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Chapter Text

The Trampled Rose

Chapter 1: A wee problem 28th February 1996

The moment he arrived at the house before school that morning, Erin had a wee problem. A wee problem that she couldn't tell anyone about. Especially James. A wee problem that threatened to ruin her day at school.

It became worse on the bus. Every school day since they'd become a couple, they would sit on their own row behind the other three. But this time, they were joined by Orla who Erin purposefully moved between them. James never said a word about it, Orla was Erin's cousin after all and sometimes he would have to play second fiddle to her family. That didn't stop Michelle eyeing Erin suspiciously a couple of times on the journey, giving James a look to notify him of her confusion when it came to Erin too. He didn't react to it, so Michelle backed off, but the moment Erin went to the loo when they got to school, she decided to find out from him what was going on.

"You two fallen out?" She asked her cousin.

"No. Why?" He responded.

"Seriously?!" Michelle threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "Why isn't she making me want to boke this morning? Why aren't the two of ye all over each other like ye usually are".

"We're not always…".

"You are James". Clare interjected stoutly.

"See even Clare agrees. I don't like it when Erin starts acting up, she's fuckin' unbearable".

James rolled his eyes at Michelle's comment about Erin, quickly changing the topic of discussion away from her.

"Did Joe say anything about our horse Orla?"

"Ach yeah! I meant to tell ye James!" Orla's mind suddenly clicked back into gear away from the dreamland she'd been in for minutes. "Frankie said he'll be fine to race at Enniskillen on Saturday".

"Nice!" James beamed.

"And they've got my license sorted so they have so I'm riding him!"

James stepped forward and hugged the delighted Orla, who appreciated the gesture and wrapped her arms around him. Michelle and Clare soon joined in, recognising how much being able to ride the horse in its first race meant to Orla. Since the day they first went down to the stables and discovered Orla's talent, she'd developed an unbreakable bond with 'The Wee English Fella'. The past two weekends, Joe took Orla down to the stables first thing and she worked the horse out on both days. Sarah allowed her to miss church to be able to focus on the riding and gradually the horse riding overtook her passion for Step Aerobics. In the week, the stable jockey Paul worked the horse, who'd finally allowed him on board since being tamed by Orla. His report on the horse was glowing and considering his early frustration and dismissal of the chestnut, he believed they had a very talented horse on their hands. The first race at Enniskillen that afternoon was a maiden event for four-year-old horses and the three mile course would be a tough test for the raw thoroughbred. But Paul was confident he could win, and James's excitement grew on hearing it.

"I'm buzzin!" Orla shouted when they broke apart.

"We're all coming to see ye for sure". Clare grinned.

"Ehm".

Michelle didn't like having to break the bad news but there was no way she was going to a muddy field full of horse shit on Saturday. She was meeting up with Danny on Saturday night and couldn't risk any delays in getting back because this time it was going to be special. When she'd last seen Danny on Sunday afternoon, he'd promised her they'd be taking their relationship to the next level. He had the house to himself Saturday night and the devilish wink he gave Michelle told her exactly what they would be up to. She was still happy for Orla but not happy enough to miss getting off with her fella.

"You can't miss it Michelle!" James remarked.

"Aye I want ye there!". Orla mumbled the demand.

"I'm sorry Orla alright! I've already got plans with Danny on Saturday".

Unable to handle being cast aside in favour of Michelle's lustful desire, Orla stormed off in a huff and Clare gave Michelle a frightfully stern look before setting off after her. Michelle shouted at them both to grow up but was soon set upon by James, unable to stop him from letting fly at her.

"What sort of a friend are you Michelle hmm! If me and Erin had plans, we'd cancel them for Orla, you know how much this means to her!"

"Fuck off dicko! I bet you wouldn't have said that on Valentine's morning". She countered.

"I would actually. And Erin would too. Our friendship means far more than sex Michelle, why can't you tell Danny that something else has come up… if he loves you that much he'll understand".

Michelle did not care for his tone at all when he mentioned her boyfriend. There was a veiled disdain within his voice, and she was fed up with her friends judging Danny because he was a Scanlon, and the family had a reputation. The latest comment was a bridge too far and she opened her palm and slapped him with all of her strength. The clap resonated down the corridor and students looked up from where they were chatting in groups to see what was going on. Not wishing for the attention, Michelle was the latest of the group to storm off, in the same direction as Orla and Clare had a minute before. It left James alone, albeit not for long as Erin reappeared from the loo and frowned on seeing only James outside and rubbing his cheek.

"Where is everybody". Erin nervously enquired, her eyes focusing on his cheek.

"Michelle's being even more a dick than normal. She's upset Orla because she's not coming to the race with us and then when I tried to change her mind…". He removed his hand to reveal the red mark. "… yeah".

"Oh. Right… ye".

For the first time that morning, he considered Michelle's point about Erin's behaviour may have some validity in it. Normally she'd fly off the handle herself when Michelle had upset Orla or Clare, but her answer was incredibly distant and almost… uncaring. It was as if Erin was in the dreamland Orla normally occupied.

"Is everything ok Erin?"

For half a second Erin considered telling him there and then, just getting it out of the way and seeing his reaction. But the school corridor wasn't the place for him to find out what really ailed her and instead she deflected her feelings.

"I'll… later James. We best go and paper over the little crack Michelle's made".

Erin's behaviour was no better throughout the day. Michelle's patience with her waned as the day went on and she was very close to making a real scene about it at lunchtime. She hadn't seen Erin holding James's hand at all that day, other than a few brief seconds before they first boarded the bus that morning. It was clear that he was just as clueless as Michelle when it came to understanding it, but being the polite English prick that he was, he'd not said anything more to Erin. Orla, busy with her own thoughts about the big race on Saturday, didn't seem to notice anything and focused all her energy on telling everyone in the school about it. She made a particular effort to inform Sister Michael, who made an equally valiant attempt to get her to go away in return. Sister Michael would never consider herself a fan of sport although she knew how to read horse racing form from her youth. Gambling might have been considered a sin, but it didn't stop her having a bet whenever one of the teachers would go to the bookies.

French was the final lesson of the day, but it was a disjointed lesson that day to say the least. Sister Kathleen was no longer employed at Our Lady Immaculate after a situation which not even Sister Michael saw coming. The Cops conducted a raid of her home and discovered an arsenal of illegal weaponry and provisions, linking her to a group of Provo's that conducted an attack that left an officer seriously injured a few weeks before. The initial reaction was laughter because nobody believed than a nun would be involved in such illegalities, yet when they announced she'd confessed to supplying the group, there was genuine disbelief from the whole city. Apart for Michelle, who still found it hilarious that the nun that taught them French would be the same woman arming Provo's to kill cops. Mr Flanagan was having to take the lesson whilst they searched for a new French teacher and he knew less French than most of the students… which made the lesson extremely difficult. But to his credit, Mr Flanagan settled the class and got them working on copying out of the textbooks; boring but effective in keeping them quiet. Though one student was finding it a challenge.

Erin Quinn

From the moment she'd sat down in between Michelle and James, Erin fidgeted relentlessly, whether it be with her hands on the desk or on her lap. All of the gang, sans the distracted Orla, grew in concern for whatever was causing her erratic mood. Michelle and Clare exchanged knowing looks a couple of minutes into the lesson when Erin barely spoke to answer her name when the register was called out. Michelle presumed Mr Flanagan would have noticed too, despite having to focus on sorting the unfamiliar lesson out, and that presumption was correct when he eyed the group suspiciously upon noting Erin's fidgeting.

"Psst". Michelle tried to get her friend's attention. "Oi"

Erin looked to her right sheepishly and looking as pale as she did, Michelle wondered if she'd seen a ghost. Aunt Bridie's corpse held more colour than Erin.

"The fuck's the matter with ye". Michelle whispered. "You've been acting fuckin' loco all day and it's getting on me tits".

Luckily, they were sat right at the back of the classroom and slightly distant from the rest of the class, which meant no one could hear their whispering. Other than James, who tried to pretend he wasn't listening in but his own fears over Erin's behaviour meant he couldn't do anything but listen.

"I'm fine". Erin quietly hissed back.

"Yer a shit liar is what ye are! I mean it, what's yer problem Erin?"

"Leave it will ye Michelle!" Her voice carried far more upset in it on the second reply.

That is when it hit Michelle. The way Erin withdrew herself from almost every conversation… how she would keep disappearing off to the toilet that day… avoiding being anywhere near the English prick… THAT DIRTY ENGLISH BASTARD!

"Oh my g-"

"Is everything alright at the back there?"

Mr Flanagan stopped Michelle's realisations being put to Erin and her friend didn't waste the opportunity to cease any further questions.

"Can I go the loo please Mr Flanagan?" Erin requested his permission.

"Of course Miss Quinn".

Michelle frowned in curiosity at the teacher. Since the start of the year, the teachers were enforcing a new rule in which students couldn't go to the loo in lesson without a note from the teacher, yet Mr Flanagan, one of the primary enforcers of the rule, was letting Erin out without so much as a thought. He was very fond of them, that she knew, but he could get into serious trouble if Sister Michael found him not to be applying the rule. Did he know something they didn't? Had Erin confined in the teacher and not her friends?

"Miss Mallon".

Mr Flanagan beckoned her forward the second that the big wooden door shut behind Erin and Michelle almost ran to the front of the class. The students were all looking up from their textbooks, most equally wondering why Mr Flanagan let her out like that. James was increasingly concerned for Erin and wondered whether he should be going after her but if she genuinely needed the toilet then it would be very embarrassing for him to do so. Not wanting to seem controlling, he backed off and tried to concentrate on the work.

"Go and find out what's wrong with her". Mr Flanagan whispered when Michelle was close enough, quiet enough for the other students not to hear.

Michelle nodded and bolted out of the classroom, setting off in the direction of the nearest set of toilets to them. She soon caught up with Erin, who looked back to see Michelle and increased her pace. Both knew what the other was doing but Michelle wasn't going to let Erin get into her bathroom sanctuary.

"Oi, no you don't".

She practically bounced Erin into the toilets, the two of them nearly falling over as Erin's legs went to jelly. Erin froze on the spot in front of the cubicles, Michelle systematically checking each one to make sure they were empty before turning back and beginning her rant.

"You better tell me what the hell is going on Erin! If this is what I think it is then I'm gunna go fuckin' beserk bec-"

"Stop shouting at me!" Erin fought back.

"Not fucking likely! Ye think this is bad, you've got another thing comin' when ye tell yer ma and Joe!"

"I'm not telling them!" Erin's face burned brightly as she hissed.

"Ye can't not tell them yer pregnant Erin!"

"WHAT!"

Erin couldn't believe what she was hearing. Why the hell did Michelle think she was pregnant? She wasn't pregnant, far from it…

"I'm not pregnant Michelle!"

"But what about all the loo visits and the secrecy?!"

"I'm not fecking pregnant! I'm just…". Erin dropped to a whisper. "Horny… really… really horny…"

Michelle's face in the proceeding seconds was akin to that of the one a person would make if they forced to bite down straight into a lemon and then hold it there. Erin's shouting was the citrus substitute but the impact on Michelle remained sour. She really… really… didn't need to know that!

"ACH CHRIST! That's fuckin' mingin'"

"Well ye kept askin!" Erin sneered.

"Not for ye to say that!" Michelle sneered back. "Eugh Jesus, I'm gunna fuckin' boke".

"I've been wanting to jump him since he got to the house this morning, rip that shirt off him and-".

"Oh my… fuckin' stop Erin!"

"I can't help ye cousin's irresistible! I'm… having a hard time being around him and… I keep running away because I just want to grab him and… OH CHRIST! Can we swap seats for the rest of the lesson Michelle before I lose it?!"

