Chapter Three

Clare's New Car

.


.

5th July 1999.

Dear diary,

This is class!

Yesterday, when the girls and I went to the Café to grab some ice cream, we met this drop-dead gorgeous fella. He has hair like Robbie, eyes as blue as the Mediterranean, and his skin has been well and truly kissed by the sun.

There is no way he's a full Irishman. He looks nothing like the local boys in Derry, kicking about looking like cooked lobsters. His cheeks are hollow, but not too hollow as to make him look weird, and he's got to be at least six foot tall! But to top it all off, he shares my name! Erin and Erin. It's so unique! Like something out of an edgy romance novel.

I don't care what Michelle says, this is more than just a coincidence! He's my soulmate, and I know it!

Anyway, he invited us to his cousin's cowboy birthday party on Friday, and it's on the same road as Jenny's mansion! Clare's birthday also happens to fall on that day, and she wasn't allowed to have a house-party (plus the thought of it makes her spin-out ), so it's a win-win situation! My Da won't get the chance to embarrass me either because we're gonna rock up in Clare's new car like the adult individuals we are.

I am absolutely buzzing!

Another thing is that James came back from London today. He claims to be grand, but I know that he's hurting inside. I definitely would be if I was in his shoes. Kathy has only gone and left him in the dust – and it seems like it's for good this time.

We'd all been missing him so much, Michelle especially. You could tell because she kept going on about how great it was not to have him "hanging off her leg all the time".

James doesn't seem to like Erin, or Eirin, or Errin — I'm not sure how he spells his name yet —'. But we've given him plenty of reassurance that we're not going to replace him. Nobody could ever replace our wee English fella.

Anyway, I best get a shift on. Mammy's been shouting me for dinner, and now she's threatening to use the wooden spoon.

-Erin. xxx


Erin slammed her diary shut, shoved it under her mattress and scurried out of her bedroom. When she entered the kitchen, everyone was gathered around the table, helping themselves to beef stew, boiled tatties, creamy mash and vegetables. Erin's mouth watered and she took the empty seat next to Orla, who was piling mash and beef into a Yorkshire pudding and eating it like a sandwich.

As Erin sat down and scooted closer to the table, Mary eyed her suspiciously. "What's got you so smiley? What are ye up to?"

"Aye, what are ye up to?" Anna repeated from the opposite side of the table, gravy drizzling down her chin. Gerry reached out and wiped it away with a napkin.

"I'm not up to anythin'," Erin replied, bringing her fork to her curled lips. "Am I not allowed to smile?"

Mary gave her a pressing look.

" Fine . If you must know, I met a really nice lad today, and he invited me to his cousin's 18th this Sunday."

Gerry's head snapped up.

Joe almost choked on his stew.

"Did he now," said Mary, with forced intrigue. "And what's this lad's name?"

Erin beamed with excitement. "His name is Eirin, would you believe it? He goes to Uni in Belfast, but he's visiting his folks over the summer."

Sarah raised her pencilled eyebrows, impressed. "Ach, an older fella. Well caught, love."

"Belfast!?" Joe exclaimed, a hand hovering over his full mouth.

"University!?" Gerry added, incredulous.

"Just how old is this lad!?" Asked Mary.

Erin looked between them all, her heart sinking. She'd said way too much in her excitement. She should've anticipated this.

"Oh come off it," she told them, scowling. "He's only two years older. And he's very respectable!"

"He's a predator!"

Erin rolled her eyes. "Granny McCool was five years younger than you, Granda!"

"Aye, but we were grown-ups!" Joe's head snapped towards Gerry as if the man had put the lad up to it himself. "Well, are you gonna say something' or not? I bet you think this is normal considering how you lured my Mary into your grubby hands!"

Gerry stopped shaking the pepper. "I do not! And I did not!" His eyes flitted to Erin. "You're not going to that party, love."

Unbelievable!

" What? I am almost an adult, you can't tell me where I can and can't go!"

Mary lowered her fork. " Almost being the operative word. You don't know anything about this lad, and you're under my roof, so what I say, goes!"

