A time like no other

by Warks1999

It was an ever changing world, but a world that would soon be at War, with consequences that would devastate families forever... their family included. A new adventure, setting the characters back in time to World War II. Enjoy :)

76. Life's Value

Chapter 76: Life's Value 19th September 1942

Erin Quinn was absolutely fine.

Couldn't have been better, not at all.

Her outlook was at least commendable, even if it was hiding a darker truth beneath it. A lot of pressure lifted when she told James about the child they'd lost, even though it upset her greatly to do so. James deserved every minute of pain he was suffering from after she'd told him though, that was her opinion when he'd left her alone to deal with the loss. Far too busy off fighting in the war, he'd lost the only thing worth fighting for by being away. It was an abandonment of his duty to love and care for her, a betrayal of sorts that she could not quite come to terms with still. Her conscience was at war just as much as his, voices from within telling her that he'd done the right thing by going off to fight, and that she should forgive him. However, those voices were drowned out by the anguish of what had happened, the life lost that should have been a future for them both. James wasn't there to protect her when she needed him the most, and for that, he would have to know what it felt like to be her. It couldn't even be described as tough love, but it was his battle to have, not hers. Hers were over when it came to him.

Representing the agony of her life, James became a symbol of pain rather than of love like when he'd left. She remembered how happy she was whenever her brain switched off, always desperately having to wrestle back control of her own mind to stop herself from succumbing to… him. The James of before the war, before the pregnancy, was the best fella she'd ever met, but his image was eroded by what had happened. Her parents might not have been able to see why she no longer saw him the same way, yet they could not argue too greatly when they were not the ones to have lost a baby. The wider community, or even the rest of the family, might not have known though it did not stop Erin from feeling humiliated. One of her only jobs in life was to be able to carry a child, she'd thought to herself on the day the child was lost, and she'd failed. She'd failed because James failed her… it was not her fault, but it had to be someone's. Blaming nature was too convenient… the child was not allowed to be born because he did not love her, or them perhaps, enough.

Getting on with her life was something that the young Quinn was becoming used to, if not enjoying every aspect of having to do so. For so long she'd still grieved over her lost fella, the blame of their lost child not being shown upon the surface of her emotions until his return. Her conscience may have made the decision to hold him responsible long before, yet it was outgunned by her love for him. For more than a year she'd toiled over not being able to see him again, and until a certain Yank walked into her life she wasn't sure she'd love again. It was only upon her feelings for Lance increasing, her sorrow for James decreasing, did the Englishman earn his place as the man to blame for the child lost. It took seeing him again for those feelings to be outed and now that he knew, it was up to his own conscience to deal with them. Little did she know how much it was tearing him apart… not that it was her problem anymore. They were not together like they were before the war, with nothing to link them other than his friendships with her friends and family. Erin didn't need to care.

The man that she did care about was Lieutenant Lance Hamilton, who was a man that held little love for her. In the process of ridding her thoughts and feelings, which still hadn't gone, of the one fella that would die for her if needed, she was in love with a man who only saw her as an objective. His own fears about dying childless may have been understandable; his plan for her was unthinkable. Lance faced no hassle from either his parents or his fellow officers, to conceive a child with any woman, be it American or Irish. His duty was to his country, to the ship that he served on. However, his own worries voraciously outweighed the job he was there to do. Erin was going to be the mother of his child before he left to fight, ensuring that the Hamilton legacy would live on even if the child was born out of wedlock. His blood needed to be passed on, and with the chances of dying in battle being incredibly high, the task needed to be complete before he left Derry. She was perfect for such a task when he felt nothing for her, cruelly using the blonde for her body whilst deceiving her into thinking he was in love with her just as much as she was with him.

What she didn't know couldn't hurt her, the reason for why she remained so in love with the fella. It was he that was on her mind that Saturday, the two planning to meet. Securing a few hours off on shore leave once more, they were going to go for a walk to be able to talk to each other properly. She'd been down to the docks earlier in the week, with the intention of asking him when he was next available. Requiring a confidante other than her parents, and especially not any of her friends for the subject at hand, Lance became the only real candidate that she could trust. Upon walking down to the side of the ship, she found him to be off the ship inspecting some cargo that was to be placed aboard, the two embracing when he saw her. Informing her of his leave that weekend, Erin left contented that she would be able to talk to someone rather than keeping all of her emotions to herself. In an ideal world, James would have been there to fulfil the role for her, but such was fate, it would be a role he seemed destined never to play again.

Hoping to find him off the ship like she had a few nights earlier, Erin arrived at the docks with a smile on her face despite knowing of what she needed to speak of. Trying to remain positive after the tragic circumstances she'd faced was not easy, but with Lance now by her side, gradually she was becoming more confident again. Her overconfidence could still come out at times with the girls, especially at work where she found herself the leader of their group. However, when it came to matters of the heart and her own conscience, she was very much naked beneath the layers of armour she wore when speaking of her feelings. In the American there was someone who would listen though, not that he cared about those feelings.

The docks were unusually quiet for a Saturday, or for any day for that matter, when there was often plenty of activity in and around them. American servicemen could usually be found running between ships, sometimes on training exercises and on other times just completing their duties. Officers would sometimes be found milling around too, though trying to interact with them was never wise. Her presence around the docks went unchallenged as long as she only went near his ship, the men appearing to know that Erin was the woman that one of the Lieutenants was with. She often wondered how jealous they must have been to see her with Lance when the majority of their relationships were frowned upon, when she was so good-looking. Michelle may have been right, she thought to herself that day the nearer she got to the ship; she might well be better-looking than Charlene Kavanagh.

Unable to find him off the ship as she came to a halt alongside it, Erin turned her attentions to the deck. If he was brave, she could have used the ramp to make her way onboard but the sailors were under orders to not allow anyone aboard unless permission was given by the Captain. The young Quinn's arrival under the plan of a romantic liaison, even if it was just a heart to heart away from the ship, would have been rejected. Luckily for her though, the Lieutenant appeared to have been near enough ready. In the end, she didn't even have to call for him to meet her, Lance striding down the ramp to make his way off the ship to her. He didn't run like many a lover would have though… he couldn't force himself to when she meant nothing to him.

"Lance!"

When she did eventually call his name, his cheeks went bright red before he was smothered up by her jumping upon him. Almost throwing the two of them back into the Foyle with the force she generated, Erin's joy of seeing him was not replicated on his face when she buried hers into his chest. Unlike what she might have assumed, that the burning red cheeks were because of how unexpectedly beautiful he was finding her to be that day, the reason for why he blushed was far different. Aware that a couple of his fellow officers were watching him from the deck of the ship over his shoulder, he was imagining what their faces would have looked like. Lieutenant Commander Reeves almost certainly was laughing, Lance believing that he could hear him over the general chatter around the docks and his friend Lieutenant Baker most likely was sniggering. The two of them were aware of what he thought of Erin, and how ugly he thought she was, able to see for themselves just how much she was in their own eyes.

"Man… she is so ugly!" Baker exclaimed to Reeves, the two leaning forward, hands on the outer railing. "Christ what is Lance doing with her!"

"God damn… she is not like some of those girls back home. She ain't fat but… she got one nasty nose for a start and those cheeks are a bit too chubby for my likin'" Reeves put his two cents worth in.

"I thought you said she ain't fat?"

"She ain't but her face is!" The Lieutenant Commander clarified. "If he does continue with this damn stupid plan of his then that baby better hope he looks like his daddy…".

Horribly sniping at her from afar, Erin briefly glanced up to the two officers stood watching them, completely unaware of her reputation being slandered from above. The two of them offered weak smiles in return at the young woman that they found repulsive, doing their best diplomatic work when in reality they wanted to look away. The women back home that they always thought of, Baker thinking of his wife to be, Lance's sister, made the Irishwoman appear as some sort of hideous Neanderthalic being that was a scourge on the earth. Although she might not have been an easy young woman to get along with, she was not the monster that they felt she looked like. There was one person in the city who would have defended her honour before them in a heartbeat if he'd heard, but James was no longer allowed such luxuries.