Erin's eyes were darting all over the place and she paced around as she spoke, throwing her arms around in the air whilst shouting and wailing. If anyone other than Michelle heard her outburst then her life would have been over and her mother would certainly kill her when the news filtered back home.

"Ye can chop my fuckin' head off if it stops ye ridin' James in the middle of French. Now come on, before Flano thinks you've died in here!"

Rushing off back to class, Erin found herself able to relax slightly now that Michelle knew the truth and wasn't presuming a pregnancy. But if Michelle thought that, she did wonder what James must be thinking…

Michelle and Erin had been gone over five minutes and James was getting worried. He was already berating himself for not asking Erin about why she was upset earlier; he wasn't showing himself to be an adequate boyfriend and it ate away at him.

Mr Flanagan stopped the group bookwork and asked them all to talk amongst themselves about what they'd learnt so far, giving James a smoke screen to confess his frustrations to the only person left in the room he could. Clare. Besides, Orla was far too interested in her lollipop to have a sensible conversation with him.

"I'm worried Clare". He turned to his left and addressed her. "Erin's been like this all day".

"Aye me too". She sighed.

"I feel stupid. I should have made more of an effort to get the truth from her earlier".

Clare reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder, giving it a hard squeeze so that he turned his head to her. She could see the mix of frustration and distress in his dark green eyes.

"It's not yer fault James. But…"

"But what?" He frowned.

For a couple of seconds, she hesitated in telling him. The rest of the class talking acted as white noise around the room and Clare could only hear James's heavy breathing, filled with anxiety. She didn't even know if what she was about to tell him made sense, from a chronological view at least, and whether it was her place to ponder it. But the strained look on the Englishman's face told her she had to say it or at least… indicate it the thought to him in some way. Taking a deep breath, Clare opted to mouth it to him instead.

Pregnant

That was an eight-letter word that scrabbled James's mind. Surely it could not be, they'd been so careful that morning and the chances were incredibly slim… but not impossible. Shit!

If that was the case, James began to prepare for the backlash from all quarters. Erin's parents and Joe… they'd put their faith and trust in him to do right by Erin and impregnating her whilst they were still at school broke that trust. And Aunt Deirdre would kill him too… and Michelle… he'd be down to Orla and Clare for allies and Orla was of little assistance when it came to real life matters. That left only Clare.

James was in a real mess. He had to speak to Erin and find out the truth… no matter how hard it might be to hear.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: The Thousand Eyes

Things only got worse for James. When Erin did eventually return to class with Michelle, the two of them swapped seats so that the cousins were now sat next to each other. Erin wouldn't even look him in the eye. When the lesson ended, Mr Flanagan stopped him, and only him, before he went to leave to catch the bus, but he could only relay about as much information as the teacher had. After a further minute of questioning, James withholding his thoughts from what Clare had said, Mr Flanagan let him go and he caught up with Clare, who was the only one not already on the bus. Erin was already sat in the window seat with Michelle and Orla filling her row and his heart began to race at the daunting prospect that could be over between them. Clare may be right. Erin might be avoiding him because he'd ruined her life. He'd been so careful, yet luck deserted him, and his world was caving in on him without any feasible way of stopping it.

Oddly though, Erin appeared to be warming to everyone else. Michelle and Orla held a lengthy conversation with her about something Orla had raised, James not catching the point, but it was something along the lines of zombies and aliens. Clare added her own occasional thoughts to the conversation, but he stayed silent and none of them questioned it. Their continued silence towards him grew as they walked on towards Erin's. Michelle and Erin walked in front, chatting away, whilst Orla and Clare debated something behind them, leaving James with his own thoughts at the back. It had been so long since he'd not walked with Erin that he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to not have her by his side. He didn't like the way it felt at all.

"Yer quiet James".

Deep in thought, he didn't notice that Orla and Clare slowed up to wait for him and it was the former who engaged him in conversation.

"Yeah… sorry Orla… I've…er… got a lot on my mind".

Clare eyed him sympathetically, wishing she hadn't stirred the idea of what might be wrong with Erin to him because the poor wee English fella was having a crisis. Orla didn't notice.

"It's about the tactics for the race isn't it?" She enquired.

"No…". He denied quickly but soon changed his mind. "… well yes but… amongst other things".

"Ach don't worry James, I've got it all planned out".

Over the final five minutes of the walk to Erin's, James distracted himself with conversation about the racehorse. He would forever be thankful that Orla forced the topic and made him retreat from the dark thoughts in his head. She was good at that. Her ability to provide a brilliant, if completely accidental distraction, was a godsend and it was only Orla who could do it to such an extent. Her passion and dedication to the horse was incredible too. Not for the first time, James allowed himself to entertain the idea that Orla was a genius who put on a fantastic act to hide her smarts. They'd never been to the course at Enniskillen, yet she appeared to know the course like a seasoned veteran. She spoke about every obstacle, about how she would approach each one and where she needed to be in the field, even counting the number of strides she thought it would take between each fence. When she gave something her heart and attention, every sinew of effort would go into it. The gang saw it with her Step Aerobics, and they would see it with the horse riding too. He was confident that he'd be a winning owner first time out. If he made it to Saturday…

As they approached the door to the house, Michelle and Erin stopped in front of them and Erin turned back towards him. Clare and Orla moved out the way and up to Michelle, allowing the couple to be together properly for the first time in hours. But Erin didn't wrap her arms around him or even reach for his hand.

"We need to… talk". She muttered.

"Yes we do". He mumbled back.

Orla led the way into the house, calling out to Mary that they'd arrived. James went to go through to the kitchen to offer any assistance to Mary as he normally would, but Michelle put her hands on the back of his collar and dragged him back.

"Ye owe me for this… prick". She flashed him a cheeky smile.

Realising what Michelle, Clare and Orla were about to do, James etched his lips up slightly to convey his thanks to his cousin. The three of them were already offering themselves up to perform all manner of tasks around the house, preventing Mary from getting through and grabbing the Englishman to do them. He looked to Erin, who very shyly pointed in the direction of her room upstairs and as she started up the stairs, James made his way behind her at a few paces. His stomach bubbled viciously, cannons blazing on a hydrochloric battlefield, piercing every defence in their way.

James was terrified.

Erin's room, a room he knew all too well. They'd studied together in this room… planned various group escapades… sulked and moaned at their lives… and even made love in it. But for a room he knew so well, he'd never felt so small when he stepped inside. The door remained open, neither dared to close it with Mary downstairs, and the two stood awkwardly for a whole minute. Erin by her window, looking out occasionally but never looking at him and James in the corner, leaning against the wall and looking nowhere but at her.

"Erin…" He finally blurted out.

"I know James". She replied, finally looking him in the eye. "I know I've acted like a bitch today and I'm sorry".

A loud breath escaped her, and she cracked a smile in his direction but received in turn a scrunched nose and frown. James was acutely aware that he did not possess sufficient knowledge to identify every nuance and trait of the opposite sex but having Erin apologising to him about the matter at hand was most odd. He should be the one apologising… why was she? There was no use prevaricating about the bush and in a moment of madness, he went ahead and broached the subject without mincing his words.

"Are you… pregnant?"

The look he got in return before she'd even opened her mouth told him enough. That he, or rather Clare, had made a right mess of reading the situation and instead of the dark truth he thought he was facing, it would instead be his girlfriend's raging disbelief in him.

"WHAT!" She hissed as quietly as she could. "Why does everyone think I'm pregnant?!"

"You... you've been acting odd and Clare thought…".

"Clare as well! Jesus!"

"Are you sure y-".

"Course I'm feckin' sure!". She spat a quiet rage at him. "Have ye been avoiding me because of it?!"

James's emotions were shot, and he didn't quite know how to respond for a couple of seconds. He'd gone from petrified like nothing before when he thought Erin might be pregnant, to a mix of relief whilst retaining some fear at her reaction to his question, to now anger. He hadn't been avoiding her at all, she was the one who'd kept her distance and he'd merely respected it. A decision he was regretting tenfold.

"Me avoiding you?!" He hissed himself. "You've barely said a word to me all day!"

"Is it any wonder!" She retorted, throwing her arm out spectacularly.

"What are you talking about?!" The frustrated Englishman fought back.

"I'm talking about this!"

The real victims of the day were the internal feelings of James Maguire. His body was constantly reacting to a varying degree of emotions and the latest curveball thrown at them found him unable to do anything…

Erin rushed forward, grabbing him by the lapels and with all her strength, she hurled him onto the bed. James went into some form of shock and when he hit the bed, he wondered if she'd paralysed him as he simply could not move. But that wasn't a problem because she soon made paralysis feel a lot more appealing when she jumped on him and latched onto his mouth, her tongue acting as the point of lance thrusted down by a rampaging Cavalry officer. He soon added the inability to breath to the paralysis and for a few seconds barely noticed Erin systemically working away at the buttons of his shirt, his tie tossed to the floor. The blazer had already parted company with its owner, James lying on it rather than wearing it. She'd already undone the last button by the time his ability to do anything returned.

"Steady on, your mum's downstairs". James spoke in a voice he found alien to himself.

"I don't care". Erin's voice was husky and breathy and… sexy. Very sexy…

She really didn't care as she began to kiss his chest, forcing whimpers from the wee English fella and though his head was telling him to push her off for their own sakes, his hands had their own agenda, already undoing Erin's shirt and removing her tie as she straddled him. They were playing a wicked game in that room; if Mary heard even the slightest part of what they were doing then the two of them would be mincemeat. But neither could stop.

"I've been wanting to do this since you got here this mornin'…" She moaned as she came up for air from below his ribcage. "…I couldn't get near ye because if I did… then this would have happened, and Sister Michael would h-".

Erin stopped because he chose that moment to remove her shirt, throwing it away and the shivers it sent through her forced her back down onto him, their lips crashing together. They were reckless and stupid but couldn't bring themselves to care, their hormones suppressing any attempt by internal rationality to take over the situation. Becoming more adventurous, Erin's hand slid further down than previously, caressing over his belly button and not stopping. It drew soft moans from him, and he gave her as good as, his hands inching up her thighs, revelling when he could feel her quivering under his touch. Her hand reached the fabric of his-

"THEY'RE FINE MARY!"

Michelle

The couple didn't know why Michelle decided to lie to cover their backs… at least not until a second later when it became obvious. Michelle might not have had any human companions along for the journey to Erin's bedroom, but she'd not come alone. The wooden spoon was with her, appearing from behind her back like a lightsaber. Charging at them with it held above her head, it was abundantly clear that the force was indeed with her. James had just enough time to lift his thighs and roll Erin to the other side of the bed, but he took the full fury of Michelle's swing as the spoon drove down into his stomach.

"OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW". He yelped through clenched teeth.

"Wimp!" Michelle levelled at him.

His hands went straight to the red mark forming from where the wooden spoon hit him, rendering him defenceless as Michelle pulled her arm back to strike him with it for a second time. But Erin shifted herself up as he took Michelle's original blow and grabbed Michelle by the wrist to stop her.

"Oi!" Michelle, slightly seething and slightly laughing, reacted. "Off".

On seeing Erin fighting on his behalf, James shrugged off the burning pain from the skin around his belly and leapt up to his feet, adding his hands to Erin's as they fought for control of the wooden spoon. Michelle stood her ground the best she could, forcing James to stagger back so they all stood in a line in full view of the door. The door which now found Orla occupying it, eyeing the scene with giddy eyes and encouraging the battle with excited whispers.

"Help Orla!" Michelle called as quietly as she could.

