Chapter 75: Perfidious Banker 11th September 1942
There could be no escape from the past, no matter how hard he tried.
James could not drag his mind away from the events of the prior Sunday, constantly ticking away in his head, most often working against him. Erin left him there to cry all alone, not a soul in sight to offer him the slightest of comfort. No one would have been obliged to find out what was wrong with him, though knowing the curiosity of many a churchgoer, it wouldn't have been hard to find one if there was one there watching. When the tears finally subsided, he headed off on what was a lot longer walk home than it was a walk to the church. His mind was constantly on his own failures, failing as a father years after even knowing he could have been one. Nature couldn't be changed, nor was it his fault that Erin was a victim of such nature, but he'd not been there for her when she required him. He was not there to share her burdens like he should have been. Her words may have been harsh, not that he would think it, because James' own thoughts hurt him more than Erin ever could. Ounces of positivity were hard to come by when he resigned him to be such a catastrophic failure as a man. It wasn't the young man that Katherine Maguire raised nor gave her life for, his conscience told him, even if she would have told him not to be so ridiculous. Then again, it wasn't his fault that together with Erin, they were denied a child either.
A part of that past that he could not escape was his work. Released from the Fleet Air Arm, at one of the highest ranks possible but also with almost no chance of ever being recalled, he needed to work. To earn a living, he didn't have to, for the Crown would always ensure that he was provided for, but James did not wish to rely on that money. There were far better men and women than him with a far more urgent need for the funds that he would receive without lifting a finger. The gentleman within him could not allow that to happen, not when he knew he would never be comfortable again if he lived off of that money. Luckily for James though, Captain Smithers was not completely hopeless at making arrangements on his behalf. The most logical place to start with was where he'd worked previously, the Ulster Bank, at the time of his departure being a junior manager with a portfolio of clients that even included a convicted Nazi in Professor Joyce.
He started that Monday, the day after receiving some of the most distressing news of his young life. Not many men would have been able to go back to their lives the next day, to carry on as normal when their whole life became very different upon the news they received. Some would never recover from losing a child with their partner, their bond and hearts shattered without hope of reprieve. Those men were not James though. The ability to be able to withstand such significant pressure, both mentally and physically was something he'd had plenty of practice of and could do so for lengthy periods of time. It was one of the only benefits of being held a prisoner of war by a complete sadist in Kurt; practice made perfect. Although some battles were difficult for him to fight in Italy, his resolve was hardened by his time there. Oddly enough, he was a far stronger man thanks to the torture rather than a weaker one.
That meant he could turn up at the bank on the Monday morning, fresh and ready to pick up almost where he left off. Almost that was, because it would never quite be the same again. The clientele was different with the Professor dead, and the amounts of money being spent being minimal. In some ways it made the profession a tidier occupation, but men and women did still stress about their finances, regardless of the war and sometimes because of it. It was a pitiful time for every country involved in the conflict, hardships of wars gone by coming back to be remembered by the older generations, feared by the younger. James didn't fear his work, albeit there was a startling change to when he'd left that was not unknown to him before he arrived. Mr Feeney, the senior manager at the time was no longer in employment, his health taking a turn for the worse.
James was his replacement.
Under a lot of circumstances, especially when the McLaughlin brothers who were working there, though inferior to James in rank, held far more experience than he did, it would seem wrong. James went away for three years too, leaving them to look after the bank with Mr Feeney while he went off to fight in a war that they didn't have any interest in at all. Feeney's deterioration in health was only a recent development, as recent as just a few weeks earlier, leaving the bank to be managed by someone who'd came over from Belfast for a short period. James' timing was fortuitous, handing him an opportunity to return to the same field of work in a higher position of authority than when he left, without really earning it at all. His work during the war was not in the financial sector but in the Mediterranean, attacking Italian held ports and disrupting their defences. The Ulster Bank could accept his return though, especially when it was made quite clear that rejecting it would not be in their interests.
One or two days at most was all it took for James to settle back into life working at the bank, quickly understanding his new duties that came with the upgraded position. He was responsible for everything now, his old work included, though there was the chance to delegate more effectively when no one could overrule him. A position was vacant for another employee at the bank, however, it was clear that another manager was not required. The chance instead was for another clerk, just the same as the McLaughlin's, with the Wednesday afternoon of that week being devoted to interviewing potential candidates. There were some more humorous applicants, though James made sure to give everyone their chance to attempt to impress him. Quite why Big Mandy thought she would fit in as a valued member of the team at the bank, he did not know, but he heard her out anyway. The role eventually went to a fella named Jamie, who appeared to be the most suited. He was due to start the following week, which meant some of Friday was going to be spent devoted to clearing a desk for him.
Taking it upon himself to be the one to tidy up, James waved away the McLaughlin's offers of help that morning, wishing to show that despite his promotion, he would contribute as normal. They would not have thought any worse of him should he have asked them to, aware that he could command them to perform such tasks if he so pleased. That wasn't the man that James was though, which he'd shown during his time as an officer. The men in the 815 Naval Air Squadron were amongst some of the most content in Britain, with their trust in the young Captain at the time being mirrored by his faith in them to perform in battle. Neither let the other down until the night of Taranto, a night considered a success by all those whose judgement was important anyway, despite James' own thoughts.
Friday was quiet thankfully, allowing for conversation to spread back and forth between James and the brothers. He'd missed them quite a lot, despite not seeing eye to eye with them upon his initial arrival. Over the months he'd worked with them before the war, they, like the rest of Derry, softened to him, coming to understand that he was no ordinary Englishman. James might have walked like an Englishman, talked like an Englishman and gestured like one too, but at heart he was just an honourable man. There was no country to tag upon that honour, a quality that shone irrespective of the flag that hung over the beholder. Back together working again, the three of them spoke as if the three years of separation did not occur. Far enough away from the family to not make any conversation awkward, neither of them had mentioned Erin to him out of respect either. Although he'd not gone out of his way to thank them for not talking about her to him, he was very much appreciative of their conduct.
"I see those Jap bastards have finally took a beatin'". Ian read out cheerfully, his nose in the paper. "Crafty fuckers were owed one after what they did to the Yanks".
"The Yanks have caught them a couple of times now…". Tommy added. "Silly Jap shiteheads should have thought about that before they got involved".
With his back to them, James chuckled at their thoughts about the war, which he did agree with to some point. Even some of the Japanese commanders were worried about what they'd done, waking a giant that was previously asleep with no warning. It might have taken the Americans a few months to wake up, but upon winning the Battle of Midway, they were firmly ensconced in the Pacific conflict. That battle was months old though, not the battle that Ian read out. The newspaper in front of him was instead reporting on a battle where the Americans were not even the primary fighters on the Allied side. It was the Australian army that were primarily the ones that did the damage to the Japanese forces, bloodying their land troops who'd spent years finding success after success. Their reality was checked.
"Not bad for a bunch of criminals, those Australians".
"English criminals though, Ian. No offence James". Tommy sniggered.
"None taken, Tommy". James looked back over his shoulder grinning. "I must say I have to hand it to them. They never seem to disappoint in battle do the Australians, despite some of them descending from… less reputable pasts".
No Australians were going to be entering the bank that day at least, though the three of them would have passed it off as a joke anyway. James thought highly of their fighting abilities, having listened to many officers speak highly of them too, officers who'd worked with the Australians unlike him. Appreciating what made a good serviceman, himself being an example of the perfect officer, James was vastly better at judging such traits than the brothers were. He let them continue on though, the conversation doing no harm.