"God, if you're listenin' to me, please don't let her look at me again…". Baker scoffed.

"God, if you're listenin' to Baker, can you extend that to me as well. I'm sorry I haven't been to confession since thirty-eight but I promise you, I will be in that box the second we got home from fightin' if you spare me". Reeves added, laughing to himself after.

"I should ask him to spare Lance too…". Chuckling, the Lieutenant was not finished yet. "… but I reckon Lancey boy might spare himself. No way can he keep this up… look at her… and embarrassin' him like that too. That boy don't know what's good for him!"

"Maybe…. Maybe…".

The pair of them came to the end of their conversation, more than content to watch on as Erin finally untangled herself from Lance. By the time that their eyes met once more, his cheeks were no longer flaming red and the scowl he hid from her was gone. A fresh, grinning Lieutenant Hamilton presented himself before in the other man's place. Instigated purely by Erin, even if he did expect it would happen, their lips were soon locked together despite the presence of so many others around them. Hungry for his love, lost in her own thoughts, Erin's hands were travelling up his sides as she did so, until he gently placed them away. Baffled, their kiss stopped, Erin looking back up to see what the problem was.

"Not in front of everyone, Erin. I can't be seen like this if the Captain walks out!"

Rolling her eyes, but with a faint hint of a chuckle beneath her breath, Erin relented, accepting the conciliatory offer of having his hand in hers as the two began to walk off. From behind them, Reeves and Baker continued to laugh as they leant back off the railing, the two finding it incredibly amusing how much of a mess their friend was in. Lance's grand plan to find a woman to ensure he held a legacy was laughable at best, but when that women was the one he was found to be kissing on the docks next to ship, it was incredibly hilarious. When Lance said she was far from what they would consider pretty, the young Lieutenant really wasn't joking. The two of them were not granted leave like he was that Saturday afternoon, returning to their duties whilst discussing Lance and his woman.

Free of the ship, as well as the eyes of those who would snigger at them, Lance and Erin set off on their walk. She'd already planned ahead for the route that they were going to go on, a long one out into the country that would take them to some of her favoured spots whenever she went walking. It was a route that rather conveniently avoided one place, though only just, still having to walk along the roads close to the particular place even if not directly past it. Going with the assumption that any confrontation would not be good for her conscience, Erin simply could not go close to James' cottage when she was with Lance. Let alone not wishing for the American to feel underappreciated by going anywhere near the Englishman, she also didn't know how James would react either. Leaving him to deal with his emotions was not something she was finding herself to immediately regret but neither was she stupid. If he'd taken the news terribly without being able to come to terms with the death of the child the two were not allowed thanks to nature, he could easily become violent. She wasn't going to risk that.

Once they were out in the country, along the lanes, the conversation took a change along with the scenery. Finding it within herself not to make everything about her, Erin had happily listened as Lance explained his training in greater detail to her. They were going through a phase of training for attacks whilst they were in the docks, which she'd noticed a couple of times when passing. Some of the ships would head out to the mouth of the port and back, simulating some form of response to an attack which he then confirmed for her. The training could be quite tough from what he told her, the nights when the Captain wouldn't even tell the officers when a test would take place. Being woken with a start at three o'clock in the morning, being told that the ship was being attacked, was not his idea of a good time. That was what he would have to expect in battle though he knew, Erin also pointing out to him that the enemy probably wouldn't tell the Americans when they were going to attack. The comment made him seethe with agony inside when she made it, anger bubbling away. A woman shouldn't have been commenting on a man's war, that's what his father had always taught him. His own mother would have gotten her lip bloodied if she dared to speak up about battles.

When they were out in the country though, Erin took over, at first discussing her work. Work was not the main point of why she wished to speak to him especially that Saturday, but she was able to calm herself by starting with a more mundane topic. Moaning about the usual strange working patterns, with the work increasing dramatically again that week, it was perfect light conversation. The factory was starting to accept damaged garments from the Yanks, Erin in particular volunteering to help in doing the repairs. As good as she was at the production of new garments, arguably she was the best of all the women in the factory at repairs. Her narcissism made her think that anyway, backed up by John-Paul once kissing her as his way of thanks for mending his shirt, but there were no strong candidates who could claim they were better. Even Mary would have to concede that her daughter was better at mending shirts than she was… not that she would ever tell her.

An hour or so into their walk, they were well out into the fields, approaching a small clearing near to the banks of the Foyle. Knowing that there was a bench in the clearing ahead of them atop a small bank that dropped down to the riverside, Erin purposely led them closer towards the Foyle. Far out of view of any of the American ships, that were docked miles down the river, they were on their own in the country, with no unwanted attention to disturb them. Inviting Lance back to the family home was out of the question when her Mammy was so against him, the blonde still unsuccessful in attempting to get her mother to understand that not all Yanks were as shameless as she portrayed them. Using Lance as an example was unfortunate irony when she did not know of his true thoughts, not that she knew. Her mother could only be described as a racist in her eyes, although verbalising those thoughts were hardly in her interests either. Her mother's attitude was simply left as work in progress; she would get through one day.

Sat on the bench with the breeze running through their hair, lifting the ends of Erin's blonde locks softly, Lance's short hair unaffected, for a moment she could almost feel peace. Almost. Her conscience was not at peace despite their surroundings being a silent, empty canvas on which disturbance was nothing more than a distant nightmare. Her conscience wished to speak of another man other than the American and it would have its way after a couple of minutes. Two silent minutes were all she could take before it became too much to hold in.

"Lance… I… I need to talk to ye about somethin'…". She began with a start, capturing his undivided attention. "I… I need yer opinion… I suppose".

"Of course, Erin". He replied, playing the game by placing his hand over hers. "That's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

Glowing with delight, Erin's facial expressions told him how pleased that she was that he was there for her. It wasn't what Lance wanted to see, mind, but keeping up with his appearances, he made sure to do the least possible by smiling. Erin on the other hand couldn't have been happier to have a fella that she could trust to talk to, who would listen to her as well as be there for her when she needed him. She thought she'd found that fella once before but over time it turned out not to be the case. Lance was not about to run off to a different country to fight… not yet anyway.

"It's… well I… I saw James… ye know, properly".

Nodding his head to confirm that he understood, the only part of her life that he was remotely interested in was what role the English invader held in it. The fella he'd first learned of not that many weeks earlier through Michelle, his return to Derry was playing on the Yank's mind more and more. Physically imposing James might have been, the scar adding an extra element of strength to the man that Lance did not enjoy, it was more the symbolisation that he emitted that concerned him. From what he'd been told thanks to Michelle, and somewhat through Erin too, there was a tightly knit bond of love and happiness between the young Quinn and the English fella once. If there were any such residual feelings left within her, then his plan was under intense threat from a source that would not be easy to deal with. That wasn't to say he wouldn't though. No barrier was too large to stop Lance from continuing on his mission to carry on the Hamilton bloodline.

"I… I made sure… I made sure he…".

Refusing to cry in front of Lance, the only thing Erin would not tell him was the loss of the child she'd once carried. She respected James enough, perhaps the only respect she still held for him at the forefront of her mind, to keep it between them, as well as her parents. It was their tragedy to experience, to live through and to never forget, not Lance's. He did not need to worry of events that were long before he was around to make her life feel more purposeful once again.

"I made sure he knew that we were… serious. Ye know".

"You did the right thing". Lance stated bluntly, his tone almost gravelly. "I know it must have been hard but he hasn't been around for you. I have and that is my place now".

"He hasn't…". She quickly agreed, ignoring how her heart almost broke free of her chest when she did.

"He might have been a good man and might still be. Life changes though Erin, it moves on and not every man moves with it. James has just been left behind and when you needed someone to look out for you, I was there… not him".

