Chapter 96: Heroes 25th December 1943
The early hours of Christmas morning, were predictably cold. Bitterly cold. It was the winter after all and the weather reflected that rather well. Barely a soul that didn't have to move, did so, such was the effect of the weather. As war raged on in the world around them, two years of from the United States of America entering it to, there was still the hardships of rationing to face for what was the fifth Christmas in a row. Barely anything changed from year to year in that regard, when there were still shortages that meant the population suffered. Even if the war were to end that day, it would be some time before the rationing stopped, that was for certain.
Despite that though, the conflict really was starting to feel as if it was shifting in the favour of the allies. They of course did not glean every detail from the papers, but there was genuine positivity to be favoured from what they did know. During the summer, with a foothold in mainland Europe needing to be gained, the allied forces landed in Sicily, attacking the Italians who'd aligned themselves with the Nazi's. The fighting was at times bloody, with losses of life sustained on both sides, but the Axis forces quickly realised that they could not defend the island, withdrawing successfully for it to then be liberated by the allies. It wasn't exactly a war winning move, but it was a start at least.
They'd then moved onto the mainland in Italy, where progress was much slower, but fighting continued. A major boost was granted early on in the campaign when Italy dropped out of the war, signing an armistice with the allies, leaving their axis partners alone. The Germans were arguably the better organised fighters anyway, meaning that losing the Italians was not completely crippling, even if it did mean less firepower overall. The well-trained German units dug themselves in on the Italian mainland for battle, delaying the American and British advances at every turn that they could. The allies were still moving forward though, but there would no doubt be a lot more battles to come.
In the east, the Red Army continued to fight on winning battles too. There was bitter, brutal fighting on every front there, the Nazi's not wishing to lose everything they'd gained in expanding east, coming up against the Soviets who were out for their blood. Advances were being made by the Red Army though, taking back cities, towns and villages that belonged to them, pushing the Germans back further. The once mighty Nazi war machine was proving to be beatable after years of trying, on the ground as well as in the air and in the seas. To get to that point, a lot of soldiers and civilians had died, all in the name of attempting to establish peace. Peace would come, the working people hoped, though the cost of it was still being worked out.
The Japanese were proving to be a tougher nut to crack though. America were leading the majority of the offensives in the Pacific theatre, to which they were finding themselves losing soldiers and sailors in heavy numbers. Warfare in that part of the world was so much more different to that in Europe, where there was not the secrecy and humidity of jungle combat. At every island that they seemed to land, the Japanese were determined to go down fighting, to the very last man if necessary. So many were dying needlessly when they could have just surrendered, but the damage they were inflicting on the Americans was truly quite stunning. It wasn't just the numerical impact either, as morale would often waver when men found themselves on edge at night, worried that the Japanese might start crawling into camp to murder them all. The fighting continued though, because Japan needed to be pushed back to where they'd started, just the like the Nazi's did.
James Maguire was one man who did not need to worry about any of that though, at least no more than anyone else. His job was done for the country, leading some of the earliest successes of the war when the picture really was bleak, Britain hanging onto European stability by a thread at times. He wasn't one of the brave few defending home waters at the time, instead stationed away in the Mediterranean, being a general nuisance to the Italians. The Fleet Air Arm's victories in the area during those early months were some of the only ones achieved outside of pushing the Luftwaffe backwards, all of them being planned and executed by him. Yes, there were others who'd handled parts of the planning, but the overriding responsibility for the finest of details went to him. His squadron spread fear through the Italian ranks too, not that he was aware of it. After the attack on Benghazi, the sight of Fairey Swordfish sneaking into a harbour across the waterline put Italian soldiers on edge.
Many died during those raids, sinking with their ships or being in the wrong place at the wrong time as he and his men attacked them. As much as they might have been the enemy, they were often amongst his thoughts, none more so than on Christmas morning. The sailors that lost their lives because of his attacks were just the same as him, men doing their duty for the country that they served. Their aims might not have been as noble, at least the aims of the country that was, but they still were doing the job they signed up to do. Killing them brought him no joy at all, yet he knew at the time and years on, that there was very little he could do about it. From the air, releasing bombs and torpedoes to attack warships with, he could not guarantee that unnecessary death would not occur. That was his job though, to prevent the enemy from operating at sea in the Med, swinging control in the area, firmly across to Britain. He succeeded.
Many fine commanders distinguished themselves during the conflict, across all forms of conflict, but he did not consider himself amongst their number. Sighing, he cast his mind back to the early days of his service. The man who'd trained him so rapidly to become the officer that led such glories, Bentley, he was an example of a fine commander, James believed. He balanced a sense of duty with a common sense that often prevailed, nurturing perhaps the greatest pilot the country had seen or would ever see, to becoming a young man that could be respected. He was given a daunting task when his fellow countryman was just a fresh-faced boy really, but with his own talents and Bentley's approach, he'd then been able to conduct the raids he had, scoring victories at every turn. Away from the frontlines too, his conscience could become much clearer.
Snow fell out of the sky, the wee English fella noted, stood there by the side of his bed, peering out of the window into the back garden. There'd been snow a few days before too, covering the ground for a day or so before melting away, taking away some of the joy of seeing it. Granted, it did make travelling to work much more challenging, but he loved the way that the children of the family would smile when they saw it piling up. Anna might have been a girl that was far too smart for her age, but at the sight of snow she reminded everyone that she was just a child. A little too much for her Granda's liking, when she hit Joe with a ball of snow, but he did not mind at all. In the later stages of his life, it was just as heart-warming for him, if not more so, to see them all so delighted. For how many more years he would be able to watch them, he was not certain.