Orla's definition of helping against what Michelle needed and anticipated were two very different things. Wanting her to wrestle the grasp away from either one of the other two, the last thing Michelle was expecting was Orla's diving spear tackle into her, launching Michelle into the air and back onto Erin's bed. Erin and James couldn't believe it either and looked at each other and began to laugh at the sight of Orla wrestling Michelle for the wooden spoon that the young Mallon still held. Their amusement was short lived though, as they heard footsteps striding across the hallway downstairs and they were most certainly not Clare's. They were Mary's thundering steps.

"Shit!" Erin swore.

The two of them began a frenzied re-dressing of themselves, shirts buttoned at an unthinkably quicker speed than they'd been undone, and ties fastened up tighter than normal.

"And what in the Lord's name is going on in here?!"

Mary appeared at the doorway, but her attention was not on James and Erin but the scene of Orla and Michelle scrapping over the wooden spoon. The couple, by the skin of their teeth, avoided suspicion and they shared the quickest of glances of relief while Mary's attention was diverted.

"Ach Aunt Mary, Michelle had the wooden spoon and I know ye get protective over it so ye do, so I was trying to get it back".

Michelle's eyes were almost bloodshot with fury at Orla, and she was about to reveal the details of what she'd found to Mary but found herself too slow. It distracted her long enough for Orla to retrieve the spoon and throw it back to its owner too.

"What is it with yer family and robbin' my wooden spoon!" Mary sneered viciously in her direction. "Thanks Orla love. Now the lot of ye, downstairs and get helpin' Clare with the housework".

Mary was gone before Michelle could raise any counter protest about the scene that she'd truly discovered a couple of minutes earlier and instead turned her icy glare on James. His debt to her was only increasing, but she suddenly knew exactly how he'd be repaying that debt…

Michelle, James and Clare stayed for dinner that evening at the Quinn's, Mary treating them to a lovely gammon, egg and chips each for their hard work in doing her housework for her. Erin managed to keep her feelings under control for the rest of the time James was there, falling back into the usual routine of holding hands and giving each eloquent pecks on the cheek. Nowhere near the practical ripping the shirts off each other's back's motions of earlier that afternoon. Clare's father picked her up first but due to prior exposure to Michelle's language, politely declined to give her and James a lift home, meaning the two of them would be walking in the dark. It gave Michelle the perfect opportunity to pass on her demands to him…

"How's the stomach fuckwit".

"Fine now". He chimed with enough sarcasm to sink a battle destroyer. "Thank you for the concern Michelle".

She hated him when acted with the 'English cockiness' that was often stereotyped in things Michelle read. All the more reason to hoist her demands upon him.

"So… the debt you need to pay back…"

"Calling it in now". He sighed. "Go on then".

"I would if ye'd let me finish… dick. And not now but for Saturday".

James groaned when she mentioned her weekend activities again. It had taken some miracle work from himself, Erin and Clare to calm Orla down and convince her that Michelle didn't mean it personally when she'd said she wouldn't attend the race on Saturday morning. He did wonder whether her spear tackle on his cousin was more for her lack of attendance at the upcoming weekend than for the reason of trying to secure Mary's wooden spoon back. Especially if she was the genius that James occasionally thought she might well be.

"Yer covering for me when it comes to ma. If I tell her where I'm goin' she'll ground me all fucking weekend so ye better come up with something good to buy my freedom".

That was the last thing James wanted. He wasn't happy about her going to see Danny in the first place and now was being expected to lie for her to go. But a debt was a debt, and he would have to pay it or pay the price.

"And tell her what?"

"Are you listening fuckhead?!" She shouted at him. "I said you better come up with something good, not me. Unless ye want me to tell Mary…"

"Alright I'll do it". He interrupted to stop her teasing.

"Good. And don't ye… James… what are ye doing?"

Michelle ceased the start of her reprimand when she noticed he'd stopped and looked back behind them into the dark night. His eyes appeared to be fixed on a bush about six houses back along the road.

"I don't know… it just… I felt like someone was following us and… watching us".

"Ha! Catch yourself on! Yer paranoid about having to lie to me ma already aren't ye? Now come on, I'm fucking freezing as it is".

"Yeah…".

James's reply wasn't convincing, but he turned and continued on with her anyway, soon falling back into conversation and exchanging insults. But the rest of the way back, he couldn't escape the feeling that a thousand eyes were staring at their backs. Not wanting to invoke Michelle's ire upon himself once again, he never once stopped or looked over his shoulder the rest of the way back to the Mallon house.

A thousand eyes weren't watching the two of them.

But three pairs of eyes were.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Faith 29th February 1996

The alarm clock blared over and over.

Eventually he stopped the wailing and rolled out of bed, rubbing at his eyes and yawning. Trudging downstairs, he could hear the radio on, and the news being read out by the usual broadcaster. He chose not to focus on the news, instead focusing on the weather outside. Looking out through the window, there was no rain, but it was overcast, and the trees shook from side to side in the fierce wind.

"Morning Ma". He addressed his mother, who was in her dressing gown making some toast.

"Mornin' Antony love". She turned and smiled at him. "Late night was it?"

"Aye Ma". The oldest Scanlon brother sat down at the dinner table.

His two brothers had already left for school, leaving just him and his mother in the house. She was always a late riser, her job not starting until half nine and she would potter about before leaving at quarter past. It was still a joy to be able to have her Antony back where he belonged, and she could talk to him in the morning now instead of the silence of the last few years when she'd sometimes just cry because he wasn't there.

"Were ye with the boys last night Ant?" His mother asked.

"For a bit". He replied slightly edgily.

"Ant?" She challenged, wary of his habits.

"I walked with them for a while up by the marina, in the early evening like but then I went to Maria's, so I did and ye know…".

He still felt awkward talking about sex in front of his mother, even though he was well into his twenties and his mother was a fairly open-minded woman. She smirked at his awkwardness on the topic and he smirked back, enjoying her teasing rather more than he should.

"What time were the boys in?" He asked her.

"Just after eight. They were laughing and joking about something or the other".

"Good to see the two of 'em having fun".

Mrs Scanlon nodded and plated up the freshly done toast, sitting down with her son who was pouring himself some orange juice.

"I do worry about the boys though Ant. Some of the things Danny says sometimes…".

"Ach don't worry ma. I'm here to help them on the right path now".

"Not yer path I hope". She sneered.

"The right path ma… the right path". He clarified. "But I'm not sure what Danny's playin' at with this Mallon girl. It's not like him at all".

"Love can make ye do a lot of strange things Ant. I thought you more than anyone would understand that?"

Antony rolled his eyes at his mother's words. He did understand it of course but it was her who failed to understand what he meant… or rather what he thought…

"I wouldn't call it that ma".

"Whatever it is, Danny is a big boy…". She ran a hand through her hair. "… he can handle his own affairs. Anyway, what are ye up to today love".

"I've got that interview at the dealership at half ten and then I reckon I'll pay a visit to da before I come back here. Might need it if things go badly".

Mother and son shared a smile before they continued on with their breakfasts, not engaging in any further conversation until she excused herself from the table to finish getting ready for work. The interview he had at the dealership was a rare bit of goodwill considering his background and the reputation he carried. The scar on his face would forever dent any chance of being an out and out car salesman but his mechanical knowledge saw him in good stead and the position of mechanic at the dealership was one that intrigued him. He never would guarantee on being thrown a bone like he had been for this interview but a part of him believed the Lord still held some faith in the Scanlon family.

For how much longer would remain to be seen.

After their day of avoiding each other at school the day before, James and Erin were practically inseparable throughout Thursday. From the moment James arrived at her house that morning, their hands were almost locked together consistently. Granda Joe smiled at the two of them over breakfast, contented with the love and care given to her by the Englishman he'd entrusted with his granddaughter's heart. Mary and Gerry were equally glowing in their approval of the two, Gerry giving the couple a friendly wink when no one else was looking. They already knew it if they really asked themselves the question, but barring tragedy or unforeseen circumstances, James Maguire would one day be their son in-law. The looks that their Erin shared with the wee English fella she loved so dearly were familiar; they remembered what the early days felt like. The difference for Erin and James was that Joe wasn't attempting to murder them every time they went near each other.

At school, the day went far better. Sister Michael kept a close eye on them as they walked in but beneath her regular steely armor, the two caught the slight smile she gave them. In the couple of months being together, the headmistress may not have been a confidant to the pair, but she certainly kept her word in not getting in the way of their relationship. Both sides of the party kept to the arrangement, though Erin came tantalisingly close to breaking it the day before, and a mutual respect held firm. It also kept the rest of the gang in check. They hadn't received a proper detention since the turn of the year, a remarkable effort with Michelle's mouth that rivalled the Derry sewage system.

Another remarkable feat had been retaining the friendship of both Jenny and Aisling since the events of Michelle's fateful party. The two of them ended up being rather philosophical about what happened and although Erin was slightly upset that the gang may have put them off alcohol forever, it also may not have been the worst thing. Look what it did to Michelle…

That lunchtime, Jenny and Aisling joined them in their regular spot, making it a table of seven but with only six seats. Of course, Erin naturally gave up her seat so that she could sit on James's lap, much to Michelle's disgust. For Erin it was perfect; she was in a much more convenient place to snog the face off her fella.

"What's this about you riding in a horse race Orla?" Aisling enquired with her.

"Ach Aisling, it's cracker. I'm taking on all the good local riders so I am".

"I'm surprised yer allowed to". Jenny remarked, Aisling nodded.

"I'm not being funny Jenny…". Michelle addressed her. "…but anyone who sees Orla ride and doesn't give her a license needs to be in the feckin' loony bin. She's ace"

"Ach Michelle". Orla blushed slightly at her friend's praise.

"I mean it Orla. And I'm not just saying that because I can't come on Saturday".

The rest of them, even Jenny and Aisling on hearing of Michelle's lack of attendance, believed she was just saying it because of that, although James did hold a slight candle of hope that it might be sincere, judging by Michelle's tone.

"Who's the fella from Moneyglass who's all the rage in England?" Michelle checked with the slightly gone out James, who'd pulled away from Erin's lips for a minute.

"Tony McCoy…" He frowned as his voice trailed off.

"Aye McCoy, well our Orla here is ten times the rider that fella is". Michelle asserted.

Jenny and Aisling both smiled at Orla who was blushing furiously at the affection being shown to her. She retained a lot of quiet faith in her ability to ride horses but having it backed up by her close friends was very special to her.

"Good afternoon all".

Mr Flanagan appeared out from around the corner and walked over to the seven of them, Erin instinctively sitting up a bit more on James's lap to not appear too intimate.

"Hello Mr Flanagan sir". Orla spoke first. "We were just discussing my ride at the weekend and the cracker job ye brother's done getting the horse ready".

"My brother is a very talented man". He smiled back.

"Are ye coming Saturday sir?" She continued.

"Would you like me to Orla?"

"Aye!" She squealed in delight, to the happiness of the others.

"Then I will". He confirmed, Orla nodding her thanks as she knew she couldn't hug her teacher in the middle of the school day. "I need a word with Erin and James, can I trouble ye to borrow them for a few minutes?".

Michelle nodded hastily, hoping to get a few minutes respite from the two of them being overly romantic in front of her. Her code of practice died the moment she found them after the Valentine's lovemaking session, and she'd had to master her own stomach to not boke every five minutes since. The couple frowned at the teacher, but he merely smiled, and they were happy to follow him, not believing they were in any trouble. It wasn't too far to his classroom and he held the door for them as they followed him, their own hands grasped together tightly.

"Sit down". He calmly ushered them to the spot in front of his desk.

