Chapter 24: Irish Hero 31st March 1996

The ferry journey back to Belfast was vastly different to the journey over to Merseyside. The story of Orla McCool was on everyone's lips, and when the crew found out she was aboard, the Captain himself took the five of them on a full tour of the ship. Their meal that night was paid for by the Captain too, not having to spend a single penny whilst on the vessel. It wasn't just the Captain who was generous to them. When the other passengers realised who she was, they offered to give their cabin's up in droves so that Orla and the rest of them could have somewhere comfortable to spend the night. As much as the offer was tempting, stupid to decline in Michelle's eyes, Orla stayed true to herself, sleeping in the corner of the passenger lounge. In her eyes nothing much was different, and she didn't feel the need to be lavished by people she didn't know, just because she'd won a race. It was her job after all… she didn't need to deprive someone of the cabin they'd paid for because she'd done her job.

The rest of the journey overnight was peaceful, a tired Orla falling asleep between Joe and Sarah in the corner of the lounge. Once again, they were all keeping distant from Michelle because of her unbearable snoring, with Clare curled up on her own a couple of feet away from where Orla slept. Michelle raised an objection to it when they woke up, but was quickly waved away by Joe, who threatened to get the Captain to lend him the ship's tannoy so he could reveal she'd snogged an English fella. She soon kept quiet after that.

The actions of the Captain and the passengers were the first inkling of Orla's fame, but they couldn't hold a candle to what they were to find as they rolled off the ferry back in Belfast that morning. Not even close…

"Look Da!" Sarah suddenly pointed out. "Cops!"

Joe followed the tip of Sarah's finger and sure enough, there were a group of RUC men waiting by the exit. He didn't get chance to say anything else about it, as a couple of the cops began to walk in their direction, bypassing all of the cars in front of them. Uncertain of their intentions, Joe was very much aware they were trapped, with no way of avoiding the cops should it be them they were after. Surely after all these years they haven't decided to come after me…

The two cops stopped at their car, one on either side. Orla didn't seem to be troubled by their presence, but Sarah, Michelle and Clare all tensed up as they were boxed in. Rolling down his window with apprehension, Joe looked up to the officer on his side.

"Mr McCool?" The officer asked.

"Aye that's right". He responded, trying not to sneer.

"Don't be alarmed sir, we're here to give you's an escort all the way back to Derry".

"I… I don't understand". Orla stuck her head in the gap between Sarah and Joe to ask the officer.

"Ach, Miss McCool!" The officer almost shouted in delight. "It's an honour to provide ye the escort so it is… yer a hero now".

Orla beamed from ear to ear on hearing those words. Though she didn't need the popularity at all, she couldn't shy away from knowing people would see her differently. She didn't want them to, and didn't need them to, but was smart enough to recognise that they would regardless of her wishes. She was an Irish hero now…the teenager who stepped up to the plate at the eleventh hour and made her own mark on history in eight minutes and forty five seconds.

"Fuck me". Michelle uttered as Joe rolled the window back up.

"How many times…". He mumbled at first. "… LANGUAGE!"

Michelle giggled away to herself with pride at being able to push Joe's buttons again, though caught a shake of the head from Clare at her antics.

"Everyone's bein' so nice to me". Orla chirped as she sat back.

"Of course they are!" Michelle resolutely stated next to her. "Yer like… more famous than Take That now ye know".

"Catch yourself on!" Orla joked back.

"Michelle's right for once Orla…". Clare began, the bird being flipped her way by Michelle at the comment. "… everyone knows who ye are now and everyone wants to see ye".

Orla still didn't think it was that impressive and that Clare was surely exaggerating, but as the cops positioned themselves around the car for the escort, it became abundantly clear that Clare was a lot closer to the truth than Orla was. All along the road out of the port, people lined the sides shouting her name and waving at the car to get a glimpse of her.

ORLA! ORLA! ORLA! ORLA! ORLA!

Tears drifted down Sarah's face as the citizens of Belfast serenaded her daughter back into Ireland. Over half of the city must have been out and about, as they were packed deep along the short route between the ferry terminal and the motorway. Orla tried her best to wave back to them all from the middle seat, a change to be the one on the receiving end of the waves.

"I might flash em a bit of the goods". Michelle decided all of a sudden, failing to remember Joe was in the car.