James didn't hear the movement behind him, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. He'd been thinking about his mother too, who he would have hoped to have been there to see what he'd made of himself since returning to Derry. He could not have made it that far without her, but that was down to her dying in his arms, at the same time as giving him the correct amount of uncontrolled anger that he needed to defeat Doctor Van Der Heijden. The brutal killing of an equally brutal man was one that he did not shudder at when the memory of it flashed through his mind. The murder weapon was still in use at the Quinn house to this day, albeit the wooden spoon was no longer being plunged into the necks of Nazi Doctors. He missed her dearly though, saddened that during the festive season, she would once again no longer be there to enjoy it with.
However, there was one woman that would be. Forever and always, if fate allowed them such a blissful run.
She quite suddenly, seeing as he was focused on everything but what was happening around him, wrapped her arms around him, her swollen belly pressing into his back at the same time. That touch appeared to bring him back into the conscious world, moving her hands to his lips to kiss them affectionately.
"Good morning, my love". He whispered into the chilly air. "I am sorry, you surprised me".
"Yer hearin' must be goin' funny". She giggled, moving out from behind him to stand by his left side. "I can't really keep quiet when there's two of us".
Glancing down to her now very much showing stomach, he could not stop his face from lighting up. After the night she'd told him about her pregnancy, when tears were shed and promises were made, an additional sense of vigour flowed through him at all times. He was even more confident than he already was, whilst still retaining a gentlemanly nature that meant that confidence did not turn into arrogance. The day that they told the rest of the family, a couple of days later, was one of the happiest days that he would always cherish the memory of. Her parents were brought to tears when she told them, as was Anna, with equally strong reactions in the Mallon household albeit with much drier eyes. Well, Martin's eyes anyway; Deirdre and Michelle were just as tearful as Mary and Gerry. When his conscience was littered with many far from pleasant memories, that day was one he could counteract them with.
"Two of you…". Humming pleasantly, James began to smile. "I sometimes cannot believe my own luck to be given the two of you".
"I can't believe mine". She scoffed a little in return. "I have a husband that I love and we're havin' a baby together. It's… it's all that I ever wanted, I suppose".
"Apart from being a writer? I cannot give you that".
"No. But there's still time, so there is James. Seeing as ye won't let me go back to work now that the baby's comin, maybe when he or she is born, I can… ye know… try".
Lifting one of her hands up to meet his lips again, her knees were weakened by the simple gesture. They always had been, and though it was not wise for her to be collapsing with a baby growing inside of her, Erin could not help but be disabled by his charm. Her husband was… something else, something else entirely…
"You will be a success, of that I am certain". He told her, with no words of a lie seeping in.
"Ach well, I don't know about that…".
"I do". Stopping her from doubting herself, he squeezed her hand. "You will be a sensation, Erin".
Although he was just about the only person in the world who could stand her poetry, it did not perturb him from making the comment. There was so much jealousy, he assumed, towards her work that everyone that viewed it simply could not see just how masterful each work was. The Nazi's and the British government both wished to bleach their eyes when they read it though, and the respective members of each side hardly had anything to be jealous about with her. James did not care though and would support his wife throughout any venture that she wished to embark on, no matter what it was.
"What are ye doin' up so early?" Returning to conversation after a minute of silence, she asked the obvious question. "I was gettin' cold, so I was…".
"I am sorry". Sighing outwardly, James looked away, back to the falling snow. "I woke with a start and… and I required a few moments peace, just to… reflect".
"James, yer not…".
"No". He cut off her line of thought. "No, it is not like that this time. I think the significance of the day decided to get to me quite early. In my mind I needed to think about those who are not able to be here".
He was doing it to himself again, she thought, convincing Erin to press herself into his side, her arm slipping around his waist. There were always moments, more often than not at night, when he would fight his demons. At every single nightmare or dejected sigh, she filled the gap to bring the man that she loved back to the surface, out of his own critically reflective nature. All he was doing was hurting himself by replaying every decision of the past and that was not what she wanted for him. For them. The full-blown weight of the visits of the ghosts of those he'd killed did not occur as much anymore, but that still did not stop dreams of a certain nature. She was quite sure that he was not completely forthcoming with all of the details of such encounters, but she never pushed him to reveal them either. Triumph did not have to be forced in their relationship, with every time that he relented and offered up a snippet of information to her, being a victory in itself.
Some might have called him weak for fighting such emotion, but not his wife. Erin would only ever see him as so much stronger than anyone else.
"I thought of my mother". Opening up, James was allowed to continue. "She would have been so proud of us for what we have made of our lives. I can picture her face if she were able to see you as you look now, carrying our child. She'd cry".
"I would too". Erin sniffled, betraying that she already was a little. "I'm sorry I never got the chance to meet her".
"She died for us… for everyone". Voice crackling, he moved his free hand up to wipe away a tear. "I… I just wish she could have known how beautiful that you were and how lucky that I am".
"Aye but she does, James. She'll be with Clare and David, lookin' down on us from up high and bein' so proud".
"Yes… yes she will".