James pulled a chair forward for Erin, putting a hand on her back and easing her down into the seat like a gentleman, an act that Mr Flanagan approved of. He pulled a seat forward for himself and took Erin's hand in his again as they faced their History teacher.

"I wanted to check that the two of you were getting along smoothly. I was quite concerned after our wee chat yesterday afternoon James".

Erin and James looked at each other lovingly and grinned, remembering their ridiculous awkwardness of the previous day. James should have known that the always caring Mr Flanagan would ask him again about what was up with Erin after their chat at the end of the lesson. He was always looking out for them in some way.

"We're fine sir". He confirmed. "Just a small… misunderstanding".

"Nothing that can break us apart". Erin squeezed his hand as she beamed.

"That is good to hear. Remember if the two of ye ever need to come and talk to me then I'll always make the time".

It was a relief for James that he'd brought it up because otherwise he would have gone back to Joe without an answer that afternoon. With Orla needing to get to the stables early to check the horse over, but not riding in the horsebox as Paul would be with Frankie, Joe needed his car to drive her. Aunt Sarah would go with them and the rest of the car would be filled with Orla's riding gear. Mary and Gerry needed to do the shopping so they wouldn't be attendance and that left James, Erin and Clare with a travel problem.

"There is something sir". James replied. "It's to do with Orla's race on Saturday actually".

"Ok". The slightly confused teacher frowned. "What is it?"

"The two of us and Clare are struggling for transport to the course and back…and now you've said you'd go, I wondered if…".

"You want me to take ye all to the track?" He laughed.

"I know there are rules and stuff… but as your brother is the trainer…".

"I'd be more than happy to take the three of ye". Mr Flanagan, lips curving into a grin. "But you are right about the rules… so not a word to anyone about this".

James breathed a sigh of relief, Erin too, as they were finally able to be certain of going to see Orla ride. Their silence on the matter was certainly guaranteed.

"Where shall I pick ye up from?"

"Probably my house is the best". James looked to Erin who agreed. "Ten o'clock. Let me write the address down for you".

"No need James, I already have it from when we had to write the letters home about what happened at the prom".

With their business concluded, the couple stood up and James returned the chairs back to where he'd got them. Erin waited for him before they walked out the classroom together hand in hand, saying goodbye to their favourite teacher. On the way back to their friends, they found the corridor to be empty and took full advantage, locking lips as he pressed her against the wall. Life for James Maguire and Erin Quinn had never been better.

Sarah took her first day off of the year, although she still didn't really understand the concept of a leap year. She didn't know why they felt the need to add on an extra day every four years and it just meant another day of additional stress about her hair and nails. If anything, the practice should be banned in her eyes and maybe it would be something to take to John Hume when he'd finished with all the peace talk.

Her nails were certainly getting a test that morning as she'd agreed to take Anna out with her for a walk and the baby was squirming in her arms whenever she picked her up. The pram was fairly light so manoeuvring it up the sometimes-steep streets didn't present too much of a challenge but Anna's constant request for attention became wearing. There was no rain at least and no threat according to the weather forecast she heard earlier in the morning, so they ambled along the streets in the direction of the church. Sarah would often go up to see her mother's grave on a day off and the looping walk conveniently went past the Church. She couldn't stop for too long though, as Mary would want Anna back to have some lunch, but she still had ten minutes or so to spare.

"Hello Mammy". Sarah said as she approached the gravestone.

The one thing Sarah did stop to get on the way were some fresh flowers and she placed them down on the gravestone. They were her mother's favourite, yellow and white tulips, wrapped up in a lovely bouquet. The birds sang their heavenly songs around the empty church graveyard. Almost empty…

"Hello Sarah".

She looked up from the gravestone to see Antony Scanlon a few graves away. She knew where the Scanlon's father was buried and that was where the oldest of his sons stood, hands in the pockets of his suit trousers. He looked very dapper, a far more formal look than Sarah knew him to usually carry.

"Hello Antony love". She softened on seeing his pained expression. "Doesn't get any easier does it?"

"No". He solemnly concluded.

Kissing his hand and placing it on his father's grave, Antony made the sign of the cross, turning away a second or so later and coming to join Sarah by her mother's grave. She welcomed the company of the facially scarred man, who gave little Anna a smile, though the baby was visibly frightened by his scar.

"Who's this?" He enquired, pinching Anna's little nose.

"Mary and Gerry's second wain Ant, this is little Anna Quinn".

"Hello Anna". Antony cooed. "She's a beautiful little girl Sarah, I bet they're so proud of her already".

Sarah remembered just how caring Antony was when it came to children. The fateful events of all those years ago replayed in her head as he stood entertaining the baby for a second. She was certain that one day, he would make a good father.

"What's got ye so dressed up Ant?" She eyed up his suit once again.

"Ach, job interview Sarah. Trying to make me da proud".

"I'm sure he is. Do ye think you'll get it like?

"I'll find out on in the mornin' but… I'm hopeful that I will". He grinned. "Failing that, I've got another plan to make da proud".

"Best of luck to ye love. I'm sorry I can't stop, my Mary will want this little one back so she will".

She leant forward and gave him a hug, this time giving him an additional peck on the cheek as she pulled away. Her father would kill her if he found her giving one of the Scanlon's a peck on the cheek, but Joe never knew of what Antony had done for them, even if Sarah thought it quite obvious had any of them connected the dots at the time. For the second time in a few weeks, Antony Scanlon left a conversation with Sarah McCool with an uncontrollably wide grin slapped across his face.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Seeds of Discontent 1st March 1996

The Church doors always remained open, and for some, six o'clock on a chilly Derry morning was the optimal time to say prayers. The priest wouldn't arrive until half past seven and the lack of people awake at that time of the morning allowed for the early birds to have relative peace within the church. It would be cold, but a good thick coat would do the trick.

But on this particular Friday morning, a man headed towards the confession box. A confession box that he knew would be occupied by a man of the cloth. That was the arrangement.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned". He started.

"Not yet Mr Scanlon… not yet".

The confession box might have been filled on the other side, but the man of cloth wore a different garment to that of a priest. He promoted a view that the Church could never stand behind and a longing for an Ireland that many agreed with, but not in the way he wished to achieve it.

"Are the plans for your…trial… complete?"

"The three of us have everything we need. All angles covered…all possibilities considered".

"That pleases me Mr Scanlon. Pleases me greatly". The other man smiled through the partition. "And when can I expect to receive the full application?"

"Listen to the midday news on Sunday and ye'll have the details ye need".

That pleased the man on the other side of the partition even more. The quicker this was done, the quicker he could re-mobilise them and acquire the resources he needed.

"And if things don't go as intended?"

"I don't know you, I don't know anyone connected to you and as far as the cops are concerned, we were watching London's Burning with me ma at the time".

"You've rehearsed well Mr Scanlon. I hope the others have done the same".

"They have". He confirmed

"Then I look forward to the news on Sunday". The other man chuckled. "Remember this is for Ireland young Mr Scanlon, the Ireland we want… free from those who've stuck their dirty claws in for too long".

"Aye. This is just the start". The young Scanlon grunted.

"Just remember one thing. No body. Yer making a statement not a murder scene, got that?"

"Aye".

"Two Our Father's and a Hail Mary then. Ye best go now or you'll be late".

The two men both laughed at his priest-like comment before the young Scanlon left, exiting the freezing cold church. The man in the priest's seat grinned with glee. The loss of Sister Kathleen and the rest of her cell was a major blow to the operation, but the three new applicants were ready and hungry to take over where she left off. Youth may not bring experience, but it often bought innovation and it was that innovation that he needed to drive away the British menace. Their trial would test whether their hunger was a mental or physical one and whether they truly hated the Brits as much as he did…

Though the morning assembly was not as tedious as it once was, Jenny's singing hadn't improved over the last few months. The gang may have befriended her but none of them yet dared to mention that her talent for singing just wasn't there. If anything, Aisling held the better singing voice of the two, but Jenny had always insisted on taking the lead and still did.

"Christ, she done yet?". Michelle whispered her moan to Clare.

"My ears… they're burnin'!"

"Ach leave her alone you two". Erin added. "Not like we could do any better is it?"

"I don't know about that". James whispered into Erin's ear. "There are certain sounds I like to hear from you".

James hadn't disguised his flirtations very well as Michelle heard every word of what he said and wanted to boke all over the floor. Her glare at him told him as much and he pulled away from Erin, who he'd left with rosy cheeks and weak knees. Ten seconds later, Jenny bought the morning singing to an end and Sister Michael rose from her seat to give her morning address.

"Good morning everyone".

"Good morning Sister Michael". They all replied fairly spritely.

"That was far too cheery, I don't want to hear so much enthusiasm ever again". She glared at the students. "I only have one announcement and I suppose it can be considered a happy one, not that I am in any way suggesting I support it".

The gang all smiled because they knew what the announcement would be as the head mistress pulled them aside that morning to tell them of her speech. It was quite uncharacteristic to see her checking with them that it was alright for her to say it and they all found themselves admiring her a lot more for it.

"Tomorrow, our very own Orla McCool will be making her debut as an amateur jockey at the Enniskillen Hunt".

All eyes fell on Orla who grinned wildly at the positive attention being shown to her by most of the school. There was still the odd giggle or snigger, but anyone who dared was met with four furious face in return and they were a group not to try and divide; the whole school knew that.

"This is an important milestone in Orla's life, and I ask you all now to give her a round of applause and wish her good luck for tomorrow".

The round of applause came, Jenny and Aisling leading the cheers from the stage alongside the rest of the school around the gang. Orla could have cried if she chose but instead accepted hugs from other students, wishing her good luck and wanting her to do well. James and Erin gave each other warm looks at the love her cousin was receiving and in the melee of well-wishers, they allowed themselves a quick cuddle. Sister Michael had soon seen enough though and cleared her throat incredibly loudly to get the students back in line.

"And I'm sure if you do fall off and hit your head, you'll come back the same as ever".

"Thank ye Sister".

Orla failed to recognise the thinly veiled insult that Sister Michael dished out in her direction, but it didn't matter to her. She was already lost in the adulation from those around her and thoughts of how she would celebrate her win the next day.

"That's all. Off to class now".

Sister Michael dismissed them off to their lessons and the gang were in luck as their first lesson on Friday was History which meant time with Mr Flanagan. They'd already started revision for the summer exams with him and they would be focusing on the Seven Years War and the impact on Ireland. Boring to most, although James found it quite interesting. He also got the chance to thank the History teacher again for agreeing to take them to the track the following day, calling him to the back of the class under the guise of asking a question to say thank you. It was quietly acknowledged by the teacher and he went through the rest of the lesson with a smile on his face.

The gang were sat in their usual spot once again that lunchtime, tucking into their packed lunches and enjoying the craic. They'd had a good day and Erin sat on James's lap again, clinging to him and helping to feed him his lunch, something Michelle found disgusting. It wasn't like he needed the help, and it was just giving the two of them a chance to be even more romantic than normal around her. She didn't need to see it while she ate lunch either. However, peace was soon broken when a group of girls approached their table, headed by a certain nemesis of their group.

Moira O'Keefe.

After the incident on the first day back in January, she'd served her suspension from school and written the apology letter to Erin as Sister Michael requested. She never meant a word of it of course, but words on paper were far easier to lie about than verbally in front of others and it sufficed to get her back to school. Her parents were furious, all of their other children were so well behaved, and Moira stood out like a sore thumb in the family. It didn't matter to Moira though. Her hatred of all things English, and especially James, was a strong as ever. Most of the school accepting his relationship with Erin stoked her fury and she only had one or two friends who agreed with her agenda, making them very much the outliers. They'd sneer at the couple whenever they could, occasionally getting a rise out of one of them but on the whole, Erin and James learned to block her out. Not that it would stop Moira.