"I'd like to see the Japanese try here ye know… little bastards would think twice seeing Sister Michael and yer Aunt Deirdre in the front lines, eh James?" Tommy jested, to which the other two both laughed.
"I would like to think they might wish to discuss peace if my Aunt was on the frontline. She can make a fantastic cup of tea for a diplomatic meeting". James replied to him.
"A cup of tea? I'm not sure yer Aunt would be making them a cup of tea if they turned up, more like making them turn round to feckin' swim back to where they came from".
"They wouldn't swim there ye great eejit". Ian reprimanded his brother, shaking his head. "It's feckin' miles to Japan".
"Oooh alright Ian, don't get your knickers all tied up. Look at ye, thinking ye know all that geography now because ye shagged that blonde who liked collectin' maps".
"Oi, Louise is a fine girl, so she is! She's taught me a lot about the world, so she has, give her some respect!".
Chuckling at what he was hearing, James was happy that at least one of the lads found himself someone special. Ian and Tommy were not bad-looking fellas in their own right, even if they were easily outshone by their manager when compared. He'd understood from them, during that week, that many of the local women left their partners for Yanks upon the American arrival in the city, making it far more of a challenge to keep a woman. Knowing all too well how that felt without showing his upset about the situation he was in, James could only wonder whether the Americans were causing more problems than they were doing good in the city. Trying not to apply a bias when he was on the receiving end of the negatives of their arrival in Derry, it wasn't outrageous to suggest they were not doing anything for the war effort, training aside. The local men were often agitated by the American servicemen, who could spend a lot more money on wooing the women than they could.
"A whole page on Admiral Andrew Cunningham… what a load of old shite…".
Ian might have been dismissive of the newspapers report on the man, but it pricked James' ears up. The Admiral was not just another man to him, he was someone that commanded a large amount of respect from James. He was one of the most senior officers alongside the commander in the Med, for the last part of his service, James in theoretical command of all air forces deployed in the theatre, at the Admiral's command. He'd not heard anymore about him since, though the Admiral was far from the first thing on his mind when he finally made it to Gibraltar. They would have most likely met during his rescue, at the very least towards the end of it, should it have gone as planned on the fateful night in March. He was intrigued where Ian was not.
"Admiral Cunningham?"
"Ye know him?" Tommy enquired.
"Yes". James spoke glowingly, walking towards Ian and the paper. "We served together in the Mediterranean. I was in meetings with him frequently".
"Oh aye, I remember now! He was the one who they were quoting about the battle… ye know, the one you and David didn't come back from".
Tommy spoke delicately about Taranto, trying not to upset his friend and boss, another valiant act that James could only be grateful for. The country may have been told of the heroism of the men in the stringbags, heroism which was not uncalled for, but James himself did not feel a part of it. He was shot down, watched his friend die and, over time, his life crumble away in spite of the effort he put in to stay alive. Admiral Cunningham was never near the front lines that night, safely back in the comfort of the Fleet where he belonged, confident he would not be attacked when the Fleet Air Arm were wreaking havoc on the opposing fleet. He was glad to hear that the man was alive though, and it appeared the newspapers were keen on giving him recognition too.
"He's a grand fella they're sayin'… responsible for some brilliant victories in the Med…". Ian condensed the page spread on the man.
"He is a very smart man and a very capable commander. I think I bettered myself by serving alongside him".
"He is English though. No-".
"None taken… again". James interrupted Tommy, shaking his head jokingly. "Please do not tarnish us all with the same brush, it is not entirely fair".
"Alright so there's a couple of decent Englishmen… fair enough".
The brothers were laughing at him when Ian replied, laughter that James shook off playfully. They were only teasing him in jest, no harm done really when they were friends. Knowing well enough not to make too much of a case for the country of his birth over the country of his maternal heritage, if they knew who he really was then it would be much different, James presumed. Living in a city that warmed to him despite him being English, the reception would undoubtedly change if they realised he was the heir to the throne. His own safety would most likely be compromised, seen as a figurehead to unload many generations worth of frustrations upon. They'd never need to know though, that was the advantage of being illegitimate in the line to the throne. It was in his interest, and the King's, for public knowledge of him to never exist.
"I tell ye what James, yer safe from one thing". Ian suddenly piped up, throwing the newspaper down as James walked back to the spare desk.
"From what?" A confused James replied.
"Safe from havin' Jenny Joyce tryin' to lock ye in her room like she nearly did that one time. You remember don't you?"
He did remember, but that was not the issue at hand as he stared intently back at Ian. Yet again he was going to have to be careful about what he said, for they most likely did not know the truth of the matter like he did when it came to the Joyce's. From what he knew, public opinion was that the Joyce's were taken away to be imprisoned due to the Professor's alleged Nazi connections, and Jenny be considered the enemy because of it. Removing such people from the public was an important job when they could have easily sown the seeds of discord within the working people, especially in Northern Ireland where tensions were already high. That was why the spy needed to be dealt with, as well as one of the reasons why James decided to help Charlene. Nazis did not belong on home soil.
"I… I do recall the incident, yes". Slightly hesitantly, he responded after a moment.
"I remember when you told us about it…". Tommy snorted. "That girl could really get possessive from what I've heard. Ye got yerself lucky avoiding her, so ye did".
"Why would you say that?"
Choosing to play dumb, it was the best that the pilot could do to arouse less suspicion. If he allowed them to tell him the public opinion, whilst seemingly oblivious to all knowledge regarding the Joyce's, they would not suspect anything further. The Professor being old school friends with Kurt, studying Science together in London many years earlier had always left a sour tase in his throat whenever it was mentioned. How he hadn't seen the signs after vising the Joyce's mansion so many times was beyond him, but it was never really his finances that were under scrutiny alongside his allegiances.
"Ye've not heard? Ye gone deaf or somethin'?" Tommy reacted with just as much shock as James hoped he would.
"Heard what?"
"The Joyce's are all in prison, so they are. No one really knows the truth but…".
"But Tommy, they're feckin' Nazi's so they are!" Ian exclaimed. "I don't know about the wife or even Jenny really, but I can bet the Professor was one. Fuckin' prick, stridin' round in his grand old house while he kept his bed with the fuckin' krauts!"
The bank being quiet meant that James did not have to discipline Ian on his otherwise foul language, not that it made it any better that he did not. The two of them were definitely buying the rhetoric planted by the Intelligence Services, information not completely false but not entirely true either. Jenny and her father were both long buried back towards the start of the war, Charlene and Emerald Two involved in their separate demises. There were few who knew that they were not alive, but rather dangerously one person that did know the truth was another Nazi, the spy that was running out of time to be of use to her overlords. A woman who was more of a threat to James than any of them realised.
"It is most odd…". James mused, continuing to clear the desk. "I think perhaps, for me at least, you have to spend some time away from someone to get to know who they really are".
It took quite a lot to whip the McLaughlin's brothers into silence, but the comment did just that. They were not silent because they thought that the comment applied to them, which it very much could have done, but because they knew who the Englishman was really talking about. The comment could be disguised as one against the Professor and would have been by James no doubt it they chose to press him, though it would have been an unfair reflection. There was little to no doubt in their minds that Erin was the intended recipient of his thoughts, James still hurting from what she'd told him. Ian and Tommy did not know about the pair's lost child but did not have to, understanding that their boss was most likely taken aback by her decision to move on. The pair of them were also unaware of it being upon James' insistence that she did, albeit they would always see him as the better man when measured up to a Yank.