Husband and wife came together in an embrace, initiated by the latter, gingerly so as to not put any pressure onto her stomach. James was caring and attentive in that regard, forever checking to make sure he was doing the right thing for her and the baby. Already having gone past the point that she'd lost their first child, they dare not say but both of them were becoming more hopeful that there would be no loss to contend with. The anniversary of her prior miscarriage was a melancholy day for Erin to begin with, but when she came home to find her husband having made her dinner and cleaned the house in the couple of hours since she'd returned home, she perked up. Forgetting the child they'd lost was never an option, but as time ticked by, they were counteracting the effects of the loss with the child that was due around ten weeks or so later.
"My first Christmas without Clare…".
Unselfish as ever, the Englishman knew he was not the only one suffering. Clare's death just after Christmas a year earlier was still as unbelievable a year on as it was when it happened. Her radiant energy was lost to the world thanks to the tragedy that took place in the Devlin house that day, taken away by a father who thought he was doing right by his daughter. She would have been just as thrilled as Kathy to see that they were having a child, and the banker knew just how much his wife missed her friend. A couple of times a month at least, Erin would make her way to the graveyard to communicate with the headstone, come rain or shine. Sometimes Orla and Michelle would join her, sometimes James himself, but a lot of the time she was left alone to have the time that she needed. Without question, she would have given anything to have Clare back in her life.
"She is missed". A sombre comment passed his lips. "Truly. There are few kinder souls out there than hers was".
"She… she had her moments…". Erin slowed, laughing softly with her fella at the thought of how Clare could panic. "But… but she always tried to do best by people. More times than I can count she stopped me from doin' somethin' dead stupid".
"I too have relied on her countenance. We were incredibly lucky to have known her, Erin".
"Aye… we… were…".
Not wishing his wife to become too distressed when there was the baby to think of as well, she was wrapped up protectively in his arms again, to leak the tears that she needed. So many losses were taken before they were able to reach the peak of a relationship together, that there were just so many people to remember that morning. Clare was amongst the most prominent, her death being the freshest of all. David's memory burned on in his mind too, but James chose not to mention him when Erin was already upset enough over losing the diminutive blonde. They would be travelling to her parents' home later that day to share in the Christmas joy anyway, where he could talk to Orla about her now long deceased husband. More than three years had passed since that fateful night in Taranto. Three long years without his best friend.
"I like watching the snow…". She enunciated clearly. "It's pretty peaceful, ye know… when there's a war on like".
"It is bloody horrible if you get caught in it flying!" He snickered, earning himself a slap on the arm. "What!? I tell the truth, my dear, I tell the truth!"
"Yer ruinin' the moment with yer air talk!"
Chuckling together, they demonstrated their friendship as much as their love for each other once more. David might have been his best friend, but that was only if Erin was not counted. Wife and best friend were too titles with very differing roles on the surface, but on a day-to-day level, they very much merged into the same thing.
"If you recall, I promised you a Christmas morning together".
One of the promises that he'd made from when they were first in love before the war, he'd done so at the time to keep her calm when he was going off to fight. It was a promise of love between them, that he would return so that they could spend a festive season together, waking up to watch the snow fall whilst revelling in each other's grasp. He'd been prevented from doing so due to the crisis at the airfield at the time, an incident leaving him in command when others were already on their way home to their families. Last Christmas he'd not been anywhere near her for the day itself, Lance still around and James… well, his frame of mind was very different. Unwilling to dwell on that though, it was the future that they had to look forward to. The past was not to dictate it.
"Aye but yer a few years late!" She raised her voice, hot breaths puffing out of her nose.
"I said Christmas". He bowed his head mischievously, her heart fluttering. "I do not remember saying which Christmas that would be".
"Arsehole!" She mumbled, shaking her head. "Why did I marry ye again!?"
He dropped a hand to her stomach, softly caressing the bump that held their child. The question was a thick one alright; she remembered… she remembered very well.
"What do you say to us going back to bed to watch the snow together?" Enquiring with a wide grin, he could not get over how beautiful she was. "I would not wish to disappoint my Queen".
Referring to her as a Queen when, unbeknownst to her, she was a hell of a lot closer to being one than she knew, should have made him baulk, but it did not. She would not get the chance to become the actual Queen, but in the dominion that was his heart, she would sit atop his aortic throne forever.
"I reckon I'd quite like that".
That was exactly what they did, snuggling together under the sheets as they watched the snow fall onto the grass of their back garden, the light gradually increasing. His hands never left her stomach, where her hands were too and when their child decided to give a little firm kick to remind them of their presence, they kissed as sweetly as they'd ever done.
The child was going to be so, so loved.
It was going to be another Christmas that was not like those before the war, celebrations muted and thoughts often elsewhere. That didn't mean that it was going to be any worse than the more grandiose festive seasons from before the war began though. The cheer that Christmas brought raised spirits very briefly, even if there were a lot of men that would not get to celebrate it, stuck away on the frontlines fighting. Work back home might have stopped for Christmas Day, but combat did not respect such a time, ground to be either defended or made on the day itself. That was just the nature of war.
The Quinn household was awash with activity, as it always was on Christmas Day itself. Anna had woken earlier, despite knowing that she was not exactly going to be lavished with parents, overcome with joy for it being Christmas Day. As the only child left at home now since Erin moved to the cottage, it was both quite lonely but also quite pleasant to be the only member of the household up. Watching the snow as it came down into the back garden, she was full of the wonder of the season whilst waiting for her parents. They'd come down much later on with a stocking in their hands, some sweets that they'd managed to get hold of for her waiting inside. It was just about all that they could afford but it didn't matter to her at all. The thought was what counted, a thoughtful gesture that she appreciated sincerely.