"Here comes trouble". Michelle muttered and they all looked over to see the approaching Moira.

"What's this?" Moira huffed. "The famous five and their fuckin' lawyers?"

It would never be a pleasant conversation with Moira. Six of them found offence in her statement, Orla just waving at her instead which only aggravated her further.

"Fuck off Moira". Michelle spoke for the group.

"Beg ye pardon".

"Ye fuckin' deaf then? I said fuck off".

Michelle wasn't playing around, and Clare put a hand on her knee under the table to try to stop her getting up and belting Moira. It was clear the girl was spoiling for a fight but the true victory for them would be not giving her what she wanted.

"I hear yer shackin' up with Danny Scanlon these days. Don't see what he sees in ye if I'm honest, yer a fuckin' slag".

It took a combined effort of Clare, Erin, Orla and Jenny to hold Michelle back this time and the satisfied Moira smugly grinned along with the two friends that flanked her. As Michelle simmered down, she turned her attentions to Erin.

"Still with this fuckhead then Quinn". Another sneer fell from Moira's lips.

"We're very happy thanks Moira". Erin scoffed, taking James's hand once more. "Far too happy to let an insignificant bitch like you spoil our day".

A crowd had begun to form around them and there was a ripple of 'ooohhh's' that went up after Erin's spitefully returned reply. Moira huffed at it, folding her arms and glaring directly at the couple, who squeezed hands even tighter in defiance of her.

"Don't test me Erin! Ye don't even know what yer sayin'".

"Why don't you piss off Moira?". James took over from his partner. "We've heard this all before from you and quite frankly I'm sick of hearing you complain about the two of us. Go and find a lad of your own and be happy, don't take your frustrations out on us because no one will touch you with a ten-foot barge pole".

The reaction of the crowd around them was even more fierce this time and they were all expecting Moira to lunge forward and smack the Englishman. She'd tried it before for a similar comment. Yet this time, Moira didn't lunge or in fact do anything of a physical nature, she just smiled at the Englishman.

"Ye just watch yerself English".

It was an oddly chilling statement from her, one which Erin did not like at all and looked up to James with apprehension. He thought nothing of it though, electing to lean down and give Erin a kiss to really hammer home his point that nothing would get between them.

"Good luck again Orla". Moira's tone stayed icy as she addressed the young McCool. "A real shame Michelle won't be there to see it".

Moira waved her friends on and pushed through a gap in the crowd away from the others, moving away without receiving Michelle's question about her comment. She couldn't understand how Moira would know about it, Danny didn't have anything to do with her and the only others who knew were the rest of the gang. They hated Moira but then that would be the perfect foil. She was aware that despite their so-called 'acceptance' of Michelle not being present on Saturday, that they still didn't like her having the relationship with Danny. It could be sabotage… of course… they were trying to prevent her being with him…

"Which one of you's was it then?"

"Sorry?" The timid Clare replied first.

"I know it wouldn't be Jenny, Aisling or Orla but one of you three's fuckin' told her haven't ye!?"

"Catch yourself on!" Erin snapped. "Ye really think Moira would talk to one of us. As if!"

Erin's argument was logical, but Michelle dismissed it. She knew Erin didn't approve of Danny, anytime he was around she would shy away or treat him with disdain and ignorance. If she had to guess which of the three informed Moira, Michelle believed it was her.

"It was you then!" Michelle shouted at her.

"WHAT!?" Erin roared back.

"I know ye hate Danny but tellin' fuckin' Moira O'Keefe… ye fucking snake!"

"Hey!" James stepped in to defend Erin. "Calm down Michelle, Erin's done nothing wrong. Let's talk about this calmly as a group".

"Fuck off Dicko! I've had it with you lot all telling me Danny's trouble and trying to ruin my relationship with him. I've let you two carry on and this is how ye act when I'm in love". Michelle pointed at Erin and James. "It ends fuckin' here!"

"Do ye want a Dip Dab Michelle?" The zoned-out Orla tuned back into the real world.

"No, I… have you even been fuckin' listening Orla!?"

"Nope".

Michelle had to get away or she was at risk of causing a real fight but with one of the gang, not Moira. It could have been Erin or Orla at this point although she'd most likely transfer all violent outbursts to James because he was English. Obviously.

"Just don't fuckin' talk to me the rest of the day, alright!?"

She stormed off in a huff, straight past the suspicious Sister Michael who soon approached the group to find out exactly what was going on. Clare, for once being the calmest of the group except for Jenny and Aisling (who weren't fully aware of all the details), told the story to the head mistress who almost immediately found herself uninterested and moved along. James sighed as they discussed what to do about Michelle, knowing that it would inevitably fall on his shoulders to bring her back into the fold.

Not one of them looked back to see Moira peering out from around the corner, chuckling to herself about the seeds of discontent she'd sewn within the fabric of their group.

When Mrs Scanlon returned from work at just after seven that evening, she found two of her boys out and just Antony at home. She hadn't seen him since the night before and had wondered all day what he was up to, especially as he was expecting a call about the job interview the day before. He'd come back from it in good spirits and told her too about his chat with Sarah McCool, who his mother remembered fondly. Many years had passed since she'd heard that name in her house, but it was never said in vain or in anger, only in joviality and goodwill.

"Evening Ant". She walked into the living room to find him watching the television.

"Evening Ma". He replied happily.

"So… how did ye get on".

Antony sighed deeply. The bone he'd been thrown was a generous one but, on the day, somebody better had turned up for the interview and he'd lost out. The Antony Scanlon of years before would have gone back to the dealership that night and torched the place but that was the boy in him speaking, not the man.

"I didn't get the job ma". He mumbled the disappointing news.

"Ach come here love".

His mother enveloped him in a warm hug, and he nestled into her, not offering up any tears but instead sighing repeatedly. There would be other opportunities, he knew he could make them, but he held high hopes that it could have been the one and they'd been dashed.

"Ye were out early this morning love? I hope you've not been causing trouble?"

Mrs Scanlon didn't enjoy it when the boys were secretive in their ways and when they veered away from their normal routines. She scalded all of them whenever they did but with Antony the threat seemed higher because of what he'd done in the past when he'd been given free will. The fights… the drinking… the drug dealing… Antony of his early Derry years would find trouble around every corner and in every neighbourhood. If there was ever a big fight, the chances of Antony being it were close to one hundred per cent.

"Of course not ma". He shook his head with a faked annoyance. "I went out to church first thing actually, wanted a bit of time for myself while it was quiet, and no one was around".

"And did ye get the time ye wanted?" She continued her questioning.

"Aye. Very much so". He smiled.

"Good. It's nice to see yer looking for the answers you seek from god and not in some poor fella's face like in Belfast".

Antony sighed and rolled his eyes at his mother, but she was not venomous in her accusations and instead flashed a playful grin.

"Danny was out early too as well ma. I pulled him up about it earlier, but he said he'd gone to get the paper".

"He never left it". She uttered, frowning.

"Ach, probably wanted to read it himself. Maybe one of those ones with the girls on the third page if ye know what I mean".

Mrs Scanlon slapped her son's wrist. She knew what he meant but she didn't like the newspapers that had the topless women in them. She thought the women who did that sort of thing were dirty and had no shame, flashing their chests off like they were goddesses. Antony had always been forbidden from buying those papers, but Danny and Brian were far harder to control when it came to that. At least Antony listened to her when he was their age…

"He's got that girl now Ant, she's the apple of his eye".

Antony grumbled at the mention of his brother's love life. He'd taken his mother's approach when it came to Danny and girls; let him get on with it and don't get involved. He wasn't fond of it, but it was Danny's mess to sort out when it all would blow up in his face.

"Ach I meant to say as well love, did Sarah McCool tell ye about her wain?"

"Orla?" Antony shot up in his seat, interested by whatever news his mother was about to disclose to him regarding her.

"Aye that's her. One of the lads on the shop floor said that she's riding a horse for Frankie Flanagan down at the hunt track in Enniskillen tomorrow".

"Sarah didn't say anything…" He trailed off slightly, deep in thought. "…Ye sure?"

"Absolutely, she's riding a horse called 'The Wee English Fella'. Bit of an outlandish name in these parts don't ye think love?"

Antony couldn't help but grin when he heard the name of the horse. His mother wouldn't understand the name, she didn't know the story, but Antony had gleaned enough from Sarah and Danny to know why the horse was named so strangely. He'd listened intently to all the information about the English lad that was seemingly well ensconced within the Derry community and he knew from the information he'd found out about James, that it was the young Englishman's nickname.

"What?" His mother, seeing the grin, enquired.

"Nothing ma… nothing".

"Will ye go and watch then?"

"I might aye… but probably at a distance. I don't think it would be good if the rest of her family saw me there ye know".

His mother agreed wholeheartedly with that sentiment. The family reputation was alive and well in Derry, even without any of them stoking the fire for some time, and Antony didn't want to upset Sarah's family, especially her father. If there was any man in the world that he would hate to be on the wrong side of then it was Joe; that man was a fierce as they came, a proper tough man.

"Ye da was so proud of what ye did for them ye know Antony". His mother addressed him with his full name, taking his hand and squeezing it.

"I know ma. I know". He breathed out a gentle sigh. "I'll make him proud of me again soon enough".

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Raceday 2nd  March 1996

It was four thirty in the morning when Gerry woke up for the toilet. A cold night, like many nights that week, he ended up having to extract himself from Mary's tight grip around him as she tried to stay warm. She mumbled something incomprehensible as he got up from the bed. Fearing she might wake herself and proceed to have a go at him for making her feel cold, he tiptoed out of their bedroom, across to the toilet. Not wanting to disturb anyone, Gerry didn't switch the landing light on and used his memory in the dark to make it over to the door, finding it wide open. He gently shut the door behind him, with the aim of not wanting to wake the rest of the house up fresh in his mind and got on with the business at hand. Flushing a minute later, he washed his hands at the sink and dried them on his hand towel, stopping only to yawn before opening the bathroom door again to leave.

Click

"Jesus!" Gerry whispered a screech.

In his infinite wisdom, Joe was waiting for him at the other side of the bathroom door and cocked a loaded rifle, pointed directly at Gerry's forehead. This wasn't an air rifle or some sort of relic weapon, it was a fully serviceable Lee Enfield rifle, and it was also not very funny in the dark at half past four in the morning.

"What are you up to boy?" Joe sneered quietly.

"I was conducting a secret meeting with all the local Provo's in the bathroom". He replied. "What the hell do ye think I was doing!"

"Ye could have got a fancy woman in there!"

"Forgive me Joe but…". Gerry finally pushed down the barrel of the gun, so he wasn't staring down it. "…unless I'm conducting a scandalous secret romance with Wonder Woman, then I don't see how I could have gotten a woman into the bathroom. Anyway, it's you who we have to watch when it comes to fancy women is it not?".

Gerry let himself grin at the memory of the trouble he'd caused Joe a couple of weeks earlier. Mary and Sarah were constantly monitoring their father, so much as a look at any woman they didn't know would raise suspicions, which made trips to the shops unbearable for Joe. But Gerry didn't quite realise he was right where Joe wanted him. The patriarch of the family knew Gerry would be celebrating his perceived victory over him and the time to pull the rug from underneath his brash feet had arrived.

"Don't lecture me boy. I know it was you, planting that…thing… in my bin. Did you think I was born yesterday ye great tool!?"

Gerry's heart sank. All this time he thought he'd played the perfect trick on Joe and yet he'd failed to remember a very important fact when it came to his father in-law. Joe would always win over him. Believing anything other than that was a foolish man's game.