"OI!" He shouted at her. "One more word out of ye and ye'll be walking home!"

With a rush of blood to the head, Michelle took it upon herself to ignore Joe, and facing out of the window, she lifted her top up. She'd only ignored him as she wasn't really bothered if a few nuns saw her bra and a bit more chest than the Lord would want them to. However, the first mistake hit her at the very second it was too late to do anything about it. Back on the ferry earlier that morning, she was still sleepy and couldn't be arsed to put a bra on… so she didn't… and she'd forgotten about it. The second mistake came from the unfortunate timing of the lift. Instead of a group of nuns being outside as she hoped for, she instead happened to flash as they went by the live rolling cameras for the television. She'd not just showed off a bit of the goods, she'd presented the whole inventory live on the TV.

"Michelle!" Clare screeched.

"SHIT!" She shouted in response. "Me Ma's goin' to kill me!".

"Not if I do first…". Joe mumbled from the driver's seat.


Michelle's top stayed firmly down for the next couple of hours as they made their way back to Derry. Joe still didn't quite feel right trusting the RUC to take them home; he kept a close eye on the road to make sure they didn't stray from the normal route. It was a pleasant trip during the morning, with every little village they passed through on the way out in force to cheer Orla home. There was a particularly vociferous crowd as they went through Dungiven, all wanting to see the Grand National winning jockey. The television and radio were covering their journey back to Derry like it were a stage of the Tour De France. Crowds lining the roads made it look more like that anyway, the wrong sport for Orla, but the right attitude from the people.

A couple of miles out from Derry, one of the cops on the motorcycles pulled right up to Joe's window and informed them that they would be stopping at the Altnagelvin. That had been Joe's plan anyway without the escort, so it made little difference to him that the cop thought it necessary to point out.

As they were coming down the Glenshane Road into the city, they began to recognise faces at the side of the road. The crowds were no different back home either; be it Protestants or Catholics, they were cheering for Orla McCool. Sister Michael and Mr Flanagan were stood together waving at them a few hundred yards away from the Hospital. Though the headmistress clocked Michelle and began to shake her head. She'd happened to watch the news that morning, right at the very moment they went live to the ferry port. She'd ended up seeing a lot more of Michelle Mallon than she:

A) should do

B) ever wanted to.

Arriving at the Altnagelvin, surprises then appeared in their droves. Other than the fact the Hospital car park was rammed full of people cheering Orla's name, they were also cheering for the horse, who was stood in the car park waiting for her. Bogside Warrior was in his element in front of the Derry crowds, as cool as he had been the day before, looking none worse for his monumental efforts. Frankie kept hold of him, watching the car arrive with a smile on his face, with Paul on the other side of the horse doing the same. To the far side of the horse, Deirdre and Martin were stood together, though Deirdre was already preparing to give Michelle a piece of her mind. Like Sister Michael, she'd decided to watch the news that morning…

Mary, Gerry and Uncle Colm were also with them, with little Anna squirming in Mary's arms. They managed not to cry like they'd done the day before, but they were all over the moon to have Orla back in Derry so they could congratulate her properly. One of the motorcycle cops led Joe to their parking spot and he pulled into it, ready to get out and face the roaring crowds there for his granddaughter.

"Ye ready Orla love?" He turned to her with a smile on his face.

Sarah turned to look back from the front seat too, with Michelle and Clare sending her equally loving and supportive looks.

"Aye. I'm ready!"

They all laughed at her typically enthusiastic approach to what would happen when they stepped out the car and for once, Orla being the crazy free-spirited girl she was, came in handy. Michelle on the other hand, was ready to go and open the boot to get a coat and cover her face after the flashing incident back at the port. On any other day, she would be the story, but not even her showing far too much of herself on the television could deflect the attention from Orla.

"ORLA! ORLA! ORLA! ORLA! ORLA!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS"

She punched the air after getting out of the car, grinning wildly, free from caring about what anyone might think of it. There were girls from school in the crowd, who'd moved round under the guidance of the Cops to fill a lot of the car park, but safely out of the way of the ambulances. She couldn't even see the entrance to the Hospital the crowds were that deep. There were press all over too, though they would happily wait until she was reunited with her star of a horse that carried them to victory the previous afternoon.

"Hello boy". She gave the horse a pat, accepting the reins from Frankie with a smile.