Trying to mark his territory without making it too obvious as to how much of a threat he found James, Lance's delicately worded argument, worked wonders on an emotional Erin. The emotional vulnerability that she suffered from was internal rather than external, her body language and slightly wet eyes only showing a shadow of the actual nature of the battles she was facing. Unable to see through his guise, Erin bought the almost caring way about how he reminded her that at her moment of need, James was not there. Lance wasn't either at that time, not that he could be when it was over two years before he even set foot in Derry, but he was there at the right time for her when she needed a new companion. More than a companion, a confidante and in the future… perhaps more. That wasn't something she wanted to think about, not that she hadn't thought about the more physical aspect of their relationship, rather more not wishing to cross the bridge no matter how close they were to it. Her mind was not that far away from being ready, but it was whether that her body was ready for such attention, that scared Erin. Informing Lance of her fears was for another day in the future. There were other issues to tackle first.

"I… I didn't ever want us to fall out but… we…". She struggled again, not aided by already having to cover over the truth in the first place. "We didn't part on too good terms".

"What do you mean?" Lance enquired, squeezing her hand.

"I shouted at him a wee bit. I wanted James to… to know how hard it was to have to go on without him being there and then… and then what it's like now because he's come back. It's not fair!"

Becoming more passionate in her argument, Lance was not going to stop her if it meant eroding more of her feelings for the Englishman. The actual events that occurred between James and the woman who he hoped would one day carry his child were not completely different, though with far deeper emotional reach than he realised, but they did not have to be. Upset enough at the mere return of the man, he would do nothing to stop her from making the argument to herself that she no longer needed to care for her former lover. He was unable to erase the past, but the Lieutenant was more than capable of securing a brighter chance for the future of his plan by just listening, nodding and occasionally prodding.

"He can't just make me go through all these… feelings… a-and thoughts… again!" Continuing, Erin worked herself up into a state. "I don't know what he's been doin' since the night he was supposedly shot down… but he hasn't been tryin' to help me! I didn't hear from him again in nearly two years! Why didn't he try to get in contact with me!? Where was his letter to tell me he survived!?"

The logistic impossibility of such a task was not lost upon Lance, but neither would he mention it. Guessing without knowing the full picture that James was captured by the enemy, the likelihood of such capture almost inevitable when he crashed in enemy territory, there was understandably no letter written. The Wehrmacht were not a postal service for lost lovers.

"Maybe he was too focused on other things or… other people". Lance lowered his voice for the last two words, his insinuation clear.

"Aye I bet that's it! He was probably off with some Italian woman for a couple of years before they let him go! I was forgotten because of her!"

"That's not what I meant". Clarifying with a lie of his own, the Yank's manipulation of her feelings only continued to grow. "I was thinkin' maybe he was out looking for revenge for your cousin's husband. They were friends, right? He might have been off killin' men?"

"Ach James isn't that kind of a fella. He's too much of a gentleman to be a killer! Not in cold blood anyway…".

"You don't know that anymore Erin… war changes men from what I've heard".

"It won't change you though, will it?"

Blinking rapidly, her eyes still showing signs of her heightened emotions, the young woman stared almost straight through him, wishing for an answer. There was an evident anguished, grovelling look of hope about her from what Lance could see, showing yet more signs of the love she had for him that he did not reciprocate. His answer was careful, if not considerate, keeping his own image in her eyes as pure as he hoped it would be for his sake.

"I do not intend to allow it to, ma'am". Lance replied, moving her right hand up to his mouth, kissing her pale knuckles. "I'm not like him".

"No… no yer not".

Blind or perhaps willingly ignorant to his coercive ways, the sly comments that trod James down in her head to elevate himself in the same esteem, Erin found bliss within Lance. Leaning up towards him, they were kissing again against the serene backdrop of the side of the River Foyle, the sun breaking through the clouds to shine down upon them. They stayed like for many minutes, Lance even fighting his own stomach to ensure that the kiss went on for so long. He could barely keep the contents of his lunch down but for his illusion to continue, self-sacrifice was a must. For Erin though, it was completely perfect. Ascending further and further in her thoughts, she adored Lance, the American who'd took over her fragile heart. Her heart that only screamed for love, that continued to scream for it despite the kiss. It was perhaps the organ's way of telling her how little love there was in the gesture from Lance, but in her own confused mind she thought it to be its way of wanting to explore more of the future with him.

When they stopped kissing, she leant her head on his shoulder, looking out over the River at the birds whistling in the tress on the far bank. Contentment was so difficult in wartime, yet against all hopes Erin Quinn appeared to be finding it again. It wasn't with the man that she thought it would be, but Lance was fulfilling the role she needed him to.

James only slipped further away from her thoughts… but still somewhere in her conscience, a candle's flame flickered for the man she once loved. Loved a lot more than she loved Lance at that brief moment in time.

It was becoming a recurring theme to ignore those thoughts.

---

The Devlin's for dinner.

A pleasant surprise really, that was how James would have to describe it when the invitation came his way. Sean Devlin wasn't a particularly regular visitor to the bank but one night that week he'd decided to act upon a belief he'd first began to conjure up to a complete plan in his mind the day that James returned. He'd spied the scene from where he was stood in the Quinn's back garden, watching the interaction between his daughter and the Englishman. A lot of Clare's actions made sense to him when he justified it with his newly found belief. Almost all of them, which equally became his frustrations, could be explained by James' absence. Sure, Clare even appeared to be somewhat happier each morning at breakfast since his return. The signs were too clear to ignore. Although he was often blunt in his mannerisms, he chose not to inform James of the true reason as to why he was invited, instead letting nature run its course.

Blindsided by a request he'd not expected at all, James hadn't thought to ask, though was admittedly attempting to get the bank locked up after he worked late. Most visitors wouldn't usually be allowed in after hours anyway but knowing and trusting Clare's Da he made an exception. He was more physically imposing than Sean anyway, so if he had come to rob the bank there was a high degree of likelihood that he would have been able to fight him off. Dining with fine crockery rather than high stakes robbery was on the mind of the religious man though, making James an offer he simply could not refuse. The chance to be able to have company in the evening when most evenings were drab, lonely affairs out in the country, could not be passed upon.

One of the perks of being the heir to the throne was the quality of alcohol that his cupboard stocked, Menzies and Smithers holding fine tastes for what was ordered. A bottle of some of the finest brandy he'd ever tasted made the journey over to the Devlin's with him, one made in the car due to the rain that lashed down that Saturday evening. It wasn't like it at all earlier in the day, but just after five o'clock the heavens opened. Not expected at the Devlin's until around seven, the need for a car and a jacket were apparent to the pilot, who drove through the empty streets without a care in the world. Petrol was rationed heavily throughout the country, but he was a rare exemption when it came to such rations. According to the paperwork sat in the glove compartment of the Morgan, the Roadster was an essential vehicle for the war effort. He might have been taking advantage of the rations he had by making the journey in the car just for dinner, but when he'd given so much for his country already during the war, even the gentlemanly conscience James allowed himself to make exceptions.

Arriving at just one minute to seven, right on time, Clare answered immediately as if she'd been stood behind the door. They would have almost certainly heard him coming when the sound of vehicle engines humming were already a rarity before the war, let alone during it. Leaping up to embrace him, under the watchful eye of her ever more convinced father, she was delighted to see the Englishman. Talk about him amongst the girls was rendered mute due to Erin, an almost unspoken rule that needed to be broken. Whenever she was away from the rest of them then Michelle would talk about him, but as such it left them restricted to what they could say. Wishing to be able to talk to him a lot more herself, an ulterior motive on her mind for doing so, the diminutive blonde wholeheartedly agreed with her Da's decision to invite him to dinner. A response that would not have been the same if she knew the true reason for doing so, the encouraging thought that ticked around in Sean's mind like a peaceful bomb.

Their dinner was a speciality… of James' Aunt. Like Mary, Sarah and any other woman that ever-cooked Sheppard's Pie, Deirdre's recipe was a necessity. Geraldine joined the list of those who would use it, readily admitting to James that the recipe came from his own family. The Englishman didn't mind at all though; if it was a recipe of his Aunt's, he was guaranteed to be fed well for the night. As good as it always was, the meal was going down well when Sean decided to make light conversation once more with his guest.