"Got ye now haven't I boy?".

"And shooting me does what exactly… hmm?" Gerry was only slightly shitting it… only slightly…

"Oh for… who taught ya common sense, Franz Reichelt?" Joe shook his head. "Covering for the wains was about the only good thing I've ever seen ya do".

At this point Gerry believed he might be having a nightmare and thought about pinching himself to see whether he would wake up. But deep down he knew it wasn't and it was more of a nightmare that he was truly living than one in his head.

"Your… not angry about this?"

"Congratulations eejit, pass go and collect two hundred while yer at it! If my Mary would have found out about the wains, her blood pressure would have gone through the roof! I can't be havin' her sick and having to have a useless bastard like you look after her".

"Right… and I'm not being retaliated against?" Gerry still didn't see the full picture.

"I already have ya dose! They say a fright like that can take a couple of years of yer life. That's two years less sufferin' for Mary, so it is".

Joe had stitched him up like a kipper and Gerry couldn't respond with anything other than a slightly open mouth. Joe simply grinned like a small child in a sweet shop, taking all the best sweets from the pick n mix and leaving Gerry with the sour grapes. It only told Gerry one thing. As long as Joe still breathed, he would never be able to achieve any true victory over him.

"Now piss off Gerry, Mary will be gettin' cold".

"Right. Is Orla here yet?" He whispered instead of moving on as requested.

"She's downstairs, buzzin' already". Joe softened, lowering the gun completely.

"She'll win Joe".

"Aye I know". Joe replied as Gerry walked past him but spoke again before his son in-law could disappear. "And Gerry?"

"Yes Joe?"

"Do us all a favour and break ye neck out shopping".

Huffing at the final rebuke from Joe, Gerry scuttled back into the bedroom and got back into bed, finding Mary's arms around him again soon after. Little did he know what he would be in for later that morning, as from behind their bedroom door, Mary heard every word of his conversation with Joe.

Clare reached the Quinn house at around half past eight and Mary fed her like she would on a normal school day if she'd turned up. She agreed with Erin on the way home the day before that she would meet her there before they walked over to the Mallon house to meet James. Orla was long gone by the time she got there and would have most likely been on the road already with Joe and her mother, following the horse box. A little while later, the two of them sauntered out of the Quinn house and down the street, carrying bags in their hands that contained wellies for them to wear. Mary would go ballistic if Erin came home with muddy shoes and insisted upon taking the wellies if the ground came up bad. When they reached the top of the street Michelle and James lived on, Erin spotted her boyfriend stood outside the house already and turned to Clare. She sighed, knowing exactly what Erin wanted.

"Give me the bag".

Erin smiled her gratitude and threw the bag at her. Clare could only watch as Erin ran down the empty street, James moving out into the middle and waiting for her. She took a leaping jump and dived into his arms, James spinning her around as they giggled, his hands resting on her hips. They were soon kissing passionately when he returned her to the ground and Clare took a slow walk over to them, partly to give them some more time alone and also to avoid having to be near any of it.

"How long have we got?". Erin whispered between kisses.

"Not long enough…". He stopped to kiss her again. "…for what I want".

His voice was thick with desire and Erin's whole body began to weaken around him, her knees feeling like they'd been removed completely.

"Is anyone else home?" Erin dared to pose the question to him.

"No". He whispered as he kissed her neck, aware that Clare could see what he was doing and the disgusted look on her face. "And we have time for… other things".

The moment he put it across to her like that, there was absolutely no stopping them. Shouting out to Clare that they would be back in fifteen minutes, precisely the time Mr Flanagan was due to arrive to pick them up, James took her hand, and they ran inside, giggling giddily all the way until the door shut. Clare, seemingly designated as both pack mule and now lookout, stood at the gate by the front of the Mallon house with a hand on her forehead.

"Why am I friends with these people?!"

Precisely fifteen minutes later, James and Erin re-appeared, slightly more dishevelled looking and still doing up the buttons of their respective shirts. Clare groaned her frustration at the pair but neither took any interest as they recovered from whatever they'd been up to inside the house. She didn't dare think about what they might have done. The couple were holding hands again and spotted a car coming up the street and recognised it to be Mr Flanagan's. He pulled up in the empty spot outside the house, wearing a suit more fitting of a mafioso than a History teacher. He was wearing a striped suit and tie with black trousers, only missing the fedora and cigar to complete the look. He wasn't even the owner of the horse and really James should have been dressed like that, but the Englishman preferred a more casual look.

"Good morning sir". James leaned in through the passenger window. "Or should I call you 'The Don'?"

"Don't push it James". He chuckled. "You really aren't dressed for this".

Mr Flanagan didn't quite catch Clare mumbling 'Only just about dressed', but Erin did and elbowed her to shut her up, not wanting the History teacher to be any the wiser about the couple's morning activities.

"Get in then".

Not wishing to test the teacher's patience, James sat in the front and not the back with Erin. It wouldn't be a good look for a teacher to be found driving around two of his students who were all over each other in the back of his car. The bags of wellies sat on the middle seat, separating Erin and Clare and the teacher frowned in his rear-view mirror at the scene.

"Is Michelle not joining you then?"

Michelle was still a sore spot for them. She stayed true to her word from the day before and refused to speak to any of them for the rest of the day. It hadn't held with James; they couldn't function at home at all if they didn't communicate and Michelle also made it very clear she didn't want her parents involved when it came to Danny. In an attempt at appeasement, he'd agreed to her wishes but when he tried to fix the damage created earlier in the day, she brushed him off and stood firm in her belief Erin was trying to ruin her relationship with Danny. It left James torn; he wanted Michelle to be happy and have a relationship but agreed with Erin that Danny was not the one and was real trouble. He'd only briefly seen her that morning too as she was already on her way out with her parents to the shops and then having another driving lesson with Martin afterwards, which Deirdre would be sitting in on. Mr Flanagan took the silence from the three of them to be a problem.

"Don't tell me you've all fallen out with her?" He probed.

"It's… complicated sir". James advised.

"That complicated that you didn't invite her to see Orla race?"

"She was invited!" Erin clarified, almost shouting. "She just had… other plans that we didn't think were important".

"But she did?"

"Yes". Erin looked away and out of the window, still angered by Michelle's actions of the prior day.

"I don't wish to seem nosy…". The teacher shuffled on his seat so he could eye them all. "…but I get the impression that this is about a boy".

The three of them all blushed slightly and scratched their necks, the sign for Mr Flanagan that his assumptions were correct. They couldn't hide anything from him.

"We think he's bad news sir!" Clare confided in a fret. "He's a Scanlon, one of THE Scanlon's".

"Right. I know the family… the reputation. But I thought you watched each other's backs? I'm sure she knows that, and should your fears be realised, you'll be there for here… won't ye?"

The three of them, with the teacher's reminder of the bonds of their friendship in their ears, nodded in unison.

"And if you believe she's in real danger, then you tell me, and I will make sure that Michelle comes to no harm. You have my word".

"Thank you Mr Flanagan". James kept a straight face, a gentlemanly thanks passed along.

"That's alright James. And for heaven's sake, call me Robert the lot of you's, just for today. We aren't at school now".

They all laughed quite heartily at their teacher, taking it in turns to answer 'Yes Robert' to him and giving him a chance to test how well he could roll his eyes. He checked with them that they were all wearing their seatbelts and they were soon on the road to the Enniskillen hunt track. The journey would take just under an hour and a half, unless there were any unscheduled stops and Orla's race was at twenty past twelve so they would get to see her before she needed to weigh out. The rain held off and the day was warmer than any of the others that week, a considerable improvement on the chilly night too.

"Frankie didn't tell me what silks she'd gone for James". Robert asked about halfway through the journey.

"Ha well, I'll be honest she looks more like a Grenadier Guard than a jockey in them".

A mention of a military formation such as the Grenadier Guards was bound to get a rise from the History teacher and he guffawed at the wheel at the sight of Orla dressed in the uniform of a solider, riding in a hunt race.

Once they'd pulled up at the racetrack, it didn't take long for them to find Joe, Orla, Sarah, Frankie and 'The Wee English Fella'. Paul was off declaring the horse when they arrived and no doubt finding out just who the opposition would be. It wasn't like the races under National Hunt rules, you would never know your opponents until shortly before the race and with a field of thirty-five entries and a maximum of thirty runners allowed, she could have been facing a whole host of good horses.

Orla was already decked out in her kit and she'd had to spend the whole car journey in it because there was no changing room for her at the course. Joe wouldn't let her change in with the men, knowing how they would act around her and was not willing to put his granddaughter in that situation. She was only just old enough to be able to even contest the race and he wouldn't have her being scarred for life by the behaviour of some of the nastier jockeys. When she first spotted her friends and History teacher, she ran to them, initiating a group hug with James, Orla and Clare as Robert went over to see his brother, Joe and Sarah, who were stood with their horse.

"Ye look the part Orla". Erin giggled.

"Aye these little silks are cracker, so they are. I reckon I'll get some matching pyjamas if Mammy will let me". Orla gleefully replied.

"How's the horse?" James asked as they pulled out of the hug.

"I tell ye James, he is ready to rock!" Orla's joy could not be contained. "I checked him over this mornin' back at the stables and he whispered in my ear and told me he's got it ye know".

The three of them laughed at her ridiculous statement and she laughed with them but Orla being a horse whisperer didn't seem too far-fetched to James, although he decided not to air that point with the others in case they mocked him for it. Before anyone of them could say anything, Joe beckoned James over to see him and Erin let go of his hand so that the owners could discuss things alone.

"Ye might want to put a suit on next time son". Joe addressed James's shirt and jeans first.

"You as well". James gave one of his trademark lopsided grins. "Robert's already commented on it".

"Well at least I'm wearing one, so we won't offend them completely. Ye excited?"

"I'm excited… nervous… I don't know what to say for what you've done for me Joe. With the horse… with Erin…". James's voice contained genuine emotion, which Joe looked on fondly.

"Yer a good lad son. I'm proud to have ye in my family so I am".

Joe would never be able to lean forward and hug him in full view of the others, as they would believe he required hospitalisation from the out of character action, but if he could at that moment he would have done. He never thought he'd find himself considering hugging an Englishman, but life threw up these odd scenarios and he couldn't argue with God's decision to bring James into their lives.

"Did you walk the course?" James smiled, offering Joe a mint from his pocket as he took one out.

"We were here first, so we got round before anyone else had even pulled up! It's running good at the moment but Paul reckons it's a bit softer round the home bend".

"Perfect for our lad". James looked at the horse, being held onto by Frankie while Sarah and Robert chatted away next to him.

"Son, we could have this race at the mouth of the Foyle, and he'd gallop on".

The two of them laughed and looked around to see Paul coming back from the declarations tent around the other side of the course stables. The group all convened around their horse as he carried a piece of paper with him and the saddlecloth with Orla's designated number.

"Give us the run down then Paul". Frankie ordered.

"It's a field of fifteen including our lad".

"Fifteen!?" The shocked Frankie sought confirmation, Paul nodding to confirm it. "That's a lot for a four-year-old maiden!"

"Aye I know and there's some good un's too. We're all running off level weights, I asked about the allowance, but they told to me feck off and threatened giving us a penalty if I didn't shut it".

"Orla doesn't need one!" Erin stated adamantly. "Do ye?"

"I need a Wham bar, I'm famished but I have to keep me weight down ye know".

"Back to the race". Paul stopped the tangent being explored further. "We're the last entry alphabetically so we're number fifteen. And Orla, ye've got to get up to the weighing room to weigh out shortly, I suggest the sooner the better ye know".

