views to himself when Martin could most likely lay him out in one punch. Martin drove their conversation, as they overlooked the happy scene from a spot up by the fence.
"He's a grand fella isn't he?" Michelle's Da mused. "Sarah's done herself well there".
"It seems Joe likes him. That man does not give out compliments easily".
Chuckling at Sean's comment, which was a rarity in itself, Martin still couldn't help but feel uneasy around the man. In his eyes, whenever one spoke to Clare's Da, the feeling that one was being judged was the most prominent of all. Holding more love for the bible than his wife, the man was far too religiously motivated for his own good at times. If anything, it was for God to do the judging upon death, not Sean to do so during mortality. Oddly, he appeared to be the only person in the garden to not have a drink of any kind in his hands, and when Martin thought about if further, he hadn't seen the man take a sip of anything all afternoon. Strange behaviour it most certainly was…
"Say Sean, did ye ever hear any more about what happened to the fella that yer Clare was seein'. Right tragic that".
"Aye…". Sean sighed. "… it was. It's just a shame the cops don't see it that way".
"They've been investigating, haven't they? Sure, they might have found something. Whoever did it should be locked up, so they should".
"I agree with you there, Martin, but I'm not hopeful".
Word was yet to reach Sean that the case was officially closed, which it wasn't, Michelle only going off of her own often unreliable sources to tell Erin. He'd been so fond of the Bishop's nephew, ready to welcome him into the family as a son in-law, to begin a family with his daughter. She was devastated too from what he'd seen, a brilliant act on her own part. Watching Clare cry was never something that he enjoyed when she was his only daughter, but he didn't quite know what to do to make it right either. Pushing her back out into seeing another fella was his primary choice, though thanks to multiple delaying tactics from Geraldine, it was yet to happen. The best opportunity was already perhaps missed the week before when Clare had a couple of days off work. Equally, he was upset for the Bishop and his family too, who he considered firm friends.
"Ye never know, Sean. I just don't know who'd do something like that to such a nice fella".
"Money played its part, I bet…".
Sean's primary theory was that someone attacked him for his money. The Bishop and his family were not exactly short of the money, even when there was a war on, and when there were many struggling to get by at times, temptation was always a factor. Those who knew the young fella better, knew how generous he could be as well. Little did either he or Martin know that there were reasons far closer to home for the both of them, that were to blame for the death of the young man. Clare's insistence that Michelle and the girls helped her to rid herself of the fella, ended with a tragic misunderstanding between the young Mallon and two of the roughest criminals in the local area. The secret that was growing out of control, brought with it plenty of collateral damage too.
"Michelle was tellin' me that Clare's taken it pretty badly…". After a couple of seconds Martin engaged with him once more. "I hope she starts to do better soon, like. Can't be easy for her losing the fella when she was so keen on him."
"I hoped she would move on quickly and get back out there to find a fella, but it looks like I'm goin' to have to help her again".
"That's not a bad thing though is it, Sean? My Michelle's been let down a few times in the past, but she's always got herself back out there again with a few wee words of encouragement from me or Deirdre".
Taking care with what he said next, Sean hesitated to comment for a moment. He'd never told Martin what he thought about his daughter, only coming close to being rumbled after mass one Sunday when Clare told Michelle what he'd said. It was a misunderstanding that day, though it was the truth. In his eyes, Michelle was a whore.
"But it's a lot easier for yer Michelle. She… she has a lot more confidence than Clare does around men".
"She does get herself about". Martin replied, making Sean worry he'd been caught out for a moment. "I know. I guess with practice comes perfect. Just go easy on yer Clare though Sean, she can't help bein' the way she is".
Unaware of the true nature behind his own sentence, if it were to be known to Clare herself, Martin was merely standing up for her often uncalm, uncontrolled nature. He'd seen many times before the way in which she would panic at the smallest of changes around her, displaying a disregard for the ability to coolly judge a situation. Michelle might have had her moments, but she could at least come up with more rational decisions on the spot from what her father saw when they were together as a group. That was whenever they could get their own way around Erin, of course, the most dominant of all of them with her opinions on just about everything. She was one of the others separated from the main huddle around Sarah and Sean, stood back by the side of the Anderson Shelter talking to her fella. Lance wasn't that bothered at all about what was going on, though even he could appreciate the spectacle to a degree.
"That was mightily passionate of him…". Lance spoke of Shane to Erin, who was looking up at him with eyes of wonder. "I can't see I've ever seen a man do that before".
"Really?" Surprised, Erin replied quickly. "It's a romantic dream to have that happen to ye. Sure I'd love to be in that position one day myself…".
Her comment was not subtle at all, Lance forcing himself to perform a defensive smile. Covering his own thoughts on the matter, which were vastly different to hers, if he was to ever get down on one knee for a woman then it would be for one from back home. There were a couple of young women from the village near to the Hamilton lands who he was interested in, both of whom showed interest to him in return before he left to fight the war. It was those two that he would go back to, one being lucky enough to become his wife. Erin Quinn would never fill that position when he did not love her at all. There was only one man who truly loved her, one who she thought was long dead, though reality dictated her belief to be false. She didn't know that though… not yet.