"So James, how's work been now yer back?"

"A challenge Mr Devlin…". James replied, pausing his consumption of the meal for a moment. "... but not one that I am incapable of facing. It is good to be back in a job where I am not directly on the frontline".

Nodding as he finished his mouthful, Sean could respect his point of view. A rare respect indeed for a man who did not give such accolades out lightly, a job where one did not have to watch out for enemy guns was always going to be a safer, more appealing one. He would never have been able to last as a soldier if he were in the young man's position, and not because of his religious advocations. The thought of having to be at the door to death constantly whilst other men lay close by ready to inflict such a death, made his stomach churn. Fighting could be done by other men as far as he was concerned, leaving men like him to more ecclesiastic pursuits.

"Is that you done for the war, is it? Nasty lookin' wound ye got there?" Sean questioned him, pointing at the scar.

"Yes, I have been honourably discharged from all further duties. My wound is little more than one of the flesh, but it is believed that my prior efforts have been sufficient and any further requirement of my skills will be unlikely".

"I'm surprised they let ye go like that". Geraldine remarked, catching a surprised eye from Sean. "I'd have thought they'd have needed ye, James?"

"I would have thought so too Mrs Devlin. Unfortunately, I am not allowed to make such decisions".

Another sore point, albeit one far less so on his conscience compared to that of Erin, his discharge brought him no joy either. Better men than him were still giving their lives to bring peace back to a fractured Europe, an effort he was once part of… he was even arguably one of the driving forces in British success during the opening year of the war. Wherever the pilot appeared to go, he was able to bring back a list of successes that should have been achieved by ten men let alone one. Of course, the real reason for why he was no longer able to wear his uniform into battle was to ensure his safety for his father. The King was already distraught when he thought he'd lost his son and only a fool would allow James back to the front during the war, unless there was no choice. Menzies wasn't going to run the risk of being dismissed by the King, for the Fleet Air Arm to have their greatest officer return to his squadron.

"Do ye miss it, James?" Perkily, Clare was the latest one of them to have something to ask.

"Honestly, Clare?" Replying, James waited until she nodded back until he spoke again. "I do… in a way. Being able to be part of… the effort… to be able to bring these Nazi's back under control is truly special when you can see the difference that you make. But I've been away a long time without rest and perhaps I needed to come away before it became too much".

"Ye did well though, so ye did, James". An unusually upbeat Sean piped up. "That Taranto raid was somethin' else, so it was".

"I like to think that my men did well where I was not quite so fortunate. They all deserve the credit rather than myself".

His modesty was not unlike others, with a lot of men that were coming back from the front decreeing that it was the collective forces rather than individuals that should be celebrated. He might have been one of the men to have come up with the detailed plan around the night the Italian Fleet was attacked in port but would not take credit for the execution of his own work. Alongside David, they may have been responsible for sinking the Conte Di Cavour, yet they were not there to see the rest of the battle, shot down in an act that cost the Irishman his life. Honest men could not accept praise for a job that ultimately was completed by others.

Conversation abruptly halted when Sean found himself unwilling to push the talk about Taranto any further, Geraldine and Clare fearing the consequences from him if either of them did so too. James didn't mind when he could reengage his mind on other more positive thoughts, away from the night he'd lost his best friend. The image of David's blood-soaked chest, and drawn cheeks had never really left his mind, even after nearly two years since that night. In another life, as so often his thoughts reminded him, they would have come away from that raid as the greatest heroes in Britain of the time, heroics that could have matched those of the Battle of Britain pilots. That life would also have to be one where he was not the son of the King, where he was simply James Maguire. A polite, well-raised young man whose honour set a high standard throughout the country. It sounded, and was, too good to be true.

Once they'd all finished eating, washing their drinks down with the fine brandy that James brought with him that evening, Geraldine and Clare excused themselves to begin the washing up. Gaining an insight into how the Devlin household operated, James could not say that he was surprised given what he knew about the man sat with him as well as what he'd been told. Sean was old fashioned, draconian and certainly not the sort of man who was going to offer a helping hand. He was in fact, the complete opposite to James who was more likely to do the washing up himself than to ask any woman of the house to do it for him. Sadly for him, he only washed for himself when Erin was no longer his to love. Keeping his mask of a gentleman up, he'd offered to help the two women of the Devlin house with the washing up when they spoke up to excuse themselves, but Sean stopped him from being able to do so, making sure that his wife and daughter did their duty. He would not have another man wash his plates for him.

Left alone at the table, there was a pleasant silence for the first couple of minutes when Clare and Geraldine began to wash up. The sound of metal from where knives clashed together rang out throughout the house, back into the living room where Sean moved the table for the night. It required a complete revamp of the room to be able to do so, though when it was a Saturday with little else for him to do then it did not matter. Missing church for once that evening too, completely out of character for a man that almost lived by Father Peter's side, Sean deemed his daughter's future to be of more importance than the Lord that night. After all, that was what confession was for the next day, a Sunday morning where he would ask for forgiveness for missing mass. God would understand, he knew.

"So James, have ye had much chance to settle yourself back in properly. It must have been hard for ye the day ye came back?" Sean began carefully.

"How so?" James replied, smiling, fearing the meaning behind what was being said.

"Ye know… with Erin and that American fella. I'm not so sure about trusting those Yanks ye know but he doesn't seem too bad".

Almost everyone that he was meeting, his own family included, were drowning him with pity when it came to her. It was pity that the young man did not want but also could not say no to. His gentlemanly nature prevented him from exploding, even at a man like Sean, prompting his internal thoughts to run wild when not dealt with externally. Erin could not be blamed for moving on without him when she'd grieved for him that long, that alone being enough of a reason to seek companionship in a new man. There was no way that she could have known that he was coming home, not after the two were separated for so long without any word passing between them. More pressingly though, he did not deserve pity when he was supposed to have been there for her in her hour of need, like a good man would. He was not. Not there or a good man, not anymore. If anyone deserved pity it was the woman that he loved that was out of his reach, despite how she'd treated him since his return. He deserved that reaction… if not worse. James Maguire was worthy of no praise from any quarter, a thought that came from the man himself.

"I am sure that Lieutenant Hamilton is a man of great faith and good nature". The words came out stoutly, his soul stabbed by them. "That he has made it his mission to ensure that Erin is contented in life, is a choice that I have to accept. I am happy for them".

"Yer bein' a grand man about it, James…". Huffing ever so slightly, Sean couldn't help but be admired by him. "Worse men would have done worse things ye know".

"Those men would not understand the fallacy of their actions should they proceed with them. My only thought is for Erin's welfare and it is clear that she is well looked after".

"Clare told me over the summer how much better she was. You do know what she was like for a while after… what happened with you and David, don't ye?"

Exposed by the almost expressionless look upon his face, brain registering what was being said by the man opposite him, James was somewhat unaware of Erin's behaviour in that time. When he was held captive in Italy he could have only guessed about how she would have reacted, doing so frequently, and with only her own tales of pain to go by for the period in question, he lacked a neutral view. Sean's knowledge of her state of mind was virtually all second hand anyway, not that it lacked for detail.

"I… I regret I do not". The banker cautiously responded.

"She was a right mess for a year or more ye know. At work she struggled to concentrate on what she was doin' from what Clare said. Yer cousin had words with her too… not that I'm surprised". Sean almost growled, thinking about Michelle who he detested.

"My dear cousin Michelle does enjoy expressing her opinions".

Blissfully unaware of the true amount of hatred that Sean held for her, James offered a more diplomatic response than was perhaps required. She would have been elated to find him inflating her character in such a way, though with his perfect elocution, the words of a gentleman, the meaning was perhaps lost. If anything, it could have been dismissive of Sean, though neither man thought of it that way.

