1994

"Seriously?", Michelle deadpanned, eyeing her cousin (or rather his choice of clothing!) with a wee bit more than her usual measure of disdain.

With a dizzyingly paisley shirt and a God-awful cardigan, James Maguire (at least in his darling and ever-flattering cousin's opinion!) looked a lot less a sixteen year old boy and a lot more like someone who'd recently broken out of an old folks home...London chic, her hole.

He looked a right show!

"Yer gonna get the shit kicked out of yeh one of these days, d'ya know that James?", Michelle asked, her legs casually kicked up on the kitchen table, something that would have earned her a right clattering of the wooden spoon had her Ma been knocking about.

James rolled his eyes, padding across the kitchen floor and fetching a mug from the cupboard. "Planning on resorting to physical violence instead of the usual verbal bashing, are we Michelle?"

She bristled at the comment, not quite accustomed to James biting back. Recovering quickly from the shock, she pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. "Oi, you're not allowed to get snarky with me! Here I am; lettin' you into my house, takin' you under my wing, draggin' yer helpless dopey arse to school everyday of the week and this is the thanks I get...typical Brit! Ya give 'em an inch and they take a fuckin' mile..."

James sighed deeply, ready to point out that it was his Aunt Deirdre who had cajoled Michelle into doing all of those things but resolving to hold his tongue on the matter. After all, it was much too early in the morning for an argument. "Sorry for the inconvenience", he mumbled sulkily, heaving himself into the chair opposite.

"Yeah, well you should be. Always showin' us up, you are!"

Mouth dropping open in confusion, James genuinely hadn't a clue what to make of his cousin's statement. True, he had his moments (dressing head to toe in priest regalia being one of them!) but surely out of their pack of five, he wasn't the only source of embarrassment...

"I never—"

"Ach, look at the state of you James!", Michelle snapped, eyes returning to his ridiculous shirt. An eyesore if she'd ever seen one!

"Yer clearly not well...Goin' about dressed like that of yer own free will!"

"Dressed like what?", James asked defensively, his eyes following hers. It was an outfit his mother had chosen for him when he had been living with her in London...surely it wasn't that bad.

Michelle sighed, having already accepted that it was her duty to take control of the situation given the lost cause her cousin was.

With an accent like his, there was already a flashing target over Jame's head in a place like Derry...the least he could do was try to fit in! After all, Michelle may not particularly like him or anything, but she didn't fancy spending her Saturday nights peeling wee bits of cousin Jamesie off the pavements...Fuck, no!

"Christ's Sake, haven't I my work cut out for me? Don't know why I bother..."

...

1994

Having bundled in the front door of some tiny overcrowded charity shop in the arse-hole of Derry, the gang may as well have been caught up in their very own movie magic makeover montage.

Pretty Woman, eat your fucking heart out!

A red faced Erin scowled, glaring at each and every clothes rack as though they had just sprung to life and smacked her straight across the face.

Erin watched like a hawk as James was dragged around the shop.

Thanks to Orla, all sorts of ridiculous jackets were being shoved under their wee English fella's nose, totally in spite of Michelle's demands to make him more instead of less inconspicuous.

Erin, whirled around to face Clare as the sounds of James politely declining Orla's suggestion of a bright red shoulder padded Wako Jako inspired jacket reached her ears. Probably a wise decision on his part... It wasn't 1985 any more!

"I don't like this whole givin' James a makeover thing!", she dictated, nostrils flaring slightly.

"Why?...", Clare asked in confusion, linking her arm through Erin's. She was always up for a good discussion on morality, their Clare. "...because we should all love the way God made us?"

"Wise up, will ya?", Michelle snorted, listening in and cutting across before Erin could even try to respond. "God sure as hell didn't make Dicko in that ringin' minger of cardigan he was tryna leave the house in this mornin'! I'm no holy-joe but I can tell ye that much for sure!"

"And I'm tellin' ye, girls!", Erin returned sharply, voice hushed dramatically as she began fumbling for the right words. "It's—it's—it's..."

Her widening eyes returned to James mid-sentence, Erin found herself gawking openly at him this time.

Something, somehow, had shifted unexpectedly. It was awkward, uncomfortable but not exactly unfamiliar. With the new haircut and the slightly more laddish looking clothes, all of it pieced together with the fella that they'd all grown incredibly fond of...well, poor Erin may have understandably found herself just a wee bit confused.

She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but looking at James she was overwhelmed with a strange and unexplainable sensation. It was a sensation that remained nameless, speaking quietly and wordlessly in the back of her mind.

It manifested quietly, traitourously, in the wobbling of Erin's knees, the pink flush that spread across her cheeks and the involuntarily flip of her stomach.