"Perhaps you will be". The Lieutenant awkwardly stated, looking her in the eyes to find far too much glee for his liking. "One day".
"Is that a promise I'm hearing?" She giggled, blushing profusely.
"I could not possibly say…".
The pair of them broke out into laughter, the Yank only doing so once she'd began to, before it turned into a session of kissing up against the Anderson shelter. With the rest of the family distracted by Sarah and Shane, there was no one to tell Erin off for eating the face off of the American, apart from Lance himself. He would have rather not been in the position he was in, finding her completely hideous as opposed to holding any sort of feelings for her, but to maintain his own ambitions, it was an acceptable sacrifice. She was an abysmal kisser to say the least, the American believing so without even taking into account how ugly he thought she was. The amount of makeup slapped across her face was nowhere near what it was on the night they'd dined together at The River and it showed. A bout of nausea threatened to take over his stomach whilst he kissed her, but it was held at bay.
Soon saved, his gratitude would remain hidden from the blonde's sister, who was the one to break up their session with her shout. Mary wondered where he youngest had gotten to and was about to find out the answer.
"MAMMY! MAMMY!" She cried out, an odd tone of excitement tinged with fear in her voice.
Broken off from her snogging with Lance, Erin huffed loudly from their spot at the back off the garden. When she'd been denied such chances with a fella after James' death, she was going to take every one that she could get, now that she was in a relationship with Lance. Completely oblivious to the fact that he did not find her attractive whatsoever and was only kissing her in order to maintain the illusion so that he could eventually sleep with her, she was perhaps at her happiest since the day James left to fight in the war. Gradually, days were getting better with the American in her life, but none were quite as special as that afternoon out in the garden, basking in the warmth of a late summer's day.
"What does she want now…".
They stayed where they were, behind everyone else, as Anna rushed out into the back garden towards the awaiting Mary. Hands on her hips, she frowned upon seeing that her youngest did not return with the glasses that she was ordered to retrieve. Anna knew exactly where they were and appeared happy to do so before she'd gone back inside to get them. Mary Quinn was not a woman who enjoyed poor excuses when her instructions were not carried out to the absolute letter of how they'd been told. Erin was usually the daughter she needed to be concerned about when it came to rebelling against her authority, but for once it was Anna that was causing her the problem.
"Where are the glasses, Anna? What have ye been doin' in there!?" She immediately chided her.
"MAMMY! MAMMY!" The young girl shouted again, nearly out of breath. "Do ye… do ye believe in ghosts?"
A bizarre question to be asked by a daughter that she thought knew better, Mary was mystified to say the least. The attention of the rest of the garden was centred on her as well, with many of the others also wondering what she was talking about. She'd said it loud enough for nearly all of them to hear anyway, except from Erin and Lance who were too far away to be able to pick up on anything but the cries for her mother. After a second or two, a bemused Mary replied.
"No… don't be ridiculous Anna! There are no such thing as ghosts!"
"But… but there is Mammy! I can prove it!" Anna insisted.
They were all lost that afternoon when her insistence was made known without failure, even more confused by her behaviour than Gerry was with Joe's. However, the confusion was soon forgotten when it became clear that ghosts did in fact exist. A wave of open mouths began to form, as well as a few heads that turned one way and then the other, a gap appearing in the crowd of people in the garden, that stretched to the two furthest back. The ghost that took a step out into the back garden was not a ghost at all, they just were not aware that he was in fact still alive. A young man who'd been believed lost for nearly two entire years, it was the second coming of the Englishman that once bettered the lives of all of those stood out in the garden that afternoon, some a lot more than others.
It was the gap in the crowd where the ghost's attention went, to the handholding couple that were stood there. When she looked towards the back of the house, Erin found that her worst possible nightmare was coming true. She'd finally committed to Lance just over a week earlier, when her mind finally settled on the acceptance that the man she lost would never return. He was dead… supposed to be dead, but it took only nine days for her decision to be proven to be wrong. Too soon she'd given up hope, convincing her own heart to be able to move away from the thoughts of the dashing gentleman that she was so in love in the summer before the war began. He'd changed, the scars of war showing across his face, a long wound running across his left eye symbolising the conflict that he'd evidently seen. Then again, so had she.
Against all of the odds, against the tide of one of the most vicious Nazi's that was ever introduced to the world, James Maguire graced Derry with his presence once more.
His own plans though… they lay in ruins.
What should have been a tale of two lovers reuniting, instead became a wound that ached him more than any that Kurt or Hans could have ever inflicted.
He might not have been a man who cursed too often, but Gerry's whispered words could have spoken for almost everyone in the back garden that afternoon.
"Shite…".