"Don't we all know it". Sean sniggered, though added a laugh to disguise his pure dislike of the young woman to her cousin opposite, James even chuckling. "But Erin… ye know she's a very sensitive girl from what I've always seen of her. Like ye say, she's got someone at least even if it's not you. Ye might be a better fella though".

"Thank you, Mr Devlin. You flatter me with your kind words… but I must confess, I am not sure that I could be considered a better man than he is".

"Ach don't be like that, James. Yer an Englishman that no one in this city has found any reason to want to kill yet and ye lived here for months at one point. That's not normal for the average English fell!".

Graciously reminded of all that felt positive, thanks to his against the odds survival in a city that should have been rooted against him, James had not expected to see the side of Clare's father that he was that Saturday evening. The two were almost whispering, a tone Sean set so that his wife and daughter didn't get to hear his kinder words, something that James did not notice. Unable to come to the same thoughts as many did about Sean, that he was hitting at the very least his wife, the domestic side of the home was hidden expertly from him. What the young man could see was a religious man that might have been very much set in his ways, but with wise words for men of lesser experience such as him. Sean was not wrong either, because the city of Derry did love their Englishman that was a treasure that other cities were not allowed to have.

Distracted for a moment, James' mind wondered over to the piano in the corner of the room. An object he noted on the way into the house, the question of who played it was one that resonated in his mind. Talented pianist he might not have been, but Kathy could play a little and had taught him some when he was a lot younger. It was years since he'd last played, even longer since doing so in the company of others. Trying to remember anything that she'd taught him would be difficult when there was so much more information he'd taken in since, as well as the events of three years of war crammed in over the top of which notes to play. Deciding not to embarrass himself, James was not going to get up and play but was going to ask who did in the house.

"Who is the pianist amongst us this evening?" He asked Sean, grinning.

"Well we can all have a wee go but it's my Clare who has the talent". Glowing, the father could not be prouder. "She's a fantastic daughter, ye know, James. I've been very… very lucky to have her".

"I quite agree, Mr Devlin".

Inside, Sean was smiling even more, and not because of his pride of being Clare's father. James was leading himself into the part of the evening that was the true reason behind why the Englishman received an invite to their house that night in the first place. Although the chance to talk to him a little more was pleasant enough without achieving anything, it was what he was going to find out with his next couple of questions, that fired the middle-aged man up. If Clare thought that the tragic murder of the Bishop's nephew was the end of her Da's meddling in her life, his thought rather than hers, she was going to be surprised when it was not. She wouldn't be at all, not that he knew, but there were going to be few better chances than when Geraldine and Clare were distracted. Erin's abdication from the young man's side without too much hassle from what he could see, tilted the odds even further into the caring father's favour.

"She was quite upset herself when you left…". Sean reverted to whispering, leaning forward across the table, James' attention back to him. "… very upset actually. Even more so when…".

"I am touched". James quietly replied a moment later. "Clare has always been a good friend to me since I first arrived and… and I suppose I am pleased that my friendship clearly means just as much to her".

"My Clare could mean a lot more to ye. I wouldn't be against it".

Very quickly, James was brought down to earth when he realised why Sean was offering such kindness to him. The pleasant surprise of a dinner at the Devlin house was instantly degraded in his eyes, when he was merely a pawn in Sean's wider plan for his daughter. Although he was not conscious of the fact that the older man sat the other side of the table from him was actively searching for a man to court his daughter, he was aware that he was the target of such a search individually. Everything else he'd been told about the man of the house made sense in the seconds he used to digest what was said. It was a cunning man not a caring one that he was talking to. He'd met too many of the former and not enough of the latter to know the difference. Clare might have been his friend, but that was it. Especially when he thought he knew. And without it being confirmed by her, he did know… even at one stage Erin agreed, though whether she'd ever gone forward with her suspicions in his absence would be something he would have to find out.

"Mr Devlin…".

"I know it's a lot to ask James, but Geraldine and I would be proud to ha-".

"Mr Devlin, please". Speaking over him without the need to shout, James achieved the rare feat of silencing Sean in his own home. "I think a great deal of your daughter… she is truly a kind, caring, beautiful young woman that puts a smile on the face of everyone who knows her. However, I do not have any… feelings for her, that exist beyond our current friendship, which I would not wish to ruin by entering into a false relationship that I could not consciously keep".

Dealt a hammer blow to his plan, that was in motion the very second that Clare jumped upon him in the Quinn's garden, Sean could not hide his disappointment. The thought of whether there was love between James and his daughter was planted much earlier than that, on the very day that he left for England with David to be precise. Clare could become emotional at the slightest event around her at times, but the tears she shed that day made him think there could be something more. For years that thought lay dormant in the very deepest recesses of his mind, brought to the surface on a day which no one was seemingly forgetting in a hurry. James would have been the perfect son-in law too; wealthy, good-looking and sensible. The sort of man who would keep Clare calm and settled, ensuring a beautiful family with lots of handsome, healthy grandchildren for him to watch over in his dotage. He would have to respect what he assumed to be God's wish though, even if he did not agree with the Lord's judgement.

"I see…". An eventual seethe was drawn from Sean's lungs.

"If you would like me to leave, I would completely understand". James pointed out to him, to which he was dismissed with a shake of the head.

"No, I don't want ye to go, James. But…". Tilting his head, he disguised his anger with a hopeful smile. "… could ye talk to Clare? I was doin' this for her because… well ye know how nervous she gets. She didn't want to ask ye herself".

When he sailed back into Derry, up the River Foyle, James was onboard a ship not inside a bubble. Highly doubting the validity of Sean's claim when he knew Clare would approach him about such a topic, having made himself so approachable in the past despite her constant cack attacks, the Englishman did not appreciate being lied to either. So sure he was of where her true affections lay, nowhere near him for certain, that James did not even entertain the thought of such a relationship. Even if she did have feelings for him, proving his own theory to be wrong, he would have to let her down gently anyway.

"I'll talk to her".

Enthusiastically responding, James was putting up a different mask to be able to carry on his day. It was not often, not since the death of Kurt, that he felt the need to hide his anger from another man but Sean briefly filled the void that the Doctor left. Geraldine and Clare returned to the living room only a few seconds later, halting any further conversation between the two men. At some point later in the evening he was sure that the patriarch would leave him alone with Clare so that they could have their talk that James hoped to be very brief, should he find himself to be correct in his thoughts. Or if he was wrong, it would be short too, only in the sense that he would have to quickly leave a distraught Clare upon what would most likely be her orders. He vehemently despised disappointing any friend, but when it came to love he would have to.

Because he could only ever love one woman.

And her name was Erin Quinn.

---

A few days later…

"I'm bored as fuck".

Michelle perhaps put it best, but the girls were not having the most entertaining of days. Tuesdays were not always the most exhilarating anyway, but in the latest twist after some busier days the week before, the factory was almost silent by mid-afternoon. There was so little to do, and so many of them to be able to complete the tasks that did require doing, that the management were already thinking of sending some of the women home for the day. There were still hours left on their shifts, but they were doing nothing for the war effort being sat on their stools staring up to the dingy ceiling above them. They may as well spend the time at home with their families instead, where they could at least be considered as productive. That was the growing consensus of the management.

Even Erin was somewhat bored by that time, having been the only one of the girls to have been considered remotely busy at any point of the day. Taking it upon herself to repair a batch of shirts that came from the docks, with the slight hope of finding one of Lance's to do, the Americans kept her busy until just after lunchtime. All of the shirts suffered from similar problem, small tears aggravated by the wear and tear of service life aboard a ship or for the soldiers that were there, out in the fields training for combat. There weren't any bullet holes at least, which would have called for much finer repairs that would have taken her longer. Away from that side of the work though, the regular manufacturing was taking a downturn for the day, leaving the other three with ample chance to talk. By three o'clock, three became four and conversations increased ever more.

"Must be like this for the soldiers ye know… waitin' for a chance to have at the Nazi's…". Michelle pondered, finding Orla nodding back at her in agreement.