"Better off havin' no Nazi's about ye know, aye". Tommy said to the two of them, both nodding in return.
"They're fucked though, aren't they James?" Ian sought his opinion. "I reckon another year and this will all be done. Just need to get over there and fight them".
"It is easier said than done, Ian. The Nazi's are many things, but they are very well organised… better organised than some of our own units".
Surprised by his words, the two of them did not expect James to talk up the Nazi's. In truth, he didn't know why he'd done so when his memories of the ones he'd met were so poor, but it wasn't completely a lie. There were some brilliantly organised units within the enemy's ranks, accounting for their rapid advance across Europe. Although they might not have been able to breach the resilient British spirit, they'd broken another major nation in France without so much as breaking sweat. However, they were also struggling against the Soviet Red Army on the other side of the continent, preparing for another arduous winter against the hardy Russians. To be able to simply land in continental Europe to offer significant resistance to the Nazi's, was going to be a perilous task.
"How do ye think it'll go then? Ye don't think they'll win do ye?"
"No Tommy, I do not think that at all". James replied, sitting down on the desk to face the brothers. "The longer that this war continues, the more hope that we are giving to ourselves. I think if the Nazi's were going to win, they would have done so already. Only a fool would wish to engage our combined forces of allies over a sustained period of time".
"Can we trust the Yanks to stay though?" Raising a valuable point, Tommy almost sneered it. "I don't like some of these American fellas ye know… they're right funny bastards, so they are".
America might have been a valued ally, providing another outlet of hope for a beleaguered Britain, but in Derry their presence was not as warmly welcomed months later as it had been on the day they landed. Welcomed to the city by none other than Anna Quinn, the behaviour of sailors in particular made a lot of local men angry, as well as jealous. It left tensions high, especially when there were frequent clashes between the two groups, not to mention the almost forgotten British soldiers. Allies were meant to hold trust in each other and whilst in in a military sense it was yet to be broken, in a more personal setting, there were already doubts. If Japan was to be taken out of the equation first, would they stick around to fight the Germans? That was a question on many people's lips… because it wasn't their war.
"We have to trust them… there is little choice but to". A sigh was produced by James. "However, I share your concerns to a point, Tommy. The Americans are not as battle-hardened as our own men… we cannot have them fleeing at the first sound of gunshots".
"Aye I bet they might be feckin' cowards. They don't look tough". Ian scoffed.
"Well we cannot…".
Before James could continue, the sound of the bank door opening prompted them all into action. Sat around talking idly about the war, it was only acceptable to do so when there was no one else around but that was about to change. Luckily, it wasn't an onslaught of people all rushing in at once, which was to be expected on a Friday lunchtime when many people would come to discuss their finances. Looking up over the counter from the spare desk, James could see that it was a woman that walked in, who waved over to the two brothers who waved back to her, asking if she was alright. They said her name aloud, but James didn't need them to for his benefit, recognising the young woman that walked in. She was someone he'd seen in the crowd at church, but not to speak to when he'd made such a swift exit.
He remembered Aisling quite well.
The two were not particularly well acquainted before the war, but he'd spoken to her on a couple of occasions. She was a friend of Jenny, who they'd previously discussed in the minutes before she showed her face that lunchtime, though was very much a peripheral figure in his dealings with the now deceased woman. Like most of the women in Derry when he'd first arrived, Aisling fell under the spell of James' charm, though unlike her friend she did not decide to act upon those feelings. Any woman with a brain could see that James was a ride, though she was very much in agreement with Charlene when it came to understanding what James could see in Erin. As far as she was concerned, the mouthy blonde was not worthy of air being wasted upon her, not when she was so self-absorbed. There'd been clashes at school between her and all of the girls, most of the time because of Jenny but occasionally due to her own dislike of most of them. Her quiet, unassuming nature made her more likeable at least, the reason for even Michelle not disliking her as much as she had Jenny.
James didn't know what her occupation was entirely, and by her appearance as she strode towards him, it wasn't clear at all. Not entirely sophisticated in what she was dressed in, but certainly not in any sort of work attire, he vaguely remembered that she was somewhat well off too. Her parents were rather than the young woman herself but growing up from such a background left her plenty of resources to spend on her outlook. Dressed for the ballroom, she was not, but dressed far too well for the bank she absolutely was. There was absolutely no need to turn up to the Ulster Bank wearing a turquoise trilby on a normal day, yet Aisling was pulling off the look along with a matching turquoise jacket too. She was also wearing copious amounts of makeup too, her lips glowing red as they curved up into a smile at the Englishman. The war was kind to her too from what James could see, her streamline figure remaining how he remembered it from their prior brief meetings.
"Good…". James looked up to the clock to check. "Afternoon, Miss".
"Ach no need to be so formal…". She giggled, blushing. "Welcome back to Derry, James. It's not everyday ye see a dead man working in a bank".
Rolling their eyes from across the side of the room, the McLaughlin's decided to get stuck into their work rather than listen to Aisling. They were all too used to watching attractive young women walk into the bank, only for James to catch their eye and the two of them were forgotten. It didn't anger them so much as it did before the war when they were no more than adolescents themselves, in fact amusing them by making them remember how frustrating it used to be. Ian's own relationship meant he didn't have anything to be annoyed about, and Tommy wasn't exactly short of chances when he wasn't too bad-looking himself. They key to success was to be nowhere near James, Tommy knew, a task made considerably easier when he'd apparently died yet harder again upon his return, now that he was not with Erin.
"Ye remember me don't ye?" Aisling, her focus only on James, asked.
"How could I forget you, Aisling?".
Hearing him speak her name prompted the young woman's smile to extend further, pleased to hear that he'd not forgotten her when they'd only been acquainted so briefly. Remembering how obsessed Jenny was about him when he first arrived, it was an obsession that was going nowhere when it became clear that Erin Quinn was also madly into the fella. Erin was as stubborn as the fiercest of old mules when she wanted to be, far outweighing Jenny's own track record of getting whatever she wanted. James was a step too far, and when she'd told Aisling that he'd rejected her advances, she'd implored her friend to admit defeat to Erin when the Englishman appeared to find her company the more appealing of the two. Ultimately, not listening to her friend was Jenny's downfall, killed for being too close to James when her father's ties to the enemy were revealed.
"That's grand that ye remember. I wasn't sure that ye would ye know… ye've been away for a long time".
"I have indeed". He replied, taking his seat behind the counter. "What may I help a beautiful young lady such as yourself with today?"
Charming as ever, James could play the gentleman very well. The lads were seemingly unaware of the gloomy presence that had taken over their friend in the days since his return, hiding his darkened thoughts effectively. Aisling didn't seem to notice either, taken aback by his gentlemanly ways with her, James acting as if they were old friends when they were barely even acquaintances during his brief spell in Derry prior to the war.
"My Da wants me to pay something in…". She replied, taking her stringbag down from where it hung from her shoulder, reaching inside to retrieve the money. "Here… it's not a lot but he asked me to bring it down, so he did".
"No problem, please let me just fetch his accounts book".
James took a moment to find it, retreating back to his office where some of the more lucrative clients files were kept. Oddly enough, he'd not kept an eye of her family's finances before the war, the honour instead falling to Mr Feeney. He did know their family name though, saving himself from having to ask her for it. Vaguely, he could remember her mother once coming into the bank when Mr Feeney was unavailable, leaving him to have to sort out the accounts rather than the then manager of the bank. She was a nice enough lady, Aisling's mother, similarities between them evident when he lined their images up in his mind. With the book in his hand, he returned to the counter, taking his seat.