She fussed around Bogside Warrior for a minute, the horse neighing in delight at her now familiar touch on him. She received hugs from both Frankie and Paul as she held Bogside Warrior steady, but the family would have to wait until she'd addressed the crowd for their reunion. The Mayor of Derry himself approached her and they'd set up a little stage for her to say a few words to, what Gerry had estimated to Mary, the thousands of people who were waiting. The scenes were reminiscent of whenever a pope would visit and on both of those occasions it would drive Sister Michael to the end of her tether. The clapping and cheers were relentless, and it took the crowd minutes to die down and let Orla say what she wanted to.

"Thank ye… thank ye…". She beamed to them.

They still kept clapping and cheering, until eventually Joe got up on the stage and told them all to shut it, which rather unsurprisingly did the trick.

"Thank ye Granda. I… I want to say thank ye for you's all comin' out to cheer me in. That's class like, so it is. I think there's more of you's here than when Mr Clinton came".

There were howls of laughter throughout the crowd. She was probably about right in her statement though, and it would take someone special like Orla McCool to upstage the President of the United States of America.

"I haven't got too much to say… but ye know it was cracker ridin' the Grand National ye know and winnin' was a brilliant feelin'. I have to say thank ye to me family for their support in me and Frankie and Paul too!... and my brilliant horse there. He's the one ye should be clappin' not me!"

Following her advice, the crowd cheered for Bogside Warrior, who absolutely lapped up the applause back in Frankie's grasp. He was written off by almost everyone, no matter what side of the sea they found themselves on, but he'd defied expectations to produce what many were already considering the greatest Grand National winning performance of all time. There were legendary horses like Red Rum and Golden Miller who'd won that race over those special fences, 'Rummy' even doing it three times. Bogside Warrior was adding his name to the illustrious list of legends but was sitting right on top of the pile with his teenage jockey. Casting her eye out over the people stood before her, Orla noticed men and women who were usually enemies, and that would avoid each other, coming together to cheer for her. They weren't tearing each other apart or causing trouble… they were stood side by side to cheer for Orla McCool. If they could do that now…

"And just one more thing!" She got close to the microphone so that her voice boomed. "Yer all stood out here, not caring who you's are… whether yer a Protestant or a Catholic… and yer not trying to kill each other. Why can't we have this all the time like… ye know… peace…".

If the crowds couldn't be silenced before, it would now take them a long while to say anything. They didn't fall silent because they didn't like what she'd said or didn't want to do anything about. They were silent because she was right. There was an incredible amount of peace to be found stood cheering on Ireland's new hero, a hero who wanted an end to the years of violence that dominated the history of the country.

Heroes were there to be listened to.


Coming down from the stage, Orla faced another few minutes of interviews in which she said little more than she already had. She still couldn't quite understand why the reporters wanted a minute-by-minute description of her feelings during the race. They'd all seen it and she'd won, what more was there to tell…

Finally, able to draw herself away, Orla returned to Bogside Warrior, who was preparing to go back to his stable for a good long rest. Frankie could risk him having a few minutes out in front of the crowds, but he knew the horse would want to be back at home relaxing and getting over the mammoth effort of the day before. He would have some thinking to do about where to send the horse next, although like 'The Wee English Fella', that would certainly be it for his season. There wasn't much of the season left anyway and with what was, the only suitable race for him was the Irish Grand National but that was only eight days away and he couldn't be expected to be recovered in time for it.

"Thanks for bringing him Frankie". She said to the trainer as she continued to fuss the horse.

"Ach well Orla, couldn't have ye come home without him being here, could we Paul?"

"Aye that's right. We wanted to be here too… yer a legend now Orla".

She exchanged a smile with her friend at his description of her. She still didn't feel very… legendary… but there was no doubting that despite some of the great times she'd had in her life, Orla was having the time of her life stood in the Hospital car park with her horse.

"Oh and Orla…". Frankie addressed her again. "… have ye got any plans for Easter Monday?"

"No… I don't think so". She replied with a frown, noticing Paul grinning.

"That's grand then. I had a call from Arthur Moore first thing, he wants ye to ride one of his in the Irish National next week if yer interested?"

He didn't really need to ask the question because Frankie knew very well what the answer to it would be. He could have told her they'd built a racecourse on Mars, and she'd train to become an astronaut to be able to ride there.