"I… I reckon they're probably scared ye know Michelle. It's not like they might die or anything…".

"Alright don't be sarcastic Clare, it doesn't suit ye. Of course they're fuckin' shittin' themselves, so they are".

The fear of battle was one that she could understand, though would never get to taste herself. From looking at the face of her cousin, the scar that dominated the left cheek, there was a cost to war that clearly stayed with a man. Reuniting with James properly, earning his forgiveness for them to be able to move on as friends as well as relatives, may well have been one of the greatest moments of her life yet Michelle could not help but feel that he was a different man thanks to the war. There was his gentlemanly side that was always on show of course, what she did not realise was a complete mask, but when John-Paul's parents asked about their son, the way that James responded facially told of another story. There were memories of a kind stirred when they mentioned their son's name to her cousin, without enough evidence for the young Mallon to work out what those memories were. They would make perfect sense in her head if she was to be told, not that James would ever be sharing the tale of John-Paul O'Reilly's demise to her… or to anyone.

"I asked one of those Americans the other day about when they're goin', so I did". Orla chimed in, all eyes shifting to her. "They were sayin' some of them are off next week, ye know. Goin' to the specific, so they are".

"Ye mean Pacific, Orla?" Erin huffed.

"Aye that's what I said, so I did, Erin. They're off to the specific".

"Pacific!"

"Specific!"

"NO! PACIFIC!"

"Alright that's enough!" Michelle intervened, halting the rowing cousins. "I hate to break it to ye Orla, but Erin is actually right for once, it's the Pacific. Now can the two of ye calm down, my head's still hurtin'".

Nights on the drink or out in general were no longer commonplace for Michelle, in fact her parents were to blame for the headache she was suffering. Emptying a cupboard, Martin found an old bottle of whisky that somehow hadn't been pinched by his daughter over the prior few years, uncorking it with the intention of just having a wee glass. It was a Monday night after all, all of them in the house having to go out to work the next day. One wee glass turned into the bottle being emptied, husband, wife and daughter having to help each other get to bed, all of them quite out of it. Martin and Deirdre would be in for difficult days at work with their hangovers, and though Michelle fared better, she was by no means in a fit state when she first arrived at the factory that morning.

"Ye need to learn to have a wee bit of self-control, Michelle". Erin lectured her. "Ye don't see Lance patrollin' his ship half-steamed do ye?"

"And how would you know? When was the last time you went aboard to watch him at work?" Michelle countered strongly.

"I haven't but… but that doesn't matter! I take his word that he wouldn't".

"His word? He could be steamin' most nights out on deck… it's not like he'd tell ye, is it?"

Another person that she cared for distrusting Lance was not what Erin wanted to hear at all. It was bad enough having her mother to contend with, her hatred of him and the rest of the Americans still failing to cease. Michelle's opinions could hardly be taken to be of value sometimes, but when she was trying to move on with her life alongside The Yank, it was disheartening that he appeared to be underappreciated. There were others around the close-knit circle of friends and family that were deserving of the way he was castigated for who he was, though the blonde knew better than to vocalise her thoughts on the particular person in question. It didn't stop her from vocalising those thoughts internally though…

"What's yer problem with him!?" Taking offence to her friend, Erin decided to go onto the attack. "Yer fella might be drunk as well for all you know!"

"Clint won't be drunk because he's not allowed to drink". Shaking her head, Michelle rolled her eyes before continuing. "He's not an officer like yer Lieutenant or have ye forgotten that from that perch yer on up there?"

"Perch!? Perch!?"

"The high horse that yer sat on because yer fella is an officer and mine isn't. That doesn't make Clint any worse of a fella ye know, just because he doesn't get to boss everyone around!"

"I didn't say he was a bad fella! Ye know ye really need to learn to listen sometimes, Michelle… then ye might not say such daft things".

Aware of the imminent argument that would spark off if she did not get a word in first, Clare was forced into action. Strangely enough, it was Michelle that got involved in the first place to stop an argument from continuing, by the end of it being partially responsible for another one beginning. The common denominator between both incidents was Erin, first with Orla and then with Michelle, leaving Clare to ponder why she was being so aggressive. It wasn't completely out of character for her to become agitated and aggravated during a difference of opinions, although not to the extent where she would pick fights with everybody. It was only then that the smaller of the two blondes realised that the cold swirling winds of Autumn were starting to stir, the season of the year when Erin's mood would change dramatically. For the worse. The early onset of the season was already suggesting that Lance's presence would do nothing to remedy the problem.

"So Orla, what happened with Brenda Cleary yesterday". A cheerful Clare brought their group back under control. "I saw ye were talkin' to her by the toilets after lunch".

"Oh aye right… she's invited me to a wee party, so she has". An equally pleasant Orla replied in return.

"The one Aisling's hostin'?" Michelle queried. "She's not invited the rest of us then… that's bad form, so it is… to think I thought she's not too bad…".

"No… No I don't think Aisling's goin' to be there".

"Right". Clare took over once more. "Well, whose party is it then, Orla?".

The silence that followed should have confused them all, but when it was Orla it was hardly much of a surprise. Whenever there was anything dramatically important that required an answer, she would go missing. It wasn't the most desirable of traits to have though it was one that suited her down to the ground. Being able to zone out during the most important of conversations in the eyes of others, many a detail could pass over her head. The other girls were not surprised, an initial lack being brushed away quickly though when she did answer. Some would have chosen to remain vague on the details for their own sakes but not Orla.

"Some fella up Fountain Street. The wee party is at his big house, so it is".

"It's not Pump Street at least, Joe can go with ye without gettin' his head ripped off". Michelle snorted, running a hand through her hair.

"Fountain Street!?"

Of all of the girls, it was supposed to be Clare who provided the high-pitched, nerve-riddled response to such things, but the role was stolen away from her by Erin. As soon as she heard which street that the party was on, it dawned upon her immediately what was going on. Parties up Fountain Street came with a reputation to certain people, known by the wider community to be an area to stay away from unless one wanted their name tarnished. There was such secrecy about who was invited to those parties that it would only ever be obvious as to the identities of the attendees, if one of them was to spread word of who else was there with them. It would have almost been better if it was Pump Street in Erin's view.

"Aye, that's right, Erin. Fountain Street". Orla confirmed. "Brenda was tellin' me to wear a wee mask as well to hide me face but I reckon I don't need one. I have a lovely face".

"How lovely ye face is wasn't why she was wantin' ye to wear a mask, Orla! Those parties are all masquerade, so they are!" Erin was almost shouting at her, drawing the attention of other women in the factory.

"Calm yerself Erin, it might not be one of those parties!"

"Wise up Michelle, we both know that it will be! No one goes up Fountain Street for any other reason!"

"I still have a lovely face…".

Barely able to stay seated, such was her anger with her very naïve cousin, Erin couldn't believe how blind to the truth that she was. Everyone knew what those parties were about in her mind, even some of the oldest of the ladies at church were well attuned to what they were, details of which would give them heart attacks. The special parties that did not seem easy to gain access too unless invited, reputations could be squandered upon going to them. Quite what Orla didn't understand about the invitation she did not know, as surely the fact that it was masquerade would have been a clue as to what would occur in the house up Fountain Street. It would have been a valid clue to anyone other than Orla at least, her unique way of viewing the world being one which ignored such truths.

"Why is it a problem if it is a party like that, Erin…". Once again coming to Orla's defence, Michelle was not willing to allow the narcissist to gain the upper hand. "Orla's a free spirited woman, so she is… so should you be too, if ye can ever bare to stop thinkin' about yerself!"

"WHAT!?" Erin resorted to growling, to not draw any further attention, still raging. "It's a problem when those parties are nothin' more than orgies, Michelle! Look what happened when I had to go out that night with Lance and Da, do ye think Granda would be happy with me if I let Orla go to Fountain Street?!"

"Joe's too busy with Pump Street to care about Fountain Street! He should let Orla have a good time… they don't come round too often with this fuckin' war on!"