"Aye, what mammy says, goes." Little Anna mimicked, narrowing her eyes at her sister and spraying bits of chewed up potato onto the table-cloth.

Erin crinkled her nose in disgust.

"Ach, Anna. Don't talk with your mouth full!" Mary reprimanded, wiping up the bits of food with a napkin. She looked back at her eldest. "You told me it was Clare's birthday on Sunday, anyway. What, you were just going to abandon the poor girl for this lad, were ye?"

"No, we're gonnae be spending the whole day with her. We're classing this as an evening reception, of sorts." Erin told her, locking her knees under the table in desperation "Ach, Mammy please !"

"I've told you No, Erin." She snapped, with a withering glare. "And you're on washing up duty for the back-chat."

Anna sneered at her, poking out her food speckled tongue. Erin aggressively returned the gesture.

She finished her meal in submissive silence and maintained her sulk all night long, scouring away at the dishes in silent rage as she tried to think of a way around her idiotic slip-up.

.


.

"Crying shame that, Erin. Looks like it's just gonna be me, James, and Clare then." Said Michelle, turning away from her bedroom window, hooped earrings swinging. She was braced against the sill, tapping the ash from her cigarette.

"Like Hell!" Erin exclaimed, from the end of Michelle's bed. "You've got to help me come up with a plan."

Michelle shook her head slowly, feigning uncertainty. "Well, if your Ma said no, then she said no."

Erin groaned irritably. "If you don't help me I'll just march downstairs right now and tell Deidre not to let you go, either!"

Michelle narrowed her eyes. "You wouldn't dare."

Erin looked at her challengingly and leaned slightly forward, her hands flat against the duvet. "Aye, I would."

"I don't understand," Orla piped up, sitting up on her elbows and looking to Erin. She was lying sideways across Michelle's's bed, a Chupa-Chup lodged in her mouth "If aunt Mary isn't letting us go to the party, then why are we buying costumes?"

"Because we're going anyway, Orla!"

"Look," said Michelle. "It's Clare's birthday on Sunday. Mary knows that, so just tell her that you'll be staying' round Clare's as planned, and we'll sneak out while her folks are asleep."

Clare baulked. "Absolutely not! My Ma is the lightest sleeper in Derry, she wakes up if the wind changes direction. There's no way we'll be able to get through the front door — which may I add, hasn't been oiled since the seventies."

Erin completely disregarded her words. "We'll be getting' there a bit later than we would have liked, but at least we'll still get to go! We'll...just... we'll just jump out of the window!" She sputtered, her lips struggling to keep up with her brain. "Aye! We'll jump out the window!"

"Yesss!" Orla exclaimed, breaking the lolly with her teeth. "But won't we need parachutes?"

James, who was slumped in Michelle's inflatable armchair, frowned. "You say that as if it's the most obvious solution, Erin."

Clare shook her head at the ludicrous idea. "I am not risking my neck, literally and metaphorically just so you two can fight each other for a place on that Eirin fella's lap."

James shoved that abhorrent mental image out of his head as soon as it invaded.

"We're not asking you to," said Erin gently. "You don't have to come if you're scared of your Ma. We'll get the bus."

She scoffed and folded her arms across her chest in an attempt to look tough. "I'm not scared of my Ma."

Michelle laughed, and smoke billowed from her nostrils. "Aye, and I'm training to be a nun."

"Please come with us, Clare!" Erin nudged her, suggestively. "You might even lasso a lass."

Michelle cringed at that terrible play on words but backed Erin up nonetheless. "Exactly. This isn't just for our benefit."

Clare's resolve seemed to falter then. And for the second time, she found herself giving in to them.

"Fine! But I am not jumping out of any windows. We'll leave through the side door."

Erin and Michelle cheered in triumph.

Up until now, James had been smiling discreetly to himself. He bolted upright, looking at them all disapprovingly. "Hang on, we can't go against Mrs Quinn's authority."

"Cry about it, James." Michelle jabbed, taking another drag of her cigarette and blowing it out into the summer air. "What's your issue, anyway?"