Although the main meal of the day was hardly what it once was, and therefore all of the family ate separately at lunchtime, by late afternoon the house was full. James and Erin were of course making the journey from the cottage, though they'd nearly not been able to, had the snow continued to be any heavier. Unwilling to allow his pregnant wife to walk so far, he was therefore stuck with needing to use his car, which would have been useless in the snowy conditions. The Morgan wasn't like some of the vehicles that were out on the road, its grip on the surface severely impacted by adverse weather conditions. Skilled as he was though, he'd driven them there in one piece. For his wife, he understood the significance of the occasion, spending time with her close family that would be nigh on impossible once the baby arrived.
They were not the only guests to arrive though, albeit the others that arrived were doing so on foot. Sarah and Shane were making the trip from Ferguson Street, through the snow themselves too, although the distance for them to travel was a little less. Never one to be too far from calamity, Sarah had managed to slip over into a patch of snow on the way, her jacket having shown the evidence when Mary opened the door to let her sister into the house. No bones were broken or blood and skin lost, Sarah instead simply receiving a defeated shake of the head from Mary, nothing more to be said. Shane couldn't really add anything either, other than being glad that his wife hadn't managed to sustain any injuries. It wasn't as if they weren't used to it though, their whole relationship having begun because of them.
Joe, Orla and Marie were the final set of guests to arrive, the arduous journey from the house next door having been completed. He'd been out already that day though for what he described as a walk, for what in reality was a trip to Pump Street to update his superiors about his work. As well as keeping an eye on James for the British Government, he'd also recently been following up leads about another potential traitor. Those leads were proving to lead to very little tangible evidence though, his instincts telling him that perhaps whoever first sounded off about the apparent traitor, was clutching at straws. Orla and Marie both loved the festive season, daughter very much taking after mother when their faces lit up in unison from hearing someone else in the house say Merry Christmas. It was Marie's fifth Christmas, not that she could remember much of the first when she was still a baby, every year becoming more special as she realised everything that went on around her.
Assembled throughout the living room of the house as the light began to weaken in the afternoon, conversation flowed freely. There was so much for them to talk about from the state of the war to Erin's pregnancy, the latter of which certainly being a topic that her mother liked to keep at the forefront of their minds. So proud of her for showing the fortitude to carry the child, after she'd miscarried just a few years earlier, Mary could safely say that she believed the baby would arrive healthily. This time with the Englishman back at her daughter's side where he belonged, an added net of safety existed in her mind. Yes, he could not prevent nature enacting its whims upon her, but when he was there to offer up support and not allow her to overwork herself, the odds were somewhat boosted.
"Mammy…".
Marie's voice carried towards Orla, who was hovering just outside of the kitchen. Shuffling over towards her, there was a look of delight in the wain's eyes.
"Ach what is it Marie, love?"
"Can I go outside and play in the snow before it gets dark?"
Orla herself would have quite liked to go out in the snow and throw snowball after snowball at unsuspecting members of the family, but the light was really starting to run away quite quickly. She didn't like to let her daughter down and deny her the chance to experience such childish play, but sometimes no just had to be said.
"I don't think that's a grand idea, love". She replied. "Sure, if that snows there tomorrow then ye can spend all the time ye want in it".
"B-but I want to now!". She whined back.
"Marie, come on love, ye've been a good girl all day, don't spoil it!".
Just then, before Marie could say any more to get herself in bother, Joe made his way across to them, a very short distance indeed when he'd been sat in the armchair. Listening into the conversation between his granddaughter and great granddaughter, he did not want to hear an argument on Christmas Day of all days. It was just about the only time of the year that felt as if the war could be forgotten about, where families could come together to celebrate what they still had despite the age of death and suffering that they were living through. He was not about to allow the fading light of the day, hamper Marie's enjoyment of the festive period.
"What's the problem Orla, love?" He enquired with her.
"Marie wants to play in the snow out in the back, so she does Granda, but I'm not sure I should be lettin' her. It can get dead dangerous out there with no light, ye know".
"Aye that is true love…". Joe agreed with her, spotting a crestfallen Marie out of the corner of his eye. "But how about if I take ye out there Marie, how does that sound?"
To a young mind, it didn't matter if it was Granda Joe or a platoon of marines that were taking her out in the back garden to play. What sounded like permission brought an instant curvature to her lips, joy very much radiating off of her now that she had the chance that she wanted. Orla could have been annoyed with him for overruling her authority, yet she was not, her style of parenting not being that all. Although she would have liked to have had the chance to go out herself, watching from indoors would suffice, giving Marie a little more freedom to explore. That was going to be the basis of her daughter's childhood if she could help it, ironic at a time where the world significantly lacked it. Freedom… the freedom to develop in whatever way that Marie wished, to learn through experiences just as much as the textbook drumming in of information that school provided.
"Cracker, Granda!" The wain exclaimed while beaming at him, then turning to her Mammy. "Is that alright, Mammy?"
"Of course, love. Ye have fun with yer Granda but be nice! He's an older man now and ye have to look after the old, so ye do".
"I'm still fit as a fiddle…". He grumbled under his breath. "Come on then Marie, lets get yer coat and mine and get out there before we can't see each other anymore".
A little shout of happiness escaped from the wain before she was on her way, following her Granda to get a coat. The temperature was hovering just a little above freezing, though the clouds were now seemingly empty of any further snow. That was a positive for those who were having to travel back later that evening, though James and Erin would be fighting the ice should it get any colder out. With the rest of the family pre-occupied in the living room, listening to a story that Sarah was delivering with such passion, Orla strayed to the windows at the back of the house, to witness snow being launched around the back garden. She didn't really do reflection that much, her mind not setting her up to be able to, but watching Marie reminded her of herself from not that long ago. Laughing and giggling while picking up snow, that had been her childhood too, before the duties of motherhood and the war put a stop to it.