"My apologies for the wait". Gentlemanly as ever, he asked for forgiveness.
"Ach not a bother, James. I'm in no rush".
With his suspicions that she was not working almost confirmed by her sentence, James was left to wonder how she managed to go on when so many people were working themselves into the ground for the war effort. There were men and women long past the age that they should have been working, slaving away to make ends meet as well as do their bit for the country. Compared to Aisling, a bright young woman in her early twenties who could potter about on a Friday lunchtime without a care in the world, seemingly unaffected by watching those around her working so tirelessly… it was astonishing. Her conscience surely must have been shaken like his was, the reason why he was working at the bank when he more than anyone held a more valid excuse to not work.
"Are you not working?" The question was put to her softly, but with intrigue by him.
"No, Daddy doesn't want me to work". She replied without hesitation, completely honestly. "I think he wants me to find myself someone to settle down with but… it's not so easy…".
Her tone implied that she'd made some effort to conduct her father's wishes, but those efforts were yet to yield any results. Aisling wasn't hideous at all, no doubt being the perfect young woman for someone to marry within the city, though that man was yet to reveal himself. Without knowing the family well, James couldn't draw a conclusion as he started to fill the ledgers in, as to how controlling her father was on her life. If he did want to ensure that the family lived on and that he was alive to see his grandchildren, then she was no doubt under considerable pressure to start a family when there was a war on. The war also made finding a partner vastly more difficult on the home front, or at least it had, with so many young men leaving to fight in the war. She also wasn't the only woman of her age within Derry that was being advised by her father to create new life, but she was not holding the secrets that Clare held...
"There are plenty of American servicemen around, perhaps you could find yourself a special someone within their ranks".
Finding himself giving her relationship advice, a role completely unknown to him at any point in his life, James almost couldn't believe that it was he who was speaking. He didn't recognise the young English gentleman that could help an Irishwoman find a fella, but so many things had changed during the war that perhaps it was just another reflection of those changes. Laughing at his thoughts, Aisling clearly didn't think too much of his attempt from what he could see, making the change in his character a temporary one rather than permanent. If his job at the Ulster Bank was ever in doubt, advisory work already looked to be one career path to avoid.
"I don't know about that. Those Americans… well I'm not sure that they can be trusted, ye know. Say, isn't Erin with an American now?"
The gentleman James Maguire immediately sought to forgive her for mentioning his former lover, a simple mistake made when Aisling wouldn't know how much he was hurting because of the young Quinn. That was what he would say when he found the words in the back of his throat, that were pinballing around the ridge of his voice box when he first went to retrieve them. Beneath the mask that he wore, the real James Maguire wanted to berate her for daring to speak of Erin in his presence. He did not wish to talk about her life with Lance openly, not after what she'd told him the Sunday before in the graveyard. The cynical, war-torn man that the city of Derry was truly housing, could not forgive her so easily… but following in his mother's footsteps, James was developing a skill for acting. That man was not brought to the surface.
"Yes…".
"Oh…". Aisling quickly responded, realising she'd hit a raw nerve. "I'm so sorry, so I am, James. I should have thought…".
"It is I who should apologise for my reaction". He interrupted her, taking his eyes off the ledgers for a moment. "You have not upset me, Aisling".
"Good… Grand!"
Conversation between the two ceased, the young woman allowing the banker to complete her father's ledgers. It wasn't a job that took long when it was a simple case of her father paying some money into his account, although it did still require professional completion. She didn't want to be responsible for James smudging the ledgers by her distracting him. Whilst she waited, Aisling took off the spectacles that dominated her look. There were not too many people her age within the city that wore spectacles, some needing them but being unable to afford them. Coming from wealth as she did, the price was not a problem at all, the glasses that she wore being fine ones that came from London. After a couple more seconds, she also added to her scent, by retrieving a tiny bottle of perfume from her bag and applying it. The lavender scent swam up James' nostrils, though it did not distract him as he'd already finished off with the ledgers. A smell most pleasant it certainly was.
"Was there anything else you needed?" Enquiring, James rose from his seat.
"Not here no… but…".
"But?"
Where she'd previously been confident, Aisling was suddenly overcome with fear. Fear that James could not understand when all he'd asked was if she needed anything else, he was left completely flummoxed, the same as the brothers were from where they were sat across the room. They could still hear some of the conversation from where they were sat, as much as they'd attempted to drown out the noise by focusing on their work. It was not their place to get involved to ask her what the problem was though, neither Tommy nor Ian glancing over to offer assistance to the Englishman. James was the boss after all, overriding responsibility fell to him not the two of them.
"There's a wee party bein' held in a couple of weeks… well more of a dance I suppose. I'm helpin' to organise it all and I… well do ye fancy comin'? I guess ye've not been to a dance for a long time ye see and it might be good for ye?"
"I am honoured that you would consider inviting me!". Playing up to his gentlemanly nature, James placed a hand over his heart. "But I think that perhaps it is not wise".
"W-Why?" She hesitantly asked in return, before it hit her. "Oh no, they won't be comin'. Ye know… erm… well you know".
Understanding fully that Aisling was referring to Erin, Michelle, Orla and Clare, James turned his head away for a moment. He didn't want them to miss out on account of him, not when he was the interloper returning to the city when they all thought him to be deceased. They shouldn't have to suffer because of his presence, the young Englishman thought to himself, his hand coming up to stroke his cleanly shaved chin. If they were to attend, it would be unquestionably awkward when the tension between himself and Erin would be so obvious. Orla might have been open to him, already having proclaimed herself as a friend no matter what happened the Sunday before, but just having her understanding was not enough. Aisling being an organiser became the crux to base his decision upon though, because if she was not going to invite them, then it made sense for him to go. A touching thought on her behalf to think of his wellbeing, she was right too. Getting out, interacting with people rather than being alone in the cottage each night, was a far more positive way to live his life.
"Alright, I shall do my best to attend". He hummed out the reply, smiling at the bespectacled woman, his head tilted back to her.
"Cracker!" She exclaimed rather loudly, an eyebrow being raised by the McLaughlin's, who she turned her attention to. "You two can come as well as if ye want".
"Sounds good to me". Tommy shouted back at her, Ian nodding his agreement.
With the two of them present then it would guarantee to at least be a moderately successful evening when he could fall back on talking to them if all else failed. Aisling asked for a pen and some paper a second later, which James passed over the counter to her, allowing her to write down the details of the event that she was inviting him to. There were several of the sort still going on despite the war, dances being as popular as ever despite the threat of bombing from the Luftwaffe. In Derry the threat remained minimal due to more lucrative targets lying in closer range to the bombers. The Nazi's were also aware that James Maguire was now back in the city thanks to their spy and did not dare risk their bombers in a night attack in case they found him waiting in the air for them. Some losses were too heavy to consider.
"There… I look forward to seein' ye there". She fluttered her eyelashes at him as she spoke, another woman entranced by James' handsome appearance.
"Thank you… and I must say the same". He dipped his head. "And Aisling?"
"Aye?"
"I was sorry to hear about Jenny. I know the two of you were close".
"We were…". She sighed. "But we'll see each other again sometime, I know we will".