"Who would look after Marie!?" Responding rapidly, Erin put up more barriers in front of Orla's happiness.

"I'll look after Marie… Mammy and Daddy would love to have her round!" Michelle continued their back and forth. "It'd be class to spend time with her!"

"Yer hardly responsible are ye, Michelle?"

Busy at each other's throats again, the quiet presence of Clare, for once not having a cack attack, strangely managed to silence the two of them. Orla, having already caught sight of the look of fury that was radiating from the diminutive blonde, kept herself very much silent too in order not to stir her up even more. She was not going to sit there bored for the rest of the afternoon, uncomfortably balancing on her stool whilst listening to two young women who simply did not know when, or perhaps how, to back down. Stubborn as old mules the pair of them were, Erin even more so than Michelle thanks to the genes inherited from her mother. The two frequently could disagree with each other, Erin's inability to understand when she was wrong combining with Michelle's thirst to root out absolute shite from being spoken, to create almost the perfect storm.

Forced into a hush for a number of minutes, Clare's tactic of glaring was only going to be a temporary measure. It was Erin that blinked first, announcing that she was going to be going to the loo seeing as there was still no work to do. Throughout their exchanges they were watched by the supervisor Meyler, who was up on the balcony of the floor above, his view extending out across the shop floor. On other days he might have chastised them for not finding themselves something else to do, but there was always the chance that a new batch of work could be around the corner. As long as they didn't cause too much of a scene then having them sat talking to each other was manageable. Unfortunately, when it came to scenes being created, he was handed four of the worst young women in the city to look after on the spectrum of creating drama. The girls were right up there with their antics.

Conversation returned the moment that she'd gone, Michelle being the instigator.

"Good for you anyway, Orla. Ye've been good for months, they can't keep stoppin' ye from havin' a grand time!"

"That's what I thought too, Michelle. These parties are good craic ye know, I might hear lots of wee things that I can tell ye, so I might".

"I'm not sure… those… parties are awash with gossip, Orla". Clare pointed out. "I… It's probably not a good idea ye go but… Michelle has a point. Ye have to have fun!"

When even Clare Devlin was supporting Orla's decision to attend a party, which was most probably going to end up being an orgy, then it really was a party worth attending in the young mother's view. She didn't really know what one of those was, having always assumed the special nature of the parties were because they would eat food you weren't supposed to have. Understanding enough from Erin's extravagant attempts to prevent her from attending before she went off to the toilet, there was most likely sex involved too, though she could live with that. Ever since Joe's ban on her enjoying a night out, she'd been waiting for an opportunity for such physical contact again. As much as being the best mother that she could be for Marie, who she was devoted to, was her duty, Orla did need some release from the pressures of being a single parent. The lack of caution of her trysts with the sailors was not something she was keen on revisiting, but one night in Fountain Street was certainly a chance worth exploring.

"I'm quite jealous ye know, if it as an orgy". Michelle continued on, Clare feeling ever more uncomfortable, shifting on her stool. "I still haven't with Clint ye know".

"That's good though, right?" Innocently, and quite sweetly, Clare asked. "It means when ye do, it'll feel more special".

"Pfff! Hardly! Christ at the rate I'm on at the minute, me fingers will be chargin' me expenses if I don't move things on soon!"

"Michelle! I don't want to know about you… touchin' yerself!"

"No need to whisper, Clare, we all do it". She scoffed, before sobering up slightly. "Well apart from you… obviously".

Into territory that she wasn't just uncomfortable with, but felt scandalised by, she was not brought up by her Da to talk of such things. If Sean ever caught wind of what she was even listening to, without participating in, he would be sent into a wild rage. Such acts were ungodly in his opinion, the complete opposite to Michelle who found them quite natural. Clare even managed to miss Orla nodding her head in agreement with Michelle's latter thoughts, most likely for the best when she was already glowing red in the face from embarrassment. Orla's own mother was only a hundred or so metres away on the other side of the factory, along with Erin's. If they heard what was being said to, it would be most humiliating for her to be tarnished with the brush of vulgarity they were painting a story with in front of her.

"Still, I am enjoying getting to know more about Clint every time I see him though... that's special in its own right".

"It is. I'm lurred for ye, ye know that Michelle". Clare replied, grin widening.

"Aye… thanks Clare. Yer a real good 'un, ye know".

Laughing between themselves, Orla joining in without truly understanding what it was that was so funny, there was almost a better atmosphere after Erin vacated the area briefly. She would be back in another couple of minutes but until then they could at least enjoy the serenity of a chat that wasn't going to end up in a shouting match. Sensing a chance to be able to talk to Michelle in particular, though Orla too if she wished to interject with any of her own thoughts, Clare spoke up again quickly whilst basking in the warmth of the friendly comment that she'd received from the dark-haired young woman.

"Remember I said that Da invited James round on Saturday night".

"Oh aye!" Her memory engaged, Michelle almost bolted up off of her stool. "Was it alright? James did turn up, didn't he?"

"Aye he did. Enjoyed yer Mammy's Sheppard's Pie recipe too. And it was all going fine until we went to wash up the plates…".

Clare's deep sigh concerned Michelle, not for her sake for a change, but for James'. When Clare first mentioned the dinner to her, a whisper in the ear on the way home one night when they were unable to pull themselves away fully from Erin, she held her suspicions that Sean's reasons behind the evening were far from innocent. James didn't know of the travails they'd been through, her more than any of the others, trying to help Clare keep her secret hidden from the community around them. Appeasing the man was the final straw after every excuse in the book was used to explain Clare's lack of success with men, but then after her own meddling that led to the death of the Bishop's nephew, Michelle was reluctant to do too much to assist Clare again. James returning, a handsome single young suitor now Erin was not by his side, to the astute eye it was clear what Sean Devlin was going to think. Friendship was easy to mistake for genuine love sometimes…

"And?"

"And… and Daddy…". Clare sighed again. "He told James that he thought that me and James would be happy together, and that I was too nervous to ask him if we could… ye know".

"But I thought ye didn't li-".

"She doesn't, Orla". Michelle cut her off, leaving the young mother confused. "Fuck's sake I knew this would happen. James has only been back a few days and already yer Da think he's goin' to be wantin' to find someone. Why can't he just leave him alone!"

"It wasn't much fun for me either…".

"Yeah I know it probably wasn't, Clare. I'm not thick ye know". She grumbled. "James isn't goin' to be goin' near a woman for ages, I reckon. Shame, because if my baps are anything to go by, our family genes tend to have… anatomy… on the large side. Some poor girls will be missin' out!"

Left with a red face for a second time, Clare couldn't believe she'd just heard. One cousin talking about the anatomy of the other sounded more in tune with the Habsburgs than the Maguire's. Erin's return from the loo couldn't have come any quicker, the sight of her striding across the factory towards them being tonic for the wee blonde's eyes. There was more that Clare wanted to say, to tell them about the conversation she'd held with James afterwards, now relegated to another more convenient time. At least Erin couldn't hear what was said though, as if she could then there would have been ever more rows between her and Michelle. Peace would soon come to an end when the feisty pair locked horns over something once more, but before then, Michelle made sure to get one more comment in.

"Hmph, I should ask Erin, she's the only one who actually knows".

Some people simply did not change, and one of those people was Michelle Mallon.

---

Lance Hamilton cut a lonely, frustrated figure at times.

Days had gone by since he spent the afternoon with Erin, an afternoon where only his skills as an actor kept him clear from making a comment that would scupper his own plan. He could appreciate a beautiful woman but in his eyes she was nowhere near deserving of that title. It made her perfect to be able to disregard when the time was right, his baby growing inside her, nothing in his heart for her to make it easier to just walk away. That was the best part of the plan, the lack of responsibility that he would feel afterwards. If he did survive the war then he would not return to claim the child, allowing her to raise it in shame instead or even have the child taken away from her. One way or another, his bloodline would carry on.