"She is enjoying herself".
Brought out of her gaze upon the back garden, Orla registered James' presence at her side a moment later. He watched with a grin upon his face, seeing how Joe was managing to make the snow even more entertaining than it normally was for Marie. There were so many strings to his rather talented bow as a grandfather, that he surprised the family a lot more often than he should. On the outside he was a stoic and stern man, but away from the glare of everyday life, he was a caring soul that always put his family first. He was most likely bitterly cold out there, his old bones feeling every little drop of temperature. That was not important to him though. Marie having as much fun as she could was his priority.
"I don't know, I reckon Granda's havin' more fun".
James chuckled at her reply, not completely being able to disagree with the logic. Joe was laughing and shouting just as much as his great granddaughter was, more relaxed than the wee English fella had ever seen him. It was a pleasant sight to say the least.
"He is certainly moving well for a man who is in the latter years of his life". The banker mused. "I do hope I will be able to move that well when I am that age".
"Aye, so do I. We've got a few wee years before we get there though, James. I wouldn't worry too much about it".
"I dread to think of it, Orla. I think I shall cling to as much of my youth as I can whilst I still have it".
The pair of them were laughing again at his almost forlorn thoughts about time ticking by. They were both approaching their mid-twenties now, Erin and Michelle too, teenage years starting to become further in the distance, responsibility increasing. Orla herself had been used to dealing with responsibility for some time though, falling pregnant with Marie whilst still in those teenage years. Along with the war that then rolled around to smite them all, she'd coped as a single mother for so long that it was like second nature to her. It wasn't as if she was truly alone at that time though, not when her Granda and Mammy devoted significant amounts of time to her, as well as her friends and wider family. James was about to embark on a journey of parental responsibility himself; he could only hope to be half as good a parent as the woman he was speaking to.
"That'll be yer wain one day, ye know, James". She glanced over at him with a smile. "But ye best not let them throw any snow at Erin, sure she can get right competitive when she wants".
"I am sure I could temper that competitive streak". Chuckling in reply, he pictured the scene in his head. "Though I am certain that the thought of an alliance against me would prevent any disagreements".
"Well ye are English, James…".
"Thank you for reminding me".
"Yer welcome, so ye are".
Rolling his eyes at her obliviousness, because despite being a mother who was in touch with the world, Orla still had her moments, James really could picture the scene. A little boy or girl stood with their Mammy, gathering snow to pelt at him as he pretended to try to get out of the way, only to withstand the full force of the balls. He wanted to be able to experience that with his wife and their child in the future, even if that was some years away. There was still the matter of seeing the child into the world safely first, worries that ate away at him as much as they did Erin, though he always chose not to show them.
"Erin's lookin' well, I told yer so myself". Moving the conversation on, Orla was very cheerful. "I remember bein' so happy when I was pregnant ye know, even when David told me he was goin' with ye to fight. Me and Erin suit babies, I reckon".
"She looks…".
Looking back over his shoulder to the living room, where Erin was sat next to her Mammy on the sofa, softly cradling her stomach, he could not help but grin. In a fine green dress that he'd bought for her as a present for Christmas, she was a beautiful horizon in a darkened world. It didn't matter at what time of the day or where they were, he could not ever seem to tear his mind away from how stunningly gorgeous his wife was. Her appeal to him only grew when she carried their child in her womb, unfathomably making her glow more than she'd ever done before. The woman he fought so hard to return to, was reminding him on a permanent basis of how worthy all of those sacrifices were.
"Stunning".
He finally found the right word. Orla widened her smile.
"She's goin' to be just fine, James, don't you worry". Placing a hand of reassurance on his arm, she spoke a little more softly. "Erin's tough, so she is… and she'll make a grand Mammy, so she will".
"I have no doubt. I just hope that I am able to be as good of a father, as she will be a mother".
Self-doubt always seemed to catch up to him at some point or another, fatherhood being no different. James didn't have to doubt himself really, not when he was ready to give everything for his child to live a prosperous and safe life, but he could never escape his mental cycle. His young mind had been forced to live through a lot in years gone by, perhaps damaging him to some extent forever.
"Ye'll be fine, James. Yer just like my David, so ye are".
The mention of his dead friend, her dead husband, came with a tinge of sadness for them both. More than just a tinge for Orla though, as she averted her gaze back to her daughter, still throwing snow at an increasingly whiter looking Joe. David should have been there spending Christmas with the family, but fate stole him away from them when he died on the night of the Taranto raid. For so long she'd lived without him, having moved on completely from him in a sense, whilst never being able to forget how happy that she was with him. Marie existed as the proof that they'd once existed as a couple too, though the happiest years of her life with him only ever grew further away. Despite there being others since, she would never love a man as much as she did David, ever again.
"He would be very proud of you and Marie". Looking out too, without looking at her, James spoke no less than the truth. "You have done an excellent job of raising her, Orla".
"I've done what I needed to". She sniffled a little, a tear or two escaping her. "He should have been here though, James. It's not right that he's missed all this".