"And…". Paul spoke before she could reply. "… Aidan O'Brien rang too. He's got a ride goin' on a novice in the first on Easter Monday… reckons you'd be perfect for it".

"Does he now? Well it's a yes to them both… have ye got their numbers so I can call them back?"

"Don't worry Orla…". Paul giggled, Frankie joining in. "…we've both told them yes already!".

Without thinking, she rushed up to hug Paul tightly as a thank you, the jockey coming to rest his hand on her back and hold her there. His leg had improved, and though he wouldn't be riding out at home for a couple of days, he would soon be back at it. Without either of his two Jockeys, Frankie would have to call another in from somewhere else, although now being a Grand National winning trainer would make it very easy. It would change his life just like it would Orla and the rest of the family. Gerry watched the scene of Orla hugging Paul with a wry smile on his face. There was definitely something there…

She stayed with them as they loaded Bogside Warrior up into his box, waving the trainer and jockey off when they departed a few minutes later. After they'd gone, the car park was back to normal again, with just the family stood waiting for her to go back to them. When she reached them, they were all thrust together in a group hug, with Orla in the centre, being the centre of attention that she deserved to be.

"We're so proud love". Mary was choking up, but just about held it together.

"Thank ye Aunt Mary".

"We were all very worried for ye". Deirdre told her. "But aye, yer an incredibly brave wain Orla. And ye have been for weeks now, we all think that".

A chorus of agreement rang out through the family, recognition for her strength in the troubled times they'd faced again being received. They each continued to lavish praise on her, Gerry in particular monologuing about just how proud he was to be her uncle, though Joe eventually stopped him, claiming he'd gone on far too long, Colm nodding in agreement. She was allowed to hold Baby Anna for a few minutes whilst they talked, though they were down two members when Deirdre took Michelle away from the group to let fly at her. They couldn't quite hear all of the words, but it was quite clear what was being said from the body language.

"Ma!" Michelle moaned.

"No Michelle! Not this time!" Deidre was shouting at her daughter but doing so as quietly as possible to not make too much of a scene. "Have ye any idea how stupid that was?!"

"It was meant to be a joke!"

"A JOKE?! I tell ye what's a joke now Michelle… our family name!"

"I forgot I wasn't wearing a bra alright! If the rest of the world weren't fuckin' pervs, this wouldn't have happened!"

"Ye can't go round accusin' people of being pervs if yer willingly flashing!"

The argument continued on, and the rest of the family had stopped their own conversation to try to pick up the details. Martin put his head in his hands.

"I hope she doesn't go too hard on Michelle".

"She has every right to though Martin…". Mary commented. "… that wasn't exactly the smartest idea was it".

"She'll probably be angrier when she finds out about Michelle's fella".

Martin's head shot round to look at Sarah, Joe standing behind his daughter and wincing. She really didn't need to be adding more fuel to the Mallon house fire that was presented in front of them.

"What?" Martin asked her.

"Ach Michelle met an English fella, they were right loved up, weren't they Clare?"

Clare internally cursed Sarah for putting her on the spot, as all of the group's eyes went to her, leaving the diminutive blonde with a monstrous cack attack, trembling when going to confirm that Sarah was indeed correct.

"I… I think they do like each other yeah".

"An English fella… Christ it's bad enough with one… Deirdre's going to be unbearable with two…".

"That does surprise me". Mary gave her opinion.

"Surprised me too". Joe snorted.

"She's not given ye too much trouble, has she Joe?" Martin didn't really want to know in some ways, but he did need to.

Joe could have told him how annoying Michelle had been over the past few days, from her constant swearing to the incident with the husband in the club shop. He could tell him about how he'd considered throwing her off their balcony at one point because he was fed up with her shite talking. But she was already getting it bad enough from her mother, Joe sticking additional nails in the coffin wasn't necessary.

"Not too bad Martin… not too bad".

"That's a relief at least".

Deirdre was still hammering away at Michelle, and Martin excused himself from the group to attempt to stop the argument escalating any further. Orla handed baby Anna over to Uncle Colm, an action Mary was relieved by as the lull in conversation could have proven fatal if he'd decided to fill it with a story. It was the winning jockey who spoke next, as she had something on her mind.

"How are James and Erin?"