Bidding farewell to each other on a more positive note a second later, Aisling left with an additional spring in her step that the McLaughlin's recognised. So many women walked away from James with extra confidence from having apparently been charmed by him, or have charmed him themselves, that the tally would have been a couple of pages long if they were to have kept score. The two of them both looked over to their boss with grins on their faces, leaving James to shake his head at their lack of maturity. All he'd done was accept an invitation to a dance, not least managing to get the two of them invited as well. There was nothing between him and Aisling, not feeling for her at all. Sadly for James, the only woman that he truly loved was unobtainable, thanks to a combination of the past, and Lieutenant Lance Hamilton.
Going back to clearing up the desk, his mind was back on the job but with the dance a couple of weeks in the future, firmly within his next wave of thoughts.
Patience and Michelle Mallon did not go hand in hand.
She didn't do patience, not at all, especially when her mind was set on something. Deirdre and Martin did their best to delay her for a few days but come Friday lunchtime, nothing could be done to stop her. Work wasn't particularly busy that morning, not when Erin's proactive approach during the week meant they'd all finished what they needed to do. She was curiously distracted that week, in Michelle's opinion, but with everything that had happened the weekend before, she knew better than to ask. With the rest of the girls staying for lunch at work, the dark-haired young woman relished the chance to be able to get some fresh air and a break from Erin's whinging at the lack of work to do… which was the blonde's fault anyway.
Her ulterior motive was to go to the bank, to be able to see her cousin. James' return shellshocked everyone, but she was stunned in a more pleasant way than most. When news of his death first came through to Derry along with David's, she was more guilt-ridden than ever about not being able to personally apologise to him for how she'd previously treated him. One of the best fellas she'd ever met, her inability to see past him as a usurper within the family made him the enemy in her mind at the time, only after he'd gone to fight realising that she was in fact wrong. Her parents were on hand as always to point her in the right direction then, and although she'd written to her cousin to ask for forgiveness, it would have meant a lot more to tell him so in the flesh. When David returned to the city twice without him, her guilt only continued to grow until it became a nightmare when they'd apparently died. With James alive though, she held a chance of redeeming herself to him.
Understanding that James needed more time than anyone realised, Martin and Deirdre wanted her to leave him alone for longer, allow James to come to her rather than Michelle go to him. However, she was never going to wait as long as they wanted her to, believing they were somewhat overexaggerating his situation. Nipping things in the bud quickly seemed better to her, even if her more worldly wise parents could tell her that it was best not to. From the moment that she left work, she practically ran the short distance over to the bank, with her mind only thinking about what she would say to him. Unlike a lot of people, Michelle was not someone who played moments over in her head beforehand, trying to plan what to say. She winged it on the day, that was her style, it always had been. It could rub a lot of people up the wrong way, but to those who knew her better, it was just classic Michelle.
On the way she passed by a group of sailors, who must have been on leave for the day, but didn't stop to chat. Her Clint was not one of them, subsequently ignoring the wolf whistles of the others as she briskly breezed past. Clint was the only fella for her now, although their relationship was stagnating somewhat because of his inability to find time to come off of the ship. Unlike Lance, who rather frequently was given shore leave from what she could see, Clint was restricted to shouting to her from the deck. They'd not kissed in weeks, the last time being one night when she'd managed to sneak aboard to see him on the deck for a couple of minutes, the pair nearly discovered, resulting in her having to jump to the shore, narrowly avoiding falling into the Foyle as she did. Deirdre's anger would have been stratospheric if she did, but fortune favoured the brave on that occasion.
The clandestine, which it shouldn't have been when they were in love but inevitably was, nature of her relationship with the Yank played on her mind a lot, especially when there was no one to talk to about it. Although her parents were aware that their daughter was seeing a sailor, her general improvement in behaviour meant that she was often not out late like she used to be, and they only heard snippets about him. In an ideal world she wouldn't have hidden details about him to them, but the world was far from ideal in wartime. Worried about what they might have thought of him when he was just an ordinary sailor, far inferior to Erin's Lieutenant fella, they dragged her down into being very coy. She was not usually like that all, one of the most open people in the city when it came to what she was up to, but with Clint it was different. She loved him though, loved him more than any other fella she'd ever came across, without ever even sleeping with him. Discovering that a relationship with a fella could be more than just what went on in the bedroom, he was who she wished to build the foundations of the rest of her life upon. Life was never quite that easy though.
Walking into the bank, the scene was far different to when Aisling walked out of it around thirty-five minutes before. There was a queue forming at the desks where the McLaughlin's worked, the two of them up to their eyeballs in ledgers and people. For some reason the gates of hell had almost opened on the place in a short space of time, with all sorts of people there in the queue. She'd heard about Mr Feeney's illness herself thanks to her impressive sources of gossip, vines that extended far and wide, knowing that the bank were a person down anyway. That Friday lunchtime though it appeared that they were two people down, James unable to be seen to her naked eye. One significant difference to her arrival over Aisling's, was that Michelle did not find the need to dress to impress whilst visiting her cousin. There was no turquoise trilby and matching jacket for her, the young Mallon clad in her work clothes that were not too dirty when little work was completed that morning. Her hair was quite wild unlike Aisling's well groomed, untouched by manual labour hairstyle that radiated wealth. The class divide between the two was rather obvious.
Despite it being busy, Michelle was still herself and the number of people in front of her in the queue, did not detract from her way of getting attention. Most would quite rightly see it as rude, but she couldn't care less for what they thought about how she acted.
"Oi Tommy!"
Calling out from the back of the line, she made sure that she was heard, to the disdain of the little old lady in front of her. Met with one of the most vicious scowls that she'd ever seen, she gave a look back to emphasise how little she cared for the woman's opinion, to which the woman tutted. Michelle recognised her from church, being one of those who spread gossip around like wildfire, making her instantly dislikeable… even when she was guilty of the same crime on frequent occasions herself. Behind the counter, the McLaughlin brother stood up from his seat to see where she was, instantly recognising who it was by the sound of her voice. Next to him, Ian was left smirking along from his brother, knowing how much he fancied Michelle and had done for some time. She was an outgoing young woman that attracted many an admirer, but the single Tommy's attraction to her lasted for some time. They never really thought it right to discuss around James when she was his cousin, but whilst he was away during the war there was many an afternoon when Ian would tease him about her. He was going to have fun watching his brother deal with her…
"Michelle! We're quite busy ye know, what do ye want!?"
"Thanks for the welcome!" She yelled back.
"S…S-orry!" His second shout was far more hesitant. "If ye've come to ask me for a drink tonight, then I'd say seven!"
The audacity on him at times was legendary, leaving Ian to barely be able to continue writing he was that amused by it. Their professionalism might well have been called into question if Mr Feeney was still there and listening, especially as it was waning thanks to Michelle. The man that Ian was assisting was hardly pleased with their tomfoolery, juvenile delinquency if the man were to be asked, though chose to be quiet in order not to enflame the situation. There were others in the queue who knew the Mallon at the back of it, and the last thing that they wanted to happen was to have her mouthing off all lunchtime. The majority of them had jobs to go back to in the afternoon; if she started talking, none of them would ever leave.
"Wise up ye stupid prick!" Calling back, Michelle wasted no time in venting her anger.
"Language, young lady!". The woman in front of her spat in disgust.
"Ach shut it ye sour old bag!" Michelle venomously countered, shocking the lady. "Haven't ye nothin' better to do!"