Frustrated that the process would be a slow one, where he would have to pretend to take an interest in the life of the young woman that he'd chosen, it left him in a poor mood. For days he was sour with the men in his section, as well as some of his fellow officers. The lack of a challenge in what they were doing also dismayed him, annoyed that many of his evenings were being spent sat around. There was a war raging out there around them, a war which he wanted to fight in to get it over and done with quickly. Since they'd arrived in Derry, there was nothing quick about the whole process whatsoever. Training was vital before they left, a fact he understood completely, but it was not being conducted quick enough for his liking.

Sat in the officers mess, there were only two others in the room. Lieutenant Commander Reeves and his best friend Lieutenant Baker were sat at the tables playing cards, not engaging with the younger officer. They were both quite concerned for their friend but when approached, Lance would not admit to them what the problem was. They were fairly sure that Erin Quinn was the issue at hand though, even if they were not going to confront him with it. Until Lance came to them then the issue would remain unspoken of.

Dinner was soon on the way courtesy of the officer's chef, who sent round one of the crew to deliver the meals. It was the regular crew member who was on duty, Porter, a quiet man who only wished to get on with his job for the war. A job that came with little respect given from the majority of the officers, Lieutenant Masterson aside, he was unknowingly walking into an even worse situation that night. Lance really was not in the mood when the plate was lowered down in front of him, and when he took a look at what was on it, the Lieutenant saw red. There was no prime beef from the friendly farmer in the country; it was a proper rationed meal, the first time in a long time he'd had to suffer through one.

"What in the Lord's name is this!?" He growled, aiming his frustration at Porter.

"The chef sends his apologies…".

BANG!

Driving his fist down onto the table, Lance alerted his fellow officers to the scene that he was creating but neither were going to bother to stop it developing. Porter was a black man after all; they couldn't care less.

"The chef sent his god damn bus boy to piss on our parade! What the hell do you think you're doin', giving me this god damn shit meal!"

"I'm sorry sir, I…".

Porter stopped, doing so to watch the Lieutenant when it was clear that words were no longer required. In his rage, Lance decided to empty the dinner plate all over the man's feet, ruining the chance he held of eating that evening to make a point about the quality of the food. The poor crew mate in front of him could do little, but he was very much the messenger who was in the best position to be shot. If his skin colour was lighter then he would have gotten away with taking a message back to the chef, but Lance needed to make a point about his power too. He wasn't going to sit by and allow a black man to serve him a substandard dinner without their being serious repercussions.

"Now you listen boy, and you listen good!" Shouting, Lance was really making a demonstration, pushing his chair back to stand eye to eye with the man. "You tell that son of a bitch chef, that he better send some beef down to the mess in the next thirty minutes or I will drown him in this fucking river!"

"Yes, Sir!"

Standing to attention, like he was supposed to in front of an officer, Porter did not receive a salute in return as Lance should have given him. Instead, the young Lieutenant gathered saliva together inside his mouth, proceeding to fire a projectile of spittle all over the man's face. For men on the same side there was absolutely nothing friendly or allied about the action. Knowing what was best for him, Porter decided to vacate the officers mess immediately, his shoes dripping with the remains of Lance's dinner as he scurried off back to the kitchen. His face was wiped on the way, a humiliating stain on the man that upset him deeply, especially when he knew there was nothing he could do about reporting such behaviour.

"Little Miss Quinn's really gettin' to you, isn't she Lancey boy?"

Almost as soon as Porter had left, Lieutenant Commander Reeves addressed the young Lieutenant in a mocking tone, not allowing him time to think. Still stood where he remained after spitting at the crew mate, he turned to his fellow officers, face red with pure, unfiltered rage. He could not comprehend the poor dinner that he was being given, not when they had a friend out in the country who could provide them with fresh meat. They shouldn't have had to suffer the same poor meals as the common sailors, as well as the general populace who were used to rations. It wasn't the real problem though, as Reeves know, that being Lance's grand plan with Erin at the centre of it. Clearly stressing him more than it should, his friends were the only people who could help, if he would allow them.

"I can handle it". He coldly replied, taking his seat once more.

"That little performance says not…". Baker took his turn to speak. "He might be a nigger, Lance, but that was a bit much".

"These niggers won't understand unless you get down to their level, Johnny! Fucking dirty savages… they don't understand what's god damn proper!"

Baker and Reeves did not find themselves in a position to disagree when they thought the same way as Lance did. All three of them were ultimately always going to be dismissive of men of darker skin colour, believing them to be inferior to the southern-born gentlemen that they were. The real Lance Hamilton was the man that was on show that night though, not the version of himself that he presented to Erin on a semi-regular basis. She never saw his darker side when they spoke, because if he were to show it then she would no doubt see straight through the act he was putting on. Risking his whole plan by giving into his negative feelings about her or others, simply would not do.

"Cheer yourself up, Mr Hamilton". Reeves told him, chuckling slightly. "You won't be with her for much longer".

"You doubtin' me? I ain't gonna stop with my plan!"

"You really think you can keep up this gentlemanly act?" Baker genuinely questioned. "Besides, you got this English bastard to contend with now… that ain't gonna be easy if he's really as good as you say he is".

"He's some fuckin' war hero for sure, but he ain't no Hamilton! If he wants to fight then he can fuckin' have it!"

Shaking his head, Reeves was not convinced. Baker, knowing Lance just slightly better, was aware that he could be persistent when he wanted to be and did not fear the challenge of another man. If anything, it was better for him to have someone to contend with, making Lance sharper in everything that he did, something that would be useful if they were called into active combat. None of them were yet to meet James properly to talk to, nor were they aware of quite the man that they were dealing with when it came to wartime heroics, yet Lance was confident of his success with Erin despite his presence. He would resort to the most extreme measures possible if it meant his legacy was guaranteed.

"What is it Reevesy, ye think I ain't up to it?!" Lance shouted. "I fucking well am! This bitch is goin' to be mine… James needs to back the fuck off or I'll put him in the damn ground!"

"Alright… alright, we understand…".

Somewhat exasperated, Lieutenant Commander Reeves was also highly amused too. The Lieutenant's situation played on his mind more than it should have done, but when it was so strange and difficult to comprehend anyway, it made it hard not to think about it. Already having come up with an idea in his mind long before Lance's poor mood began, the thought was supposed to have been for another day in the weeks that followed. However, events of the prior few days forced his hand a lot earlier than expected. He'd discussed it briefly with Baker too, the same discussion where they agreed to wait until Lance confided in them with his problems. When that changed, what he was going to say to the Lieutenant was the plan he thought of, one that Baker menacingly agreed with. It was quite the game to them both, no thoughts for who may be hurt by it.

"Three hundred bucks says your seed doesn't get in her before we go off into open waters. If I'm wrong then I can put my money where my mouth is and I know the Hamilton coffers ain't exactly lacking, are they?!"

"Three hundred!?" An incredulous Baker shouted. "You told me one fifty!"

"One fifty each you half-witted moron!" Scoffingly roaring, Reeves was having far too much fun. "What do you say, Lancey Boy?"

"I say bring it on! This is one god damn long fucking strategy, but I will put a baby in her before we sail, you can be sure of it! Even if she doesn't want one…"

"We countin' if he forces her?" Baker enquired with Reeves, eyebrow raised.

"I couldn't give a donkey's pile of shit if she lets him on or not. No one's gonna believe an ugly whore like her saying she's been raped… Lancey has nothin' to worry about".

There was not meant to be a value on human life, a sickening thing to even think about let alone verbalise. However, that night in the officers' mess, a life was set a value that was little more than a wager between men with more money than sense. They were horrible, despicable men who did not deserve the uniform that they wore… yet they felt in a position to determine the value of another human's life.

Erin's life was given a value that night.

Three hundred United States Dollars was the value assigned to her, or rather her ability to bear children to be exact.

But if Lance was forced to get his way without her consent, her body would be valued at even less. At nothing at all.

She was falling in love with the wrong man…