Orla went to retrieve her saddle and whip, though even when pushing the horse at home, she'd yet to have to resort to using the whip on him. She didn't really want to. The rest of the group continued to discuss the race, Sarah having a lot of questions for Paul who did his best to answer them all, even some of the more bizarre ones. Geared up and ready, Paul and Joe set off to the weighing room with Orla, who would have skipped all the way there if her Granda would have allowed it.

Being so prompt allowed Orla to weigh out first before any of the other jockeys made it to the weighing room. The judge appeared to have had the fright of his life when she appeared in the room, not used to seeing a young girl with no apparent racing background turning up to ride. Whilst he held his tongue on any judgement, when the rest of the jockey's turned up, they were far from pleased to be seeing a girl riding in their race and made that displeasure known.

"What the fuck's this?!" One of them said, looking at Orla.

"Didn't know we get a lunch service as we go round now boys!" Another remarked, to the laughter of the seven or so jockey's that had arrived in the room.

"Settle down gentleman. Give the wee lass a chance". The judge intervened.

"I'll give her a chance alright". One of them suggestively smirked.

The laughter of the jockey's filled the weighing room and the Judge didn't try to calm them the second time. Orla didn't really understand what they were saying but Erin told her when they were eating dinner the previous night that they might say rude things to her because she's a girl. Erin didn't go into the finer details of sexism and how Orla would no doubt face it because her cousin would most likely not understand but she'd passed on one piece of advice to help her.

Ignore them, they will talk out of their holes!

"Morning fellas. I see yer talking out of yer holes like me cousin said ye would".

The jockey's, not expecting to be spoken back to by a girl were stunned into silence. They'd ridden against women before, but they expected them to just take the abuse and accept it as the done thing. Never had a girl stood up for herself in the weighing room previously and none of them knew how to deal with it for a few seconds. Eventually though, the smallest one of the lot found something to respond with.

"A Derry girl? Well boys we are honoured".

"A City girl?" The murmurs went down the ranks of the jockeys, who were now all stood in a line waiting to weigh out.

"Yer out of yer depth here girl". The little one continued his jeers. "A city girl like ya self, should be back in yer fancy houses in the warm, not out here on our patch".

"Ach yer a funny little fella". Orla giggled. "Are ye one of the ones who cleans the chimneys before ye go to school?"

She thought the comments to be genuine questions, but the jockeys were getting their backs up at the city girl coming in and insulting them.

"Watch ye mouth girl". One sneered.

"Aye". A couple of them agreed.

"I only want to see your mouth if it's at the e-"

The jockey about to make that comment stopped as the door to the weighing room from the outside was open and two blokes stepped through and were looking straight at him. He didn't know who the two were, but he had enough sense to know that finishing the sentence would see him out of the race with at least a broken nose. Joe and Paul were the two men in question, and it was the former's presence that caused the most shock amongst the ranks.

"Shit, is that… Joe McCool?" One of them at the back whispered.

"Joe McCool". The name was heard again in the ranks.

Joe knew his name would mean something to some of the jockeys. Most likely through their fathers and grandfathers rather than themselves but his name carried weight. Back in his younger days, under the noses of the authorities, Joe used to go out into the country and play illegally staked card games with some of the jockeys of the time. His reputation for being tough when anyone tried to cheat him or shit talk him was legendary and the fact he was recognised by jockeys of another generation said as much.

"Ye wanna finish what ye sayin' there boy?" He got right up in the face of the man he'd interrupted.

"I… erm…".

"I thought not". Joe seethed. "Come on Orla love".

Orla happily followed her Granda out, also giving Paul a cheeky smile as she passed him, one which was reciprocated. Paul knew all these lads well and they might have let Joe and Orla go without any further challenge, but he wouldn't be so lucky.

"What's this fuckin' pet project of yer's Paul?" The smallest one again spoke up.

"Ye can laugh now ye prick". Paul smirked as he stood with his hand on the door handle. "But ye won't be laughin' when she's twenty lengths ahead of ye at the line".

The jockey's broke into rapturous laughter when he shut the weighing room door, simply unable to comprehend why an experienced rider like Paul thought a girl could beat them. A city girl, a girl who wasn't meant to be mixing in their scene. Not one of the jockey's would admit to their deep lying fears that they were frightened to lose to Orla and the shame it would bring upon them.

Race time drew closer and they were all in the paddock as Paul gave Orla the leg up on 'The Wee English Fella' and led her round the ring. The crowd were not quite as vocal as the jockeys at their disapproval of Orla but there were still murmurs around some of the seasoned racegoers. An unknown girl riding for the fairly enigmatic Frankie Flanagan raised eyebrows and the attention was only on her and not the horse, most writing it off immediately just because it was her in the saddle. The tannoy went and the announcer went through the prize money for the race, a meagre one hundred and fifty pounds for the winner, ninety for second and sixty for third. After he'd finished with all of the rules and regulations, the announcer turned to the most important information for the racegoers and especially those punting, reading out the list of horses who would be going down to the start.

Number one, Adolos, trained by…

Number two, Buncrana Steel, trained by…

The course announcer went down the list, speaking about the trainers, jockeys and owners of each horse in detail. Joe and James listened carefully to the information they might gleam from it, identifying the number seven, 'Lost in Rico', as their main rival. Paul informed Joe that the rider of that horse was the same bloke that made the comment to him before he left the weighing room, the same fella who'd led most of the sexist abuse against Orla. The trainer he was riding for was a well-respected Southern trainer who'd often raid further north with some of his better horses and this looked to be one of them.

"And finally number fifteen, The Wee English Fella, trained by Frank Flanagan and ridden by…"

The announcer stopped for a moment and Sarah looked to Paul and Joe for an explanation, Robert and James both frowning at why he'd stopped too. Paul had a fair idea and that was confirmed a second later.

"…Orla McCool. And it'll be drinks on me if that one even clears the first fence!".

The put downs of Orla spread to the course's official announcer, who Paul knew to be a man of over forty years' experience on the amateur circuits. An unknown young girl riding a raw young horse generated a high degree of amusement and he left the tannoy on so that everyone around the course could hear it. Some joined in, finding it just as amusing that Orla had the audacity to try and contest an event such as this whilst others said nothing and just went about their business.

"What a prick!" Clare summed it up beautifully.

"He can't get away with that!" Erin complained. "He should be thrown off the course… and… and told not to come back!"

"That's just the way it is girls. That's racing". Paul sighed. "But I reckon in about ten minutes we'll have changed a few minds eh?"

A chorus of 'Aye's' went through the group as they walked over to the spot where they would be watching the race from in the owner's area. None of the other owners would speak to them, and other than one or two of the other trainers exchanging greetings with Frankie and Paul, most chose to sneer at the outsiders. Erin was becoming riled by it, but James held her steady to prevent her from charging out and slapping one of the particularly snooty women.

All the way to the start the other jockeys tried to harass Orla, calling her names and putting her down but she didn't listen to a word. The moment she was comfortable atop her horse, she was in a different world of calm and focus that couldn't be disturbed. The start was just before the second last fence and they would complete the two fences before setting off for two laps of the course. Lining up on the outside as she'd told James she would earlier that week when they were walking home, Orla was in the zone.

As the tape went up, it was party time.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: The Wee English Fella

The Enniskillen Hunt track went right out into the country beyond the winning post. It was a right-handed track, with a long finishing straight which included two fences before the post and one after ahead of the first right hand bend. It reminded James of Towcester racecourse in England, which he'd visited once with his mother when she was invited to the races by a business client. He remembered standing high up in the private box in the grandstand, with binoculars given to him by the client, looking out into open country. It was beautiful up there, with the ability to see right over the whole course which was not the case when down by the rails amongst the sea of people. The only drawback of Enniskillen was that in truth it was farmers' fields and there were no grandstands or towers that could be ascended so that you could see the whole track. Some would get on top of their cars in the public car park and whip out the binocular but even then, trees covered the run from the back straight down into the home straight. It guaranteed for more excitement though as the crowd would never know who was coming in the home straight as the announcers often wouldn't get a proper update via radio from officials out on that part of the course. The start of Orla's race was viewable though and they all had a rush of nerves and exhilaration run through them when the announcer called the race start.

"I'm so worried for her ye know". Sarah was shaking as she spoke.

"She'll be fine". James tried to put her at ease verbally.

"I just want her to get over that first fence safely".

Sarah's continual worries didn't sit well with him and he requested silent authority from Erin to be released from her grasp for a moment. Erin knew what he would be doing; her fella was good like that and she nodded her approval. James then took Sarah's hand and squeezed it and she looked at him for a brief second as if he was mad before relaxing in his grasp. They were just able to see the first fence from their spot and Orla approached on the outside, sat dead last of the fifteen runners but not detached from the main field. The announcer, who'd promised to buy everyone a round of drinks if she cleared the first smiled in anticipation of the fall he expected.

"And as they rise at the first, Foyle Firefly is the early leader and…"

This was the moment of reckoning, Orla's first fence to face as an amateur jockey and 'The Wee English Fella's first competitive jump. Sarah closed her eyes and nearly snapped James's fingers off in trepidation.

"They are all over safely… and I owe everyone a pint…".

The whistles and cheers from the crowd about their free drinks drowned him out as he tried to continue the commentary coming up to the second fence, having to stop and wryly smile at his own foolishness.

"SERVES YE RIGHT YE BASTARD!"

Erin shouted at the top of her lungs, the announcer himself hearing it in his box and stopping again before opening his mouth. He was lucky that the run between the last two fences was quite a long one.

"Language young lady!" Joe sternly looked down on her, Erin going bright red and shivering at her Granda's rebuke.

Some of the other owners and trainers were staring at her, shocked by the foul outburst from the outsiders on their circuit and both Paul and Joe waved apologies at them which stopped any further comments. James, hand now removed from Sarah's tight grasp, thought it hilarious that she'd roared out the insult and quickly pulled Erin in front of him, placing a kiss on the top of her head as she melted back into him.

Orla easily cleared the second fence with the horse jumping up a place following the slow jump of the one in front before she eased him back again into last as they went by the winning post the first time. The owner's area was located just beyond it, the first fence before the turn perfectly placed so that they could view her jump it.

"GO ON ORLA!" Joe shouted.

"GO ON!" James, Erin, Clare and Sarah all shared the same shout.

"YOU'VE GOT IT ORLA!" Robert added to the encouragement.

Paul and Frankie stayed calmer and didn't shout but the two of them were happy with the progress after the first two flights and 'The Wee English Fella' gave another perfect leap at the third, Orla barely asking him to jump it. The horse knew what she was asking and didn't need the encouragement to do it. She fared better than one of the others at the fence, as the horse two spots ahead of her going into it, positioned on the inside rail, paddled through the fence to leave the jockey on the turf. They all grimaced at the sight, but he was up quickly afterwards, and the horse galloped off unharmed as well.

It was three fences down and nineteen to go for Orla. The one notable comment from many of the seasoned racegoers was that to get round the Enniskillen course, you had to have a horse that loved jumping, owing to the fact there were so many fences, mistakes were punished easily. There were ten fences in total per lap, the opening fence before the bend was followed by two fences as the track went up a small hill to the back straight. Three fences followed along the back as the course ran across the crest of the hill and then as the trees that blocked the view began, a sharp descent to the home straight started. It featured two fences, including a notoriously hard fence that was bigger than the rest of them on the course, the first that was faced on the downhill run. Once the trees stopped, it left only the two fences that were jumped at the start of the race to go before the post.

