They leave Clare, Erin and Orla at the Quinn house and start on for Aunt Deidre's house. (James supposes he really should start calling it 'home', but...) Michelle is still in a good mood and so he's in a good mood, in their 'USA' outfits which were useless after all, seeing as they didn't watch the Clintons. Michelle is buzzing, skipping ahead with long strides and then walking backwards so she can talk to him (or at him) at the same time- the streets are nearly deserted with everyone still at the parade, which is perhaps why she feels no qualms in reaching across to grab his hand. He yelps in pain. She freezes and the good is mood is gone. He'd swear at himself, but that'd go against his 'pretend nothing's wrong' game.
"What?" James asks innocently, discreetly trying to alleviate the burning pain in his wrist.
"What the fuck's wrong with your arm?" demands Michelle, only it's not a question. Before he can stop her, she's pushing his sleeve up and exposing the flesh beneath- oh, shit, those bruises weren't there before, were they?
This might be bad.
"When the fuck did ye do this?"
"Um..." he tries to stall, unwilling to witness the storm that his cousin can be if given fair reason. "Earlier. I... fell."
The look on her face hurts, in a way that he doesn't think he's ever experienced before. If it was anyone but his cousin in front of him, he would even go so far as to say it was caring.
He can pinpoint the exact moment horror dawns. "Oh my God." And she's never sounded like that before, even after the worst telling off from Aunt Deidre. "Your Mam did this."
"No! I… fell." Even to his own ears, it sounds like an excuse.
Her face hardens, thunder clouds rolling in. James counts the seconds and doesn't get to two before the lightning erupts. "That bitch, I'll feckin kill her!" She turns her back on him and he's relieved, until she steps out into the road without looking and starts trying to wave down the few cars driving along.
"Christ what're you-" and because she's in the road he has to be too, trying to pull her back onto the pavement with his good arm, "Shit, stop it!"
She doesn't spare him a glance, or let him stop her getting dangerously close to being mown down. "Hey, hey! C'mon ya wee gobshite, just gimme a life to the airport! Aw- well fuck you too! Oi, mate, give us a lift! Her plane won't be gone yet. I'll- oi!"
he breathes a sigh of relief as he finally pulls her out of the road and into an alleyway, "Michelle!"
finally she stops trying to wiggle out of his grasp, though it doesn't calm her temper, "I'll fucking kill her! Let me go you English prick!"
"Look, will you please- let's just go h-" he stops. Michelle stops. the full weight of what he nearly said lies heavily on his chest. "I just..." he tries again, fervently wishing he could just disappear. "It's okay."
"No, it's not!" her anger never simmers down for long. At least she's not pitying me. She crosses her arms and glares. "Tell me what she did."
"Really, Michelle she didn't- she just-" Words fail him. He shuts his eyes, remembering. He'd gotten in the taxi, Michelle's speech ringing in his ears until it got so loud he lost it, interrupted Mum's spiel about her labels (stickers) and begged to stop the car. Even now, he can't say why he did it or pinpoint exactly when or why common sense returned to him. Maybe when it sunk in that he didn't bring a suitcase, Mum promising he could buy new things when they got back. Or when he realised he'd still be at a new school even once back in London, a stranger all over again. Mum had been shocked he'd raised his voice, and astounded that the taxi driver listened to him.
"I told them to drop me off. Mum was- Mum got upset and... you were right, you were right. There, I've said it. She grabbed my arm- grabbed it, Michelle, that's all she did. I think she wanted me to go with her, you know Only I said no, and she got upset, and she- she-" he mimes with his hands. It's better than looking his cousin in the eyes. "She sort of... shoved me out, you see. I opened the door and she was just trying to shUt it, I swear, only my arm got stuck when she tried to close it so then she shoved me out of the way and the taxi driver started to go again at the same time and I sort of... fell and... sort of twisted my arm."
Silence for a few seconds, then a long string of what he guesses is Gaelic curses, angry words which don't let up for a long time.
Fuck, she has to breathe at some point, surely?
Michelle crowns it off with: "That absolute piece of fucking shit."
James doesn't mean to, but he finishes at the venom in her voice. Michelle puts her hand up to his arm, then aborts the movement before actually touching him. If he disliked her expression before, he loathes it now; something about the open concern for his wellbeing just doesn't sit right, makes her look almost vulnerable.
Abd just to compound what he most admires about her (never out loud, he'd never hear the end of it) she doesn't let the movement carry on and sour into awkwardness, she turns the jerky gesture into one of determination, shrugging her jacket off and - tying the sleeves together? "Gimme yer arm!"
"What? No!" he narrowly avoids being lassoed with her jacket and she swears at him. Unbelievably, it makes the knot in his chest loosen slightly.
"Y've probably sprained it, dickhead. it'll needs a sling- fucking hell c'mere, I've seen Mammy and them fit nurses on Casualty do it all the time!"
Unbelievably to the James of two years ago, he surrenders and lets her lead him home with a makeshift sling, sure he looks ridiculous.
"Aye, no different than normal then, shut the hell up," Michelle snorts when he voices such thoughts to her.
Her hand doesn't leave his elbow though, and he doesn't mention it. Aunt Deidre will patch him up, he knows, Uncle Martin will ruffle his hair with one of his big hands and say some Irish saying and Michelle will offer some of her stolen alcohol as a painkiller, then when he turns it down will jest about not cutting his dinner up for him like a baby. The girls will notice tomorrow, and if Michelle's big mouth doesn't accidentally disclose the details, they'll come up with stupider and stupider theories until his eyes hurt from rolling them so hard and then he'll be subjected to their peculiar brand of caring.
And in spite of- no, because of all this, James is really glad he didn't get on the plane.