Understanding her emotions, James took her hand in his for a moment, a friendly squeeze applied. He could understand her longing to have David there to watch Marie grow, and how unfair that life was, that the opportunity was stolen from him. The Englishman's residual guilt over his death still roamed the mystical depths of his conscience, but now was not the time to apologise and take the blame over his passing. Orla would not have wanted that, and he did not wish to put himself through it either.
"You have done brilliantly. I know that David would only ever be pleased".
"Aye… I hope he would be". Sighing dejectedly, Orla could not help but cry. "I… I've never… n-never forgotten him ye know. It's hard when Marie looks so much like him".
"I don't think any of us could ever forget him, Orla". Steely, fighting back his own choked emotions, James resolutely addressed her. "He did so much for me when I first came here. Looked out for me, pointed me in the right direction when I veered off the right path…".
"He was a brilliant fella… my, brilliant fella".
"And he was a fantastic friend and observer. I cannot say that I particularly approve of being called a hero myself, but that is exactly what David was. A hero. The word has never been applied with more honour to any other man".
James didn't mean for her to cry a little more, but they were not tears of pain but of the warm embrace of her husband's memory. David Donnelly touched so many people's life, not least hers, and to the Englishman stood next to her that day, his achievements would have never been possible without him. Throughout the Fleet Air Arm, and perhaps further, the duo of Maguire and Donnelly was a name that was respected, looked upon as the standard for the time. Their Swordfish, and there's only, set the tone for the conflict in the Mediterranean. Always leading from the front, spreading fear into the Italians that opposed them, they were the greatest of British heroes. James' parentage would always prevent him from being acknowledged publicly that way, but he would do everything in his power to ensure that David's legacy would live on to a wider audience.
"Thank ye James".
She didn't have to thank him, when he was only doing what a good friend would do to comfort another in such a situation. Allowing herself a rare cry when she thought of the man she loved, that she'd lost so long ago, it was not weakness but acceptable reflection. In Marie, she had a sustained memory of her husband at all times, the little girl often reminding her of him whenever she grinned cheekily. As she grew older, Marie would get to hear of his heroics, her mother would make sure of it. Most likely she would hear them from the man that shared in them, that was with her husband until he could breathe no more.
That would be the role that James would play.
He might have had a child of his own coming too, but he would always protect the two of them, helping out wherever he could. It was the least that he could do, when he'd been unable to save the Irishman on that night in Taranto.
If not in mortal form, David would still live on.
Whilst she watched her husband talking to her cousin, no doubt talking about David when it looked like James was comforting her, Erin's mind pictured him acting as a father. There was a mental image engrained in her of James doting on their baby as she watched on, him not knowing that she was there, carrying on as if it were a normal day. He was the caring type, and the child would never be afraid of a father with a temper like some children were. To put it rather bluntly, he was no Sean Devlin, that was for sure.
James continued to talk away with Orla, Marie managing to maximise as much time out in the snow with Granda Joe as possible. Anna eventually made her way out to join them as well, which made the old fella rather outnumbered. Her Da would no doubt get an earful from him for not going out to help him, though at the same time he would have got one for going out there assuming he required assistance anyway. Their little arguments were something that she missed when she lived so far away from them but swapping them for spending her days and nights with her husband could not be compared. She might have lost their humorous tussles on a regular basis, but that only made it all the more special when she did see them.
Excusing herself for a moment to go upstairs, Erin took her time on the way up. Whenever she approached any obstacle now, if James was with her, he would protectively offer a hand or watch on like a guardsman. It was for the baby she knew, and she could not fault his wish to keep them safe, though it made a lot of trips out quite annoying. The cottage being all on the ground floor prevented them from having an issue at home at least, yet the same could not be said whenever they went to visit family. When they'd last been in her parents' house a week or so before, he'd held her hand as they walked up the stairs, unwilling to let go. He really did want to do everything for her. It was ever so loving.
That didn't mean that she couldn't function without him though, proving that to be the case when she reached the top unhindered. The effort was a lot more than it used to be, but throughout the years of her life that she spent climbing those stairs, she'd not regularly done so with a child growing inside her. Two lives were heavy to move about, even if the baby was not quite fully grown yet. Reaching the top was somewhat of a personal achievement to when she hadn't stopped once on the way up, bringing a smile to her face. For how much longer she would be able to achieve such feats, she did not know but when she had almost everything that she wanted in life, it did feel as if almost anything was possible.
The only destination in mind for her was her room, her sanctuary for so much of her young life that was now lying dormant. Anna decided that she didn't wish to move rooms despite the offer being made by her parents, contented to stay in her own room a little further down the hall. They certainly would not complain when it meant that they didn't have to move anything, but for Erin, it was a little sad to see the room she once called home all cold and abandoned. Mary did make an effort to still come in and clean it from time to time, but there were cobwebs in the corners of the walls in places, the duvet cold to the touch when the blonde ran her hand along it. She felt comfortable in the room despite how little life was left in, thinking back to the times when Michelle, Orla and Clare would all cram themselves in, the girls always talking away or making fun of someone. It reminded her of that easier time, before the Nazi's went and ruined it by waging war all across Europe.
Those were the days.
In her future there would simply not be any more days like that, not often anyway, a moot point amongst all of the joyous ones that she was continually reminded of. On the cusp of a lifetime of motherhood and duty, being able to have any time to herself would vanish. She wouldn't be going back to work at least, not when James practically demanded that she did not, insisting that they could survive financially with just him working. That shut away another out for her, the baby almost certain to take up all of her time. It wasn't that she didn't want to have those precious moments with her baby, she did just as much as her husband did. Her grievance was down to the fact that it was all that she would ever be doing without any change in routine. Spontaneity would die a death the moment the child was born.