"My issue is that this party could be a trap to lure you somewhere. He could be a murderer, or...or a rapist . Or both."

"You sound like my Granda," said Erin, amusedly. "And in the unlikely event that you're right, we'll have you to protect us."

The sincerity written in her expression tossed James through a loop. He couldn't seem to look away from her then, couldn't hold on to his frustration. It was Erin who eventually snapped her gaze away, suddenly finding the tassels on Michelle's blanket very intriguing. James quickly followed suit, awkwardly clearing his throat.

"Yeah, well. My point remains."

Out of the three of them, Clare was the only one of their mates who sensed the subtle shift in dynamic. She looked pensively between Erin and James but didn't point anything out.

"Erin's right, you know," said Michelle, almost gently.

Then,

"You'd make a perfect human-shield."

.


.

The girls started their quest to find western costumes at the slightly dodgy (and a wee bit musty) fancy dress shop down in the town centre. They were all using what little they had left from previous birthdays. Except for Michelle, of course. She'd nicked a few quid from her brother because he still owed her for the alibi she gave him after he'd spray-painted a 'derogatory slur' on the wall of a Protestant pub.

As for James, he was using his chippy wages combined with the money Paul had forcefully shoved into his pocket.

The costumes they found, however, were thirty quid and over and way too raunchy, even by Michelle's standards.

"Why don't we nip to the second-hand shop over the road? You can find all sorts in there. I'm sure it won't be difficult to find boots and stuff." Suggested James.

"You need your head checked if you think I'm wearing someone else's grimy old boots."

"Needs must, Michelle." Said Erin, leading the way out of the shop.

James was right. They discovered a plethora of old boots for sale at the Red Cross shop. Unlike the tacky plastic costume boots at the fancy dress shop, they were authentic looking. And it wasn't like they had to be fully decked out. All they needed was a hat and a pair of boots, and they could finish off the look with whatever was in their own wardrobes.

"Do I look like I'm ready to buck a stallion, or what?" Asked Michelle, posing in the mirror with a pink glittery cow-girl hat on her head.

"You look like you're ready for a tacky hen-night," Erin told her, rummaging in a big box of second-hand boots.

There was a gasp of delight from the other side of the shop. And the girls paused their browsing to see Orla holding up the most hideous cow costume as if it were a Gucci dress. It had a similar look to one of those hazmat crime scene suits, except it had black and white splodges, a disturbing set of udders on the belly, and horns fixed to the top of the hood.

Clare deadpanned. "You can't be serious."

Oh, but she was.

"It's perfect," Orla murmured to herself. "I'll be the best cow-girl out of the lot of ye!"

"Orla, when we said cow-girls, we didn't mean the animal..." Erin trailed off as her cousin rushed past her so fast that she felt a draft hit her. She made an eager bee-line for the changing cubicle, shoving a disgruntled Michelle out of her way.

"Never mind," said Erin, chuckling to herself as she moved on to the second big box.

"Okay, honest opinions. How does this look?" Came James' voice. "I couldn't find any men's boots, so it looks like I'll have to wear my docs."

Erin glanced up briefly and caught his reflection in the adjacent mirror — he'd plonked a perfectly fitting western hat on his head. When he tipped it at her, that feeling came.

Oh, Christ. Not that feeling again.

James shifted beneath her unreadable gaze and dropped his smile. "What? Do I look like a tit?"

Erin blinked. Trying to ignore the tingling heat which had very nearly sent her stumbling backwards into the clothing rack behind her. "Yes. I mean, no," she bumbled. "You look cracker, James."

James rubbed the back of his neck, timidly.

"I'm just, erm..." Erin suddenly felt like her thoughts were written across her forehead in bold marker. She grabbed two odd boots from the big box. "Gonnae try these on."

"But those are odd—" James' words died on his lips. "...Pairs."

Erin scurried off, her embarrassment sky-rocketing when she tripped over a swell in the poorly laid carpet. She burst into the second cubicle, now free to scrunch up her burning face as tightly as she pleased.

All he'd done was put a hat on his head.

.