Effective in silencing the woman, Michelle turned her attentions away from her, but not without a last look of anger that was flashed the woman's way. Should her mother ever find out about how she treated the old lady then she would be on the end of an almighty tongue-lashing, Deirdre not one to tolerate such disrespect of the older generations. Martin wouldn't have thought much of it too, though he was no fan of the women that gossiped in church, so may have let her off. That was for her to worry about another day though, instead running a hand through her long dark hair, peering back towards the front of the queue where Tommy was still attempting to get her attention. Smartly conceding that he wasn't going to be having a drink with her that night, the banker still wished to know why she was there.
"What do ye need then Michelle!?"
"Is James in!?"
Tommy's mouth opening coincided with a door opening behind him, prompting him to cease any attempt to communicate back to her. Thinking better of it when there was one man in a better place to answer the question, he deduced that sitting back down and continuing on where he left off with the woman he was assisting, was a far better use of his time. When the door opened, the man it revealed behind it was dressed differently to how he'd entered the room. Just in a shirt with smart trousers, the formalities of a tie and jacket were abandoned in a fashion that was never seen in the Ulster Bank. Even during the height of summer, on the very hottest days experienced in the North West, all members of staff kept their jackets on. A returning James, now in charge of every aspect of the Bank, ripped up the script himself that lunchtime. The two buttons of the shirt he'd undone accentuated his burly chest, the upper most part of the pectorals being visible to those who stared for a bit longer.
"Yes he is!"
Replying himself, James gave his cousin a wide smile, receiving one in return when her eyes found his from the back of the crowd. The good-looks in his family were shared out between the two of them at their age, Michelle always looking beautiful whenever he saw her. It helped that their mothers were a pair of stunningly attractive sisters in their day, and even to some extent that day, albeit Kathy no longer being alive to confirm his thoughts. Before he could focus on her though, there was the small matter of assessing whether she would have to wait her turn. With five people in the queue ahead of her, albeit two of them together, as well as the two already being assisted at the counter, it made sense for him to help the McLaughlin's out. However, when he was supposed to be on his lunch break and with Michelle almost certainly on hers, the time for waiting around was not there.
"Can the two of you handle this?" He asked the brothers. "I will relieve you of your duties in half an hour, I promise".
"Aye we'll handle it, won't we Tommy?" Ian was the first to respond, nodding confidently.
"Aye sure. Tell her not to make too much noise though, we do want to concentrate ye know". The other brother added, smirking.
"I will not make any hasty promises that I fear I cannot keep, Tommy…". Almost whispering, James struggled to contain the laughter. "But I promise you I shall try my best".
Keeping Michelle quiet took either a very brave or a very foolish man to maintain a close watch upon her, and even tell her to keep it shut if she got too loud. Somewhat predictable in her responses though, when Michelle was told to be quiet, her natural reply would be to shout obscenities at the perpetrator. Able to cope with such words when he held experience of being hated in her eyes, it was not so much of a task for James as it was for others. From behind the comfort of his closed office door there was at least some privacy unless she really went for it on the yelling. Then half of Derry would hear, and the Americans in training could really do without what might be mistaken for an air raid siren half a mile away.
Waving Michelle forward, it caused some consternation with the woman in front of her, who once again turned to scowl. Anyone else would have ignored the woman and moved on, even the stubborn Erin wouldn't have gotten herself embroiled into an argument with an old lady over something so trivial as being moved forward in the queue. Michelle wasn't anyone else though, she was exactly who she was, fed up with being demonised by an old lady who probably didn't have a job to rush back to. She could spend the whole day trundling along without a care in the world if she so pleased, whereas Michelle would incur the wrath of Meyler the Supervisor if she was as much as twenty seconds late.
"Will you quit lookin' at me like that!" Michelle started. "What have I done to ye!?"
"Ye've been very rude for a young lady. And then this… English… man has let ye through to the front of the queue. Disgraceful, that's what it is!"
"He's my cousin, ye daft old spinster!"
"MICHELLE!"
The bank fell completely silent when James practically roared her name. For a gentleman that barely raised his voice on the worst of days, everyone in the bank including the McLaughlin's were stunned that he could shout so loud. The old lady turned her ire on him, but if she thought that Michelle was tough, then getting into an argument with James would have been a very jarring experience should she have tried. Thinking better of it, she slotted back into line without saying anything else. If she'd have taken on the bank manager in a verbal spar though, she would have been dealing with a man who'd gone toe to toe in battles with one of the most vicious Nazi's to have ever joined their despicable party. He won too. She would not have stood a chance.
The Michelle of years earlier would have berated him for shouting at her, but instead she was grateful for his intervention that lunchtime, before the old lady was sent out of the bank head first. Composing herself with her brief argument over, she went to move forward to go over to James, who'd opened up the counter to allow her through to the staff side of the bank. It was a very rare honour indeed for anyone to get to go back there, not least to the manager's office, but she was his family, making it far more understandable than having anyone else back there. Tommy's wandering eye was distracted by her figure for a half second, until the middle finger of her right hand rose to meet his irises. Warded off by its rise, he went back to doing his job, which was appreciated by the client he was assisting.
What was not appreciated, by Michelle, was that there was another obstacle in her way before she could reach her cousin. The couple who'd been waiting in the line ahead of her moved out of it, confusing the man stood behind them, who didn't know whether to move forward or allow them to keep their place. Annoyance was coaxed out of her again for a moment, frustrations running high when she only wished to speak to her cousin for a few minutes.
"Do you mind!?" She addressed them poorly, making no effort to mask her anger.
"Ye can wait for a minute, can't ye!?" The man shot back, stunning Michelle for a second. "Me and my wife need to ask the fella somethin'".
"Once I've done with me cousin, ye can have him for as long as ye want, but until then…".
"Ach shut yer blowhole, ye stinkin' tart!"
The wife's words were scandalous to an extent, Michelle raging at being described in that manner after a few moments. Once upon a time she would have been angrier quicker but, given her reputation, not so surprised at the comment. She was not that woman anymore, no longer going around shagging her way through the city without a care for the consequences or the image that it created. More conscience of such an image now that she'd found a fella who she truly loved, the words hurt her a lot more than they used to. Describing her as soft would have been wrong when she could still coat her tongue with the most poisonous of words, argument ending lines that many could only dream of delivering. The older woman in front of her was not in need of those words though, as curiously, there were tears in her eyes despite how horrible she'd been. If anyone should have been crying then it should have been Michelle… not her.
"Madam, we do not tolerate that kind of behaviour here. I must ask you to le-". Trying to remind her of her place, James was cut off.
"I'm sorry, Mr Maguire, I… I… Please don't…". The woman panicked, scrambling for the right words as she began to shake.
"What my wife is trying to say is we'll go if ye could answer a quick wee question for us". The husband took over. "It's about our son".
Furrowing his brows, James was immediately intrigued as to who they were. After only spending a few months in Derry prior to the start of the war, he could often remember faces but not any names. In the case of the husband and wife that were stood before him, the latter beginning to cry quietly to herself, he could not remember either. Many people introduced themselves to him over the course of his first stay in the city as well as over the first few days of his return, but it was by no means an extensive list that covered every household in the city. They were not from wealth, that much he could ascertain by their clothing as well as slightly ragged hair that sat atop both of their heads. Michelle might not have come from a significantly wealthy background either, but hers did at least appear to be washed, whereas the greying hair on the man's head took on a greased appearance that was not deliberate in being made. The Englishman's hair could have been described as greasy too, but that was down to the product in it to help slick it back, just how he liked it.
"Your son?"
"Yes, our son". The husband confirmed. "We… we wondered whether ye might have seen him when ye were out fightin'? They said he was missin' but we… we can't give up on him and now yer back…".