Frustrated and fit to explode, she tore her eyes away from James...the fella who was, by all trustworthy accounts, just a very good friend.

"IT'S JUST NOT RIGHT!"

Michelle frowned in confusion, oblivious to her friend's internal torment.

"Why not?", she asked nonchalantly, eyes narrowing distractedly as James made a selection from the clothes rack that he'd been looking through only to be shoved headfirst into the nearest dressing room by an overly enthusiastic Orla.

"If we're gonna be stuck with Ball-Ache over there on a constant basis, he may as well try not to be so much of a sore thumb."

Erin shifted awkwardly at the explanation, feeling blood continue to pound in her ears and praying that neither Michelle or Clare had noticed her change in demeanour.

How the feck was Erin supposed to explain the absolute mess of emotions she was feeling to her two best girls if she couldn't even make sense of any of it herself?

She didn't seriously think James was good looking, did she? He was English...and Michelle's cousin...and a right dick!

The tally counter inside Erin's head was crashing. Ding! Ding! Ding!

Of course she didn't fancy James!

However, as his very good and very concerned friend Erin deemed herself well within her rights to protect Jame's best interests...Of course she was! And anyone who told her otherwise would be duly told to fuck right off!

Slowly, Erin's body temperature returned to normal.

"It's just...I don't think he should be drawin' unwanted attention to himself. Purely for safety reasons..."

Michelle rolled her eyes, clucking her tongue impatiently as though annoyed it had taken Erin this long to catch up.

"For safety reasons? Sure, that's why we're makin' him look normal! He'll get himself beaten up one of these days otherwise! Keep up, Erin!"

Erin screwed her nose up in discomfort, clearly not wanting to verbally point out the piece of the puzzle that Michelle was evidently missing but feeling as though it was her responsibility to do so as the only 'not-a-lesbian', 'not-related' or 'not-Orla' person in the room.

After all, even if she, Erin Quinn, absolutely in no possible way thought that James could be perceived as a potential ride, it certainly didn't mean the rest of the female population of Derry shared her sentiment...

"Ahh, that's not the kind of attention I meant..."

Lifting an eyebrow, Michelle scoffed.

"What like the Ukrainian? Ach, don't worry about that, Erin! Sure, no self-respectin' Derry girl would go after James!"

Erin considered her friend's reasoning, the gears turning inside her head as she did the math.

Innocent wee English fella + user of vocabulary like 'fun' instead of 'craic' + dorky fascination with lads in phone boxes + absolutely no moves that they knew of = ...

Perhaps Michelle had a point!

"Ach, maybe you're right", Erin admitted, deflating slightly.

For that one shortlived moment (bless her!), she was blissfully unaware of just how temporary her calm before the storm would be.

James poked his head outside the curtain, giving them all a slightly bashful smile as he shuffled hesitantly outside for their inspection.

"Is this okay?"

Orla beamed gleefully, clapping her hands. "Absolutely cracker!"

Clare nodded her fervent agreement, always supportive of her friends in all of their reasonably sensible endeavours. "Aye, James. It suits you!"

Shrugging slightly, Michelle tried to hide her approval. "Not too bad. I still wanna punch ya...but then again, I already know how much of a ball bag ya're so maybe you'll be safe enough to be seen 'round town!

Safe enough indeed...

Erin felt her heart thumped wildly against her ribcage as she took in the sight of him. If their lives were a film, this would have been the moment where Alison Reynolds returned to the library before the ending of The Breakfast Club or when Julia Roberts was spotted by her fella standing at the bar in Pretty Woman, dolled to death like the Queen she was.

Seeing James (their James!) wearing a shearling denim jacket, a bigger and slightly looser fitting version of her own, Erin suddenly didn't feel all that well...

Matching...they were matching.

Oh shite...

Certain that her brain had short-circuited at the shy little smile James had offered specifically in her direction, Erin cleared her throat.

"You look...", she stuttered, face on fire. "...like a lad!"

James's cheeks darkened slightly at the compliment, a compliment that the rest of the gang clearly hadn't noticed the sweetly awkward and weighty significance of.

Michelle scoffed. "Fuck's Sake, Erin!", she laughed sarcastically. "He looks like a lad? Well done! I reckon we've got a future Booker Prize Award Winner in our midst, girls!"

Erin and James continued to watch each other curiously, ignoring Michelle's comment.

No self-respecting Derry Girls would go after James, eh? Funny one that...

...

Pretty woman, walkin' down the street
Pretty woman the kind I like to meet
Pretty woman I don't believe you, you're not the truth
No one could look as good as you, mercy!

~Roy Orbison and The Candy Men, Pretty Woman.

...