She couldn't quite understand why her aunt and uncle were then smiling profusely without answering her question, and why the rest of them all started to move and share the smile.

"Why don't ye ask them yerself?" Gerry replied with a laugh and flick of his head over her shoulder.

Orla turned around to the entrance of the Hospital to see James outside on his crutches, with Erin partly holding him up and partly cuddling him. Seeing him out of bed and in the fresh air was a relief for Orla. The one thing she'd not admitted to anyone, even to herself in a way, was that she had felt fear when she'd set off in the big race. But it was fear for James and how he could have deteriorated since she'd gone to England. It was the fear she first picked up on the original ferry journey across, but not wanting to make a big deal of it, she never mentioned it. The one breath of relief she'd been unable to shake ever since was finally allowed to escape her. And she ran to the two of them.

"JAMES!" Orla shouted as she drew closer.

"If it isn't the Grand National winning jockey Orla McCool". He smiled, shivering slightly as the wind picked up.

"My ace cousin!" Erin added.

Carefully wrapping herself around him, on the opposite side to Erin, Orla made it a joint hug between the three of them. She could feel that he was cold and could only hope that her nestling into his side would keep him warm.

"Yer our hero Orla". Erin told her.

"Everyone keeps being so nice and I've hardly done nothin'". She spoke into James's side.

"Done nothing? Orla, you've won the Grand National!" James laughed rather incredulously.

"Ach it wasn't even that hard James… they need to make it more challengin'!"

He'd held back on the knowledge of one other race, for fears she would want to go and do that one first, but it appeared the time had come to make her aware of it.

"You know Orla, there is a race with harder fences in than the Grand National".

Erin's head shot up and she started to scowl at James… Orla didn't need any more encouraging, but he found it very attractive when Erin scowled, so it didn't bother him one jot.

"Catch yourself on!" Orla responded to him with eyes of wonder.

"I'm being honest!" He defended himself. "The Velká pardubická".

"The Velcro Park Beaker… what a cracker name! Ach, I'll be telling Frankie we're goin' there next".

James decided not to pick her up on how to say the name of the Czech race properly, figuring that it would be for another day when he was a bit better and had the patience. His main thought was getting back inside because he was beginning to shiver again. It was one of the first times he was back wearing his normal clothes, and the first time he'd been outside, so he could be forgiven for being a bit unsteady and uncomfortable.

The most important thing to him though was that his Grand National winning friend was back home, and the family were properly back together. With his scheduled release just a few days away, everything was beginning to feel a little bit normal again for James Maguire.


They were getting very good on the firing range.

Frighteningly good in their opinions.

So good in fact, that their mentor didn't even need to be present anymore. When he'd told them he had to go off to meet a different contact, one that they would meet in the future, he could trust them to continue on without supervision.

"We're fuckin' great at this". The one out on the range said to the other two.

"Aye… fuckin' need to be". The smaller one just walking out onto the range replied.

"Well aye… course".

They continued on with the pistols, hitting the bullseye repeatedly, very rarely missing it, and if so, not by much.

"The English fucker will be happy".

"What because of McCool? That's Ireland's win… not England's". The smaller one scoffed their reply.

"He does own it…".

"Ye stickin' up for him?"

"No!" The other got their back up. "Just statin' the obvious".

"There'll be nothin' left to state soon. Can't own a horse when he's six feet under… can he?"

The two ceased their conversation and went back to focus on the targets, swapping to rifles shortly after to have some practice with those weapons. The third one of the group was back in the cabin, pawing over the plans of the Hospital they'd lifted from the Guildhall, along with those of other major buildings in the city. Including the barracks.

"You two's want a drink?" They called out when the firing ceased.

"Aye! I'll ha…".

"I know what you's want!" They laughed. "A coke and an orange juice".

They laughed in return, before going back to firing again. At their next break, the third one came out with the two drinks, and they put the weapons down to go and sit as a group in the corner of the range.

"So…". The one who bought the drinks out said. "… who gets the honour tomorrow night".

"Doesn't fuckin' matter". The small one replied.

"It does… I suppose".

"Well yer supposin' wrong". The small one rolled their eyes. "We can all put bullets in him. I'm gunna empty the whole fuckin' clip…".

"That…". The other one who was out on the range started nervously. "… come on… we ain't savages!"