Perching at the bottom of her bed, holding onto the post in the corner to ease herself down, Erin breathed out a large sigh. More and more memories continued to come back to her, of times gone by with others that were not present. She wished for Clare to be there more than anyone, nearly as much as Orla wanted her fella back to be with them, chunks of life and exuberance missing from the festive period. The anniversary of Clare's death was nearly upon them too, the flowers that they were going to place over her grave already ready back at the cottage. They would all be honouring her memory by making the trip to the graveyard, though she would not be able to stay for long when her husband would not allow her to get cold. If James saw any hint of her suffering in the weather, then they would be back in car and then back home to the warmth of their fireplace. As much as she adored the attention, she hoped it would not come to that.
"Strange, isn't it?"
Whipping her head up and out of her thoughts, she found her Da stood leaning on the door frame, offering her the softest of smiles. Gerry's excitement began from the moment they woke that morning, looking forward to spending Christmas Day forgetting about the war, being with his loved ones. Even Joe… just a little less than everyone else. When he noticed his daughter heading away from the living room without really saying why, his fatherly instincts kicked in, following a minute or so behind her, ready to spring into action if there was a problem. It was but another parallel that the young woman kept finding between her father and her husband.
"I spent so much time in here…". She replied, tilting her head, looking around the room. "It feels wrong that its empty, so it does".
"I can't imagine what my bedroom looks like now. It's probably not even a bedroom anymore".
Infrequently, Gerry mentioned his childhood in the south, before he made the move north. His family were not wealthy at all, much in the same financial vein as they were in currently, though he was still a well loved and cared for child. The house that they'd lived in was nothing special though, crammed in along a street where lots of families lived on top of one another. Children seemed to crawl out of every nook and cranny back in those days, although in his own home he was at least the sole child. His daughter knew not to ask him about it though, not when the memories often triggered thoughts about his dearly lost parents.
"Has Mammy not suggested rentin' the room out?" Genuinely interested, Erin asked.
"Not yet". Gerry chuckled, slowly making his way into the room. "I think yer Granda might have made a suggestion, but he doesn't get a say anyway".
"That's bold talk, Daddy!"
"Aye, it is but… his name isn't on the deeds of the house, so he'll just have to deal with it if I say no".
Unused to such spirited talk from her Da when Granda Joe was the opponent, she chuckled to herself unashamedly. A part of her wanted to be there when he told Granda that he was wasting his breath if he argued, to see whether they might actually start fighting physically. The line hadn't been crossed before mind, although there was a first for everything.
Renting out the room sounded odd in her mind when she said it, but Erin couldn't say that it was the worst thing to do. The war was going to displace a lot of people, they all knew it, and to have a lodger add to the income of the house would do them the world of good. A soldier coming home to find a loved one to have moved on or a refugee from another country, no longer able to face going back after what the Nazi's had done. They could have housed anyone under their roof in her old room and it would give the otherwise abandoned sanctuary a new lease of life. It wasn't as if any more children would be gracing the house anytime soon, so it had to be useful for something.
"Mammy would love a lodger. Imagine all the things she could moan at them for…".
"Erin…". Gerry little chastised her, taking his seat next to her at the bottom of the bed. "Yer mother doesn't moan… she criticises constructively".
"Is that what it's called, is it? That's good to know".
Poking fun at her absent Mammy, Gerry allowing it when he was amused as well, they were enjoying themselves at her expense. The poor lodger, if they were to get one, would have to put up with the outright craziness of living at the house. Even without her living at home now, Erin did not doubt that the same amount of chaos still occurred. She was not the reason for the continually odd, sometimes hilarious, problems that the Quinn household faced. If the lodger wasn't scared away by their usual antics though, they would have a warm, caring environment to live in while they sorted out something more permanent for themselves.
"Do ye miss it here?" Gerry questioned her, placing his hand over hers.
"Aye… I suppose". She breathed out, continuing on slowly. "I guess I just… spent a lot of time in here and have so many… memories".
"Of course ye do". He replied, voice smooth and comforting. "This room has been the most important place in yer life for years. There's nothin' to be ashamed of missin' it".
"I know. I don't miss it as well ye know… if that makes sense?"
It sounded strange to say when the words rolled off the tongue, but when she looked her Da in the eye, he seemed to understand. There would always be the memories of the best times of her life that were spent in the room that she was in, her bedroom and relative safe place throughout both peacetime and wartime. She would always be able to sink into the mattress there, as well as the pillows, formed to shape her around her when she carved out a groove over a number of years. Yet she would never be able to truly say that she wanted to go back, because her old bedroom at home lacked something that could not be replicated. It was not the larger size, even though the bedroom was at the cottage nor was it the collection of clothes that they owned. No, it was much more simpler than that.
James. Her old bedroom back at the Quinn's, did not have him in it. As much as the memories might have tried to tempt her back to the familiarity of the bedroom she spent years in, she would never do so if it meant not having him by her side.
"Yer making a new home for yerself at the wee cottage. I don't ever expect to see ye wantin' to come back livin' here".
"No… no I hope not". Replying quietly, she fidgeted a little under his grasp.
"I know ye won't. I can't exactly offer what James does, can I?"
There was a hint of mischief to her father's voice that she approved of, loving how he stopped to smirk a little at her, implying what he meant. In times gone by, her cheeks would have been ablaze, flushed with embarrassment but instead she just giggled it off. As much as the family home could offer her stability, there were certain tasks that she would wish for that only James could complete. The swelling of her stomach gave away exactly what the main task that could not be completed at the family home was.