"Forgive me…". James held up his hand. "Contact with others was extremely limited during my time away and… I did not meet many friends on my travels".
"But ye might have!" The wife protested.
"Love…".
Aggrieved by their loss, which still could not be confirmed if their son was missing, James still didn't know who they were. Many families within the city waved off their sons to go off to fight, and James and David were not the only young men who'd ben in Derry prior to the war, who'd then been lost to the conflict. Well, David at least. He couldn't think of any other lads that he knew well enough to know their parents, the only other servicemen being David's brothers, who were both confirmed to be killed in action in Norway, well over two years earlier. There was only one other potential option as to who their son could be but only the unluckiest of men would have been faced with that scenario. It couldn't be written that they would be stood before him… it just couldn't.
"I must ask your forgiveness for my impertinence, Sir". He addressed the husband. "But may I ask the identity of your son?"
"John-Paul… John-Paul O'Reilly".
And yet it could be written.
Fate loved to toy with the young man, doing so again when the parents of a man that he alone was responsible for killing, wished to know if he'd seen him. There was only so much that he could do, his talents as an actor extending only so far, to hide his reaction. Turning a deathly shade of white almost instantly, James could only watch as the husband's eyes lit up for a second as the name seemed to mean something to the bank manager. It wasn't the time nor the place to admit to killing their son, nor was he supposed to when he'd come to an agreement separately with Captain Smithers, to never speak of John-Paul's treachery to anyone again. His death and the subsequent debriefing in Gibraltar, saved John-Paul's honour because it did not favour James nor the British Government to admit to his act of betrayal, the latter not wanting any other Irishmen to view him as a martyr and turn on their fellow brothers in arms.
"Do ye know somethin'… James…". John-Paul's father almost didn't want to say his name, but just managed it. "Please, if ye do… even if it's… ye know… tell us".
Looking on from behind them, Michelle could see that it clearly did mean something to her cousin but what it meant confused her to. The one thing she could say with certainty about James, was that despite the often horrific treatment she inflicted upon him previously, he rarely ever flinched or became flustered when needing a response. There was only Erin that could put him into a scenario like that, but that was down to the love they both developed for each other at the time. Such reasons could not be used again when it came to John-Paul's parents, confounding the issue of why he was so… scared… to confidently answer them.
"I regret I do not recall having met John-Paul during my time away. You have my sincerest condolences if he does not return".
Of all the lies James ever told, lies that he hated telling, coldly lying to the parents of the man he murdered atop the French border with Spain, was the most heinous of all. How his stomach didn't gargle when he began to speak was a mystery unknown to the young man, not when his conscience burned at the stake of his morality within. Without the setting of the war to act as justification, he would have been no more than a murderer lying to the victim's grieving relatives, deserving of the rope if anything. Perhaps worst of all though was not the act, not the killing of their son, but why he'd done so at the time. At the summit of the Dona, he'd killed John-Paul because he blocked his path to freedom. His path back to Erin. That path was a broken road, swept away by a landslide of hidden feelings and truths that poured down upon him in a torrent the Sunday before. He might have been a traitor too, which had to be considered, but all in all, John-Paul O'Reilly's death was pointless.
"Are ye sure… ye know ye might not have spoken to him but…".
"Sir, I am sure. As I say, I can only apologise".
A far stronger apology would be needed for James to atone for what he'd done to John-Paul, his parents having to suffice with what they were given that day at the bank instead. For as long as they were alive it was best that they did not know the truth, or at least the full truth. When the war was over, whenever it would be, they would realise that when their son did not come back, he was lost. As long as they kept away from the French border with Spain, they would never be able to find out what really happened.
As John-Paul's mother broke down into tears, his father went to comfort her, leaving James' presence for a moment. Finally able to have a clear run at her cousin, Michelle wasted no time in walking through the open counter, which was quickly closed behind her by James. Neither of them could afford to hang around, Michelle eating into her lunchtime and the wee English fella in need of an escape to be able to reset his conscience. The longer he spent in the presence of John-Paul's parents, the faster his heart was beating, blood flowing around his body at phenomenal speed. Although they lived in the city, he could easily avoid them at any other time, but in the bank he was rather trapped. His cousin having come to see him was a thankful slice of luck on his part, giving him an ample distraction to use to pull himself away from them. John-Paul's parents didn't hang around anywhere, leaving the bank almost immediately, making it clear that they'd only came to seek out James rather than discuss their finances. Mission accomplished, it brought them no closer to their own closure.
Showing Michelle into his office, James took one final look back to the McLaughlin's who both nodded to reaffirm that they were able to handle the clients queuing. The queue was reduced anyway when John-Paul's parents left, making the challenge of addressing the needs of everyone else a little less daunting. He would have to owe them for their kindness, though it was nothing that a pint of beer couldn't fix whenever they could get themselves to the pub. Shutting his office door behind him, he breathed out a sigh of relief, before turning to make his way over to sit behind his desk. It was a trip that he never completed though, as in a similar vein to Orla on the prior Sunday, Michelle threw herself at him, nearly taking him down to the floor when it caught the Englishman so off guard. Steadying himself, he held her weight, cold watery tears dripping onto his shirt after a second or two of her being in his arms.
Michelle crying was new. To him at least.
Continuing to mirror Orla's interaction with him, perhaps even more unexpectedly she planted a kiss to his cheek, before bowing her head once more so she cried into his chest. Having seen her ready to explode with the old lady out on the other side of the counter, to find her sobbing violently into him no more than five minutes later was very much a surprise. He remembered reading her letter to him though, knowing in advance that she was wanting to ask for forgiveness from him, albeit that letter came so long ago that he'd had to wonder whether she would still care. All of his relatives and friends would have had to have dealt with his passing in one way or another, he'd thought that on the trip home from Gibraltar, and Michelle could have easily dealt with it by forgiving herself over time. She'd not forgotten though, and unable to stand by waiting to be able to apologise to him properly, that lunchtime she was accelerating the process. She loved her cousin too much to leave the apology up in the air for any longer than it needed to.
"I forgave you long ago, Michelle".
His whisper was done out of compassion, not wishing to see her cry. He too loved his cousin, loved her because she was his family, and despite how horrible she'd been to him, they could not change biological facts. Most other men would have hated her in return, some perhaps even resorting to physical means in order to show dominance over her. That was not James though, he was patient and loyal on occasions where he did not need to be, a gentleman that could forgive wholeheartedly if the circumstances were correct. Slowly she raised her head off of his chest, pulling back from him to reveal flaming red eyes with water streaking out from them. Sniffling, with a look of shame remaining etched across her face, a handkerchief was produced from his breast pocket. Accepting it with a quiet thanks, Michelle began to dry her eyes as James straightened his shirt back out from where she'd ruffled it.
"I… I was… I was so fuckin' stupid…". She cried, memories pounding into her mind.
"Michelle… please…". James took her left hand in his right. "You were only doing what you thought was right at the time. I cannot find it within myself to be angry with you when I know what a confusing time it was for the both of us".
"Ye shouldn't…".
"You're my family, Michelle. I am always going to love and care for you, no matter what happens. You have always been in my thoughts throughout my time away".