.

The following day, Clare stood in the driveway, a giant number 18 badge pinned to the front of her dungarees as she bounced on the soles of her docs, barely able to contain her rising excitement.

Geraldine Devlin shook her head, a hint of amusement in her expression as she brought her morning brew to her lips. It didn't seem so long ago since Clare was learning to ride her wee bike. Geraldine laughed to herself as she pictured her wobbling down this road with the fear of God in her eyes, screeching for her Da not to let her go.

Of course, she had taken to it like a duck to water, despite her making a big drama out of it. Clare was like that, always doubting herself despite her many successes. Things had been no different with her driving lessons. But here their little girl was, eighteen years old and about to drive her first car; and after passing her test on the first examination!

Where in God's name had all that time gone?

"Don't you be workin' yourself up too much, Clare. You know what can happen, "Geraldine warned her. "We forked out enough money without you boking all over the seats."

Clare rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to boke, Mammy."

"Famous last words," Geraldine mumbled.

A horn blared, and Clare practically leapt on the spot, her heart soaring with anticipation as the car turned the corner at the bottom of the road. Geraldine placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder, her smile growing at the same rate Clare's was shrinking.

"Happy Birthday, Clare bear!" Exclaimed Sean Devlin, poking his head out of the window and beating down on the horn. Clare tensed up, her eyes shifting self-consciously to the windows of the neighbouring houses. Curtains had begun to twitch, and people were looking.

She hadn't been expecting a Ferrari, but Jesus Christ. It looked like it was straight out of a cartoon with its migraine-inducing paint-job and overall cuboidal appearance. She was half expecting one of the Mr Men to be sitting in the passenger seat.

Just when she thought it couldn't possibly get any worse — It did.

The car pulled up outside the house, the engine died down. And Clare gawked at the logo right in front of her face, horrified.

In a colourful font were the words "Mr Phelan Kids' Entertainment."

Mr Devlin climbed out. "Well," he said, patting the bonnet of the hideous vehicle. "What do you think?"

Clare had to rip her eyes away from the monstrosity to give her father a rigid smile.

"It was imported from Japan apparently," said Geraldine. "But that Mr Phelan fella croaked it and the family wanted rid."

No wonder.

"Sure, we'll get that logo painted over, and it'll make a grand first car." Mr Devlin smiled.

Clare thought that the entire car needed to be painted over. Better yet, swapped for a different one. But she knew better than to complain.

"It's...well, it's unique." She squeaked, wanting to cry.

"That's the spirit!" Bellowed Mr Devlin, clamping down a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Why don't ye take her for a spin, love?"

"I will Da, but the girls are comin' over in a few minutes."

Christ. The girls are coming over in a few minutes.

Sean nodded and handed her the keys. "I hope they don't get too jealous of ye."

.


.

"What. The. Fuck?" Erin gaped.

"Aye, we know you're a lesbian Clare, but seriously...a rainbow car?" Said Michelle, her hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans. They were all gathered around the eyesore parked in the driveway.

Clare glowered at her.

"I think it's so cracker!" Orla beamed, clapping and jumping on the spot.

"You would," Erin told her as she inspected the vehicle. She walked around to the other side and let out a hearty laugh. Clare knew she'd clocked the logo.

"Sweet mother of Christ, this is fantastic!"

They all rushed to see what her fussing was all about. Clare hid her face, abashed.

"Mr Phelan Kids' Entertainment!" Michelle guffawed. "Talk about a nonce-mobile! I wonder if there's chloroform in the boot?"

Erin's laughing increased to a point where her stomach muscles began to spasm, and she had to steady herself against Michelle, doubling over and gasping.

"Will you two pack it in!" James scolded, looking at the car with fake admiration. "I agree with Orla. I think it's cracker."

"Don't bother trying to make me feel better, James. I know it's horrific." Clare told him. "But I'm glad you find it so 'fantastic', girls. Because this is your ride to that stupid party."

Their cackling died down to short bursts of laughter, and then silence.

.


.

I hope you enjoyed. :) as always, reviews are much appreciated.