"He's a grand fella, Erin. Always has been in my eyes". He spoke well of her husband, watching her smile grow wider. "The two of you's findin' yer way back to each other… it was the best decision ye've ever made".
"I love him, Daddy". Replying quickly and sincerely, Erin began her passioned monologue. "I… I don't know why I didn't just have him back in the first place because he's all I've ever wanted. He… he makes me safe… he looks after me and… he lets me by myself. How did I even think about wantin' someone else other than him?"
It was a difficult question, but Gerry was going to go ahead and give an answer anyway. Throughout the months where he could only watch on as they hurt each other by staying distant, he'd often wondered the same. James was the consummate gentleman when compared with the despicable American Lieutenant that was now banished, able to offer her all that she could have wanted. Only a fool could miss the signs that the Englishman still pined for his daughter, and that deep down underneath her façade, she loved the fella dearly. The summer before the war, the southerner watched their love develop and blossom, his permission for James to marry her already given as early as then. Gerry just knew that he would be the one. The war and all of their subsequent losses, simply delayed it a little while.
"We all make a few wee mistakes from time to time, Erin. Lance was a horrible bastard, so he was, but ye never allowed yerself to get too far with him. I think that was yer body's way of tellin' ye who ye needed to be with".
"It didn't always feel like it". She added quietly.
"Aye, probably not". Agreeing, he accepted her fair point with a nod. "But even then, look who was ready to comfort ye… look who… who saved ye from Lance".
Becoming pensive when he spoke of one of the darker memories of the room that they were in, he blinked away for a second, trying not to remember the rage that coursed through his veins when he found out the absolute truth of what the American came so close to doing. At the time it was only his, thankfully now fully healed, injuries that prevented him from marching down to the harbour and knocking seven bells out of the fella. It would have been a rare time that Joe would not have shouted at him, he liked to think, not when their Erin's dignity was nearly ripped away by his horrific, horrendous plans for her.
Erin too found herself swallowing prickly breaths but would not focus on those events. She survived, and as her Da mentioned, it was thanks to her husband that she did.
"It's hard not to love a fella who'll fight for ye like that. I don't think I've ever seen James so angry and not… not like a gentleman at all".
"That's what the power of love will do to a man, Erin. He wasn't lettin' that Yank bastard get away with it lightly".
"He really did a number on him".
"James would have killed him if we hadn't interrupted him". Gerry spoke as if it was meaningless, but he knew that it was true. "That's the sort of man that I always wanted to look after ye. The two of ye are just… perfect".
Her Da's gushing review of her husband nearly left her in tears, but at the same time it began to make her worry too. Perfection was unrealistic, and though she knew that her Da didn't mean it in a literal sense when there were flaws in everyone, the pressure that she was putting on herself began to mount again. Subconsciously, she moved her hands out of her Da's grasp to rest on her large belly, in a protective but concerned stance. These moments kept on coming to her no matter how much that she tried to stop them or tell herself that it was stupid. It did not help at all to happen to be sat on the exact same bed where she discovered she'd lost their first child. History could not be allowed to repeat itself.
"I'm scared ye know, Daddy". She admitted to him.
"About the baby?"
Nodding her response, the words would not come, allowing Gerry to continue.
"I know ye will be. It's not a lie when I say that we all are, but that's alright, so it is. Don't ye ever feel wrong for bein' worried, it's natural after what happened".
"I can't lose another Daddy!" She choked out, squeaking. "I can't! He'll leave me if I lose another… I'll just be no use…".
"Erin!" Stern, he made sure he was heard. "I don't know what the future will bring but I can tell ye one thing. James will not leave you, don't ye ever get yerself upset about that".
"But…".
"No, love. That's the not the sort of fella that he is, and you know it! That baby is goin' to be safe and well, ye hear, safe and well".
She wanted to agree with him completely, and she certainly hoped that it would too, when her generally more positive thoughts told her that there would be no complications this time. At the back of her mind though, the lost child would always remain, thoughts of bodily weakness infesting her. A second time around she might be stronger, but it was a risk to be taken if she turned out not to be. They both so desperately wanted to have the child, that to go through the trauma of a second miscarriage might just break them both, no matter how many times he promised to be there for her should the worst come to the worst.
Just then, they heard movement outside of the doorway, turning their heads up to see James slightly awkwardly stood at the entrance to the room.
"Mary said you were up here". He smiled at them. "I just wanted to check that everything was alright".
Aware that he must have already been able to see the tears welling up in her eyes, Erin wasn't quite sure how she was going to lie her way out of it. They were meant to be being honest with each other, but when she'd already broken down a couple of times like this at home, she did not want to bore him with having to sit through her worrying about everything again.
That was what Gerry was for though.
"Erin was just feelin' a wee bit tired. I was checkin' on her too, son, but I'll get goin' now".
"You do not have to…".
"James, son. She's yer wife, not mine!"
The three of them stayed there laughing at that for a moment, at Gerry's amusingly truthful comment. He soon left them up there though, James' hands now being more capable than his when it came to looking after Erin. The baton was passed when they married, and he had no reason to take it back from the Englishman again.
When both he and Mary came up a half hour later, to find husband and wife fast asleep, their hands conjoined over her stomach, they couldn't have been more pleased.
For them it was certain; they would become grandparents for the first time.
No complications. No stress.
Just love.