It was not strictly true that she was, not when it was another young woman in Derry that dominated them, but it was no lie either. He'd often spent time in captivity, particularly in the more peaceful surroundings of Taranto, hoping that she was leading a life that made Deirdre and Martin proud. That pride often wavered when she would act the way she would around fellas, but she was living the fulfilling life that he hoped for her now with Clint. Her romance might not have been the fairytale perfect picture like one of Erin's books would have painted it, but it was hers, that was the most important element. James would be just as proud of her regardless. No matter what the real feelings of the man were underneath, it was no act of his to tell her how much he cared for her.
"I won't ever be like that to ye again… I promise…". Michelle squeezed his hand which she locked fingers with. "… unless ye deserve it, obviously".
For a brief moment they looked at each other, expressions softening as an uncontrollable bout of giggling began for them both. If he was acting in a manner that deserved such harsh critique then he would without question accept whatever she had to say. Should the day ever occur, which he sincerely doubted when he would always be nothing less than a gentleman with her, she would most likely be trying to aid him anyway. To be able to laugh with Michelle meant more to him than it should of, for more than one reason. More prominently, just being able to enjoy her company without her sniping back at him like she'd always done before war broke out was paramount, leaving a door open to get to know her better. He only knew as much as he was allowed to before, not being permitted to find out more about who his cousin really was beyond what Erin and his aunt and uncle told him. Faced with a dwindling list of allies upon his return, and with her spending most of the week with Erin, Michelle's friendship was a ray of hope when one was required urgently.
"It's… fuckin' cracker that yer alive, ye know". She started again. "Ye've been missed so ye have… a lot of things have been… difficult… without ye… David too…".
"I have been told that they were". He replied, quite blandly.
"What happened to ye? We all thought the two of you's were killed when ye fucked up all those Italian pricks!"
Still too soon to discuss the details of his war story, one amongst millions but perhaps the most unique of all when his background was considered, James could only let out a sigh which could have been interpreted as a laugh. One day he wanted to be able to discuss certain events, be able to inform anyone of a lot of his journey through the three years he spent away, as long as he doctored certain events. It would require coming up with a decent reason as to why he was held alone and why the Germans were so interested in him, but over time James hoped that his brain would come up with something. Anything would do really, apart from him revealing his paternal family history. That would be confined to the minds of only a select few, a group which Michelle was firmly not a member of.
"There is so much for me to say, yet so little that I wish to share, Michelle. I hope that you can understand".
"Aye… I suppose. Ye will tell me one day though won't ye?" She asked, hopeful for a positive response.
"Yes, of course. I would not dare dream of keeping it from you!"
The two of them fell back into laughter, before moving the topic of conversation on. Five minutes of discussion about his mother, her aunt, proceeded to unfold as it should have done. When they'd returned from visiting James on the prior Saturday evening, her parents told her of her mother's sister's death, a tragedy that the family did have to deal with, unlike James' death which turned out to be false. Barely knowing her aunt beyond some of the wild stories that her mother told her, where Michelle realised she was more like her aunt than her mother, it still affected her that night if only but a mere sniffled was produced. Her upset was more for James than anyone, who was having to get used to losing women that he loved. A twenty one year old man should not have been faced with such travails, but that was his life. Kathy's death was another dark stain on a man heading down an uncertain path, that was not the same vibrant gentleman that left, even if he still tried to portray himself that way.
It would not just be Kathy that they spoke of though, not when Michelle needed to get something else off of her chest. She shouldn't have really needed to have to, not expecting to upon his return, rather anticipating the rash action of one of her friends to be in his favour rather than against him. As much as she might have detested their relationship at the time, even attacking James for daring to be in one with her friend, she could tell that he and Erin were made for each other. Some weeks after he'd left, she analysed every time that she could remember seeing them together in her mind, remembering the loving stares that the two found themselves engaging in. Michelle was the most angered by Erin's inability to overcome his death at the time, berating her at work more than once for slacking and producing poor quality garments. Her desperation to see her friend move on was deeply rooted within her conscience though, especially when it produced a result she firmly did not want.
"James… I… well Erin…". Fumbling for words, Michelle showed her nerves.
"Michelle…". He tried to stop her,
"No, no I have to say it".
Adamant that she would continue, James could only attempt to compose himself to listen to what his cousin was going to say. When anyone mentioned her name, whether it was his Aisling or Michelle, his mind could only think back to what had happened on the prior Sunday in the graveyard. Erin informing him of their lost child was a bitter pill to his heart, one that was no easier to swallow no matter how many times she was spoken about around him. Deep down it didn't just bruise him, it tore his conscience apart completely when he could only blame himself for not being there to comfort her. She went through the worst possible times of her life without him being at her side as he was supposed to have been. Their whole future was taken away because he'd stupidly gone off to fight. He chose to… he wasn't forced… and as any woman in her situation naturally would, she took it to heart that he'd in fact betrayed her, even though it was not the case. Michelle didn't know about the child and he was not prepared to tell her… not when he could barely think straight about his lost son or daughter himself.
"I pushed her to… to move on with Lance and…". She began to become agitated, tears threatening once more. "I encouraged her too much because… because I didn't think ye were comin' back and… fuck's sake, I'm fuckin' ragin with myself!"
"Do not seek to blame yourself, Michelle". Honeyed words were received in response. "You looked out for Erin when she needed you. That is a perfect example of why you are such good friends".
"But I've ruined it for ye! She's with him now and she's…".
"Happy with him? He appears to be a likeable enough man, so I am happy for her".
Michelle wasn't buying that. Everybody else who'd asked bought the reply, at least temporarily, but she would not be fooled so easily. No man in their right mind could be delighted for their lover to move on without them when the relationship only broke down due to factors outside of their control. He was not being honest with her.
"Catch yourself on, James! Yer not…".
"I am".
"No, yer not, dickhead! See I'm already havin' to be nasty to ye because ye deserve it! Don't make me have to be like this!" She argued.
The battle between the two went on for another few minutes back and forth, with only time coming to their rescue when Michelle realised she needed to go. Her aim of reuniting with her cousin was complete for the day, a friendship between them being made to wipe over the hostilities of their past. However, she did not leave in the chirpy mood that she expected she would if she found out that he was going to be as forgiving as he said he would be in his letter in reply to her years earlier. Her overriding emotion was concern for him, mostly because of his inability to grasp the reality of his situation with Erin. Although the most critical reason for them no longer being together was unknown to her, Michelle was going to do to him what she'd just apologised to him for, when she'd done it to Erin. James needed to move on from her… and fast, before he became consumed with self-pity for what he'd lost to Lance. Or rather, who he'd lost, the love of his life to be precise.
Tough choices in life were being made by so many across the world, some resulting in death, others in new life. Being friends with Erin made her task uniquely difficult, balancing both sides of a rocky relationship, though ultimately favouring her familial ties of ones of friendship. There were that many women fawning for James in the city that it wouldn't be hard to find him another woman to love, she thought.
But what Michelle thought and what James knew to be the truth, were two very different entities.
James could never love another woman like he loved Erin. Never.
She was too perfect in his eyes.
Eyes that for the seventh night in a row, found tears leaking out of them as he made his way to bed for the night. He not only cried for Erin and their lost child, but for the parents of John-Paul too. He killed their son for his future with Erin, a future that did not exist anymore because of a child they'd lost together without him knowing, almost three years before John-Paul's death. They could not hear the truth about their son's death when they wanted to, as opposed to the Englishman who was told of his child's death when he never wished to be in such a position in his life. His own foolhardy loyalty to his country, of which he was the next in line to the throne if he dared to attempt to take it, proved to be his undoing.
Once more his brain's final thoughts before succumbing to sleep that night, were on whether he should have returned at all…