"We've got to be!" The smaller one slammed their fist on the table, the drinks bouncing and liquid splashing over the sides. "It's the only way against these fuckin' Brit cunts".

The other two swallowed nervously, though the smaller one mustn't have noticed as they didn't pick them up on it. At least not immediately…

"I'm fuckin' doin this…". The smaller one said a minute later. "If you two's ain't got the bottle then…".

"I'm with ye. Ye know that". The one who'd bought the drinks out confirmed their allegiance.

"Aye me too". The other one reaffirmed their position too.

"We finish this tomorrow night… then we'll be Irish heroes!"

They all put their hands in the middle of the table, a show of shared power between the three. Monday 1st April was April Fool's Day, but there would be no pranks when it came to what they needed to do that night. James was their April fool, and he wouldn't live to see the second day of the month. The wee English fella, who'd now owned a Grand National winner, would die by their hands. Bloodied... each bullet hole being another strike for their cause.

"And ye know…". The small one said to the others again. "… I can't empty my clip on the fucker… need to save a couple for Erin don't we…".


Apart from a small break so that she could go home and have some dinner, Erin spent the rest of the day with James again. The rest of the family alternated throughout the day, though Orla understandably hadn't come back since the early afternoon. She would probably be out on her feet with a combination of tiredness and emotion, and she'd earned a rest from the world. There would be years of this ahead for her anyway, years of the highs and lows of the world of horse racing. Orla's world.

Erin was under his sheets, James having moved over to the left again to let her in. He was reading the newspaper and she'd got her book out again, picking up from where she'd left off the night before.

"Listen to this…". He said to her, picking the right moment as she reached the end of a chapter.

Making the decision to take up the running at the second time over Becher's Brook, McCool showed her true Derry spirit as she kicked away. From then on, she rode an aggressive race, throwing Bogside Warrior at the Canal Turn. A perfect leap, followed by a severe stiffening of the pace along the far side of the course, sealed the win for them, although a mistake at the second last fence put hearts in mouths for a moment.

Crossing the line and shouting her celebrations into the air, she was no doubt thinking of her friend and co-owner, James Maguire. James, who was brutally attacked in the city last month, would most certainly have been watching in Hospital with his partner, Erin Quinn, and will definitely be proud of Orla's achievement".

"Why are the paper mentioning us!" Erin complained.

"You're embarrassed about us?" He asked, slightly pensive.

"NO!" She shouted and instinctively cuddled him. "Never… god no… sorry… I…".

James leant down to place a kiss on her lips, letting her know that he wasn't really offended, putting it on to tease her. She giggled underneath his gaze and they stayed locking lips, her hands roaming over his chest as he rubbed her back. When they'd eventually decided enough was enough, James put the paper to one side and laid back, allowing Erin to rest her head on his chest and look up at him.

"Back to school tomorrow…". She sighed despondently.

"I'll miss you…". He mumbled, placing a kiss on the top of her head, a hand stroking her arm.

"Stop it, you'll make cry…". Erin whimpered. "...I've enjoyed being able to cuddle my big warm bear all day".

James burst out into laughter at the description of himself as a bear, and Erin had to laugh at herself too. It was a very childish statement, but they were still childish eejits in their own right.

"And I've enjoyed kissing my princess… but alas school beckons". He poetically finished off his own eejit-like sentence.

She hugged him a little tighter, aware that it was nearly time for lights out and for her to return to the makeshift bed in the corner. He held her tightly too, neither wanting to be the first to let go of the precious contact. Erin broke first, but as she tried to lift herself away, James wouldn't let her, shaking his head.

"Stay".

"I can't". She replied in a low voice. "What if…".

"I don't care… I want you by my side… Please Erin".

She wasn't as brave as he was, but she wanted him by her side too, and was elated when he made the suggestion. She would have to let go of him to get to school in the morning… but that was in the morning. Together in the Hospital room, the two of them could snuggle up for hours. Erin could never let that opportunity pass.

They shared another kiss as the lights began to dim. Breaking away, Erin stayed on her left side so that her head was on his chest as she drifted into slumber.

"I want this every night". She admitted with a whisper.

"Me too".

The couple soon drifted off to sleep, with smiles on their faces. Holding hands, that came to rest on James's chest, snores began filling the room.

They may have wanted more nights where they could cuddle up together, but three other people held a very different view of their future. To them, this would be their last night…