She made it over the next two fences perfectly well, though the field thinned out further as the horse that was running just in behind the three leaders stumbled on landing at the second of those fences, leaving the rider no chance to stay aboard. Others scrambled to avoid it but already being out wide, Orla barely had to move at all as she cleared the fence. Reaching the top of the hill, 'The Wee English Fella' still bowled along nicely in last place for her and Paul, watching on through the binoculars tracked her every move.

"How's it lookin' Paul?" Frankie enquired with his regular jockey.

"What price did ye say we were Robert?" Paul questioned the trainer's brother.

"Two hundred and fifty to one outsiders".

"Well…". Paul began. "She's looking more like a thirty-three to one shot at the moment".

That was music to the ears of the two owners. Joe and James weren't surprised to hear of the price when Robert returned from putting their own bet on, having scraped together a handsome fifty pounds to make it. The horse was a lot better than the price suggested but the odds were based on Orla being a girl and a girl who'd never ridden a race before. They were written off as the worst in the race the moment she was chosen as the designated jockey for it and the on-course bookmaker who Robert spoke to said that only one other person had placed a bet on her, the other bookmakers laughing when they heard another fool was trying his luck on the horse. A girl couldn't win here… they knew that.

"Fifty quid at that price…". James wondered out loud. "That's about… twelve and a half grand when she wins".

"Don't jinx it son". Joe huffed.

Orla made it over the three fences along the crest in perfect order, Paul smiling beneath the binoculars at one of the leaps. After being bitter towards Orla initially, he couldn't deny she held a talent that he didn't believe he had in him. She was a natural horsewoman, with the ability to feel the horse like none he'd seen before. It was as if horse and rider were one when Orla mounted up and even on some of their other racehorses, nothing changed. He was proud of her.

"They'll be in the trees in a minute and she's travelling smoothly. The front three have gone off far too hard I reckon, along the back next time round they'll be paddlin'".

The first three held around just under ten lengths advantage on the rest of the field as they entered the trees. Orla sat safely at the back of that field, riding her own race, unconcerned with what was going on in front. Just focusing on her mount.

Into the trees they went…

Eight fences in and Orla was having the time of her life aboard 'The Wee English Fella'. She'd stuck to her plan and was yet to deviate from it, counting the number of strides between each fence and finding them to be as she planned. The next section was the most critical in her mind, more so on the following circuit mind but this time around was her chance to study the notoriously difficult downhill fence. When she'd read up about the course and gone over in detail with Paul, he'd told her about the fence and how to approach it on the downhill run. The trick at this particular fence was to not carry too much speed into it and ease the horse rather than ask it to perform a mighty leap. Many had tried it in the past and came to a skidding end on the other side and those thoughts ran through her mind as they rounded the bend.

There was a long run down to the seventh fence of the lap, it being right where the slope eased off to a more suitable gradient, giving her the time to concentrate on the strides. Not factored into their plans was what the other jockeys would do as her motto when it came to the race was focus on her horse and not theirs. But the small fella who abused her so rampantly in the weighing room, riding the favourite Lost in Rico, had his own plans for her race. He eased his mount back through a couple of horses, being tenth of the thirteen left as they rounded the bend, so that he raced alongside Orla at the back. She didn't give him any attention, her eyes laser-like in focus at the upcoming fence but she should have done. A second later and all the carefully made pre-race plans went out of the window.

Leaving the reins in his right hand, the jockey leant down and yanked her leg out of the right stirrup. The sudden loss of control of the horse made her overbalance and her right leg went into the air, pivoting her over to the left, the reins slipping from her grasp. The horse, instead of bolting off began to slow, but he was slowing far too soon to be able to take the fence as intended and without the control from Orla, he could do anything. The cheating jockey, feeling proud of himself, cajoled his horse back forward, sniggering to himself as he considered his good deed for the day done. The city girl's fun was over, a shuddering fall at the hardest fence on the course would ensure she'd never return to their circle again. The trees covered his actions from the crowd and being certain of victory and with money and influence of his own, paying off the officials who no doubt saw his manoeuvre would be simple.

Orla tried not to panic but she couldn't deny being gripped with fear as her uncontrolled mount approached the biggest fence on the course. She fought desperately to pull herself back up into the saddle and not fall to the turf, grasping back onto the reins when she found them again. But time wasn't on her side and the fence loomed large.

The rest of the field began to stream over the fence, a couple of the horses smashing into it but no one falling. Lost in Rico's delighted jockey soared over it and moved up, soon announcing his victory when it came to Orla.

"THE BITCH IS DEALT WITH BOYS! LET'S RACE!"

Cheers of joy and silent relief were heard from most of the jockeys and not one of them looked round to see whatever he'd done to Orla. The confidence that he exhibited gave them the false dawn that they should never have believed in. For if any of them had looked back at that precise moment, they would have found his assertion that she was done for to be wrong.

'The Wee English Fella' made it over the fence and so did Orla.

The horse and rider's bond were the only thing that prevented disaster. That much was clear to her. He seemed to understand the peril that they were in and without any prompting from his rider, the horse took the perfect jump, landing with momentum on the other side. That momentum allowed Orla to swing back over so that she was back straight in the saddle and immediately got to work in getting her right foot back in the stirrup. A couple of seconds later and it was back in but as she looked up, the rest of the field were already over and away from the eighth fence on that lap, the tenth in the race in total.

Not that it bothered her. This was a determined Orla McCool and she set off after them with a fire in her belly. It didn't matter if she didn't win but she would finish that course even if it took her all day.

It was an anxious wait for them whilst Orla went through the trees. Paul was ready and waiting with the binoculars pointed at the exit of the covered section, praying to the Lord that she'd made it through unscathed. Sarah too was nervous and instead of James, it was this time Clare who held her hand as she awaited her daughter's re-appearance. Joe moved himself round to stand to her left, with Frankie, Robert and Paul stood to his left and James and Erin to Clare's right where Joe had been standing. The announcer began to speak again as the first three emerged from the trees and Paul focused.

The three leaders were still going too hard…

There was a group of five packed tightly a few lengths behind them, some of the secondary favourites within it…

Then three more came a couple of lengths behind them…

Then Lost in Rico a length further back…

And then… nothing…

SHIT!

"She's not there".

He delivered the news glumly and all of their faces dropped. Sarah began to buckle, requiring Joe's firm hand on her back to keep his daughter from collapsing to the floor. Their worst fears were realised; somewhere within the concealed section, 'The Wee English Fella' didn't jump with his usual verve and she was on the floor, probably in agony. Erin let out an anxious breath and James held her tightly, aware of the distress that any harm that came to Orla would cause her.

"Wait!" Paul suddenly called to them.

"What is it Paul?" Robert, equally concerned for the safety of his student, enquired.

"She… She's still going!".

They all looked as far down the track as they could and beyond the rest of the field who were between the final two fences on that lap, the distinguishable red silks that Orla wore stood out. She was well behind the rest but the important thing for them was that she was safe and still held every chance of completing the race.

"He must have clouted the big 'un and stopped running for her". Paul concluded what he believed the most likely scenario to be. "If she can coax him round the rest of the race then that would be grand".

There was relief but disappointment in his voice. The horse was going so well when it entered the trees, it was such a shame that something went amiss whilst they couldn't see her. Joe shared the disappointment, giving a look that said the same to James who could only sigh and return the same look. Orla being safe was more important to them and they were all at least happy with that knowledge. But it was an opportunity missed. Joe knew how the jockeys operated as well, they'd tell a tale to the stewards that she was reckless and shouldn't be allowed to ride again. The stewards being the corrupt, spineless bastards that they were would take their side and Orla's riding career would be over after one run. They would ban her and advise her never to try to apply for a riding license again. If she was a male it would be different, it would be a hard luck story but other than some teasing, the lad would be welcomed to try again. But for a girl it was different.

From her position a fence or so back from the others as they went through the line with a circuit to go, Orla would need a miracle to even get anywhere near to the back of the field, let alone try and win the race. But the Good Lord, perhaps smiling kindly because of what had happened down the back straight, worked one of his miracles for her to give her a whiff.

Anyone at the course who was an avid racing fan would know of the 1967 English Grand National and the Foinavon incident. They might not have had the giant green monster fences of the Merseyside venue but at the first fence on the final circuit, a pile up of those proportions ensued. The first three horses jumped the fence and two of them made it safely over but 'Buncrana Steel' came down at the fence after a sloppy jump and the horse lay there for a few seconds. As the group of five behind came to take it, Buncrana Steel got to its feet and the two already jumping horses stood no chance of avoiding it. They crashed right into the horse, throwing their riders to floor next to the already stricken jockey. The three behind them in the group all tried to avoid the mess sharply but in doing so one got in too close and went down anyway. The other two both stopped short of the fence but launched both the riders over it and to the hard turf on the other side. It was complete pandemonium right in front of the owner's area, the crowds gasping from beyond. The two loose horses on the take-off side then turned around and galloped right into the path of the next wave of three and the favourite Lost in Rico just behind them. The cheating jockey steered his mount clear, as did the rider of 'Crystal Pistol' alongside him but the two other jockeys were forced to pull their mounts up, their hopes lost. Lost in Rico and Crystal Pistol jumped safely and set off in pursuit of the leaders and all eyes then fell on Orla.

"Keep wide… keep wide". Paul whispered instructions under his breath.

Meeting the fence at almost complete perfection, 'The Wee English Fella' landed running on the other side to the delight of them all.

"GO ON LOVE!" Joe roared on his granddaughter.

Paul soon left them, avoiding the rush of the other stable hands and helpers who were trying to reel in all of those loose horses after the pile up. He was making his way over to just around the bend, ready to lead Orla back in once she'd finished. There would only be a maximum of four others waiting with him as there were just the five left in the race from the fifteen who started.

"She's going to win". James was so confident, he dared to say it again.

"What did I say before?!" Joe cautioned him.

"I agree with James". Clare defiantly stated her opinion.

"Aye me too!". Erin added.

Joe wished he could share the wains belief, but the race wasn't over yet, there were still nine fences left to jump. Robert took over the duty with the binoculars and it wasn't long until Joe was hassling him for updates on how Orla was doing.

"She's slowly catching up Joe". Robert confirmed, watching her between the two fences as they climbed up the hill.

Paul's earlier assessment of the leading few horses going off too quickly was proving to be accurate as 'Foyle Firefly' and the amusingly named (to them) 'Mister Mallon' were beginning to tire and Lost in Rico and Crystal Pistol were only three lengths in arrears. There were another twenty-five lengths back to Orla, who'd reduced the deficit but was still in need of something special to even place in the first three from there. But the regular jockey gave Orla one final piece of advice which she hadn't shared with anyone, keeping it in her head.

If things go wrong, keep calm and stick to the plan. Everyone else can have bad luck too.

At the first flight along the back straight, the bad luck for others part of his advice came true. Drawing alongside the long-time leaders on the outside, Crystal Pistol's jockey asked him for a long stride, but the horse did not wish to produce one and left his back legs in the fence, crumpling down to the turf and taking the jockey with him. Lost in Rico, who still had a couple of lengths to find on the leaders, was able to dodge around them and the jockey who'd tried to put Orla out the race was now looking the most likely winner.

"One's gone!" Robert announced. "Not Orla though".

"How's she lookin' Robbie?" His brother Frankie asked.

"If she keeps going, I reckon she's got half a chance of second ye know Frankie. But that favourite's going to run away with it, so he is".

Second!... Second!

It wasn't the win they were hoping for but considering how far back Orla was at the bottom of the home straight under a circuit's time before, it would be brilliant. All of them cheered her on with joy, finding less angered faces amongst the other owners and trainers in the area. One or two even cheered along with them. An incredible story of perseverance was being written at the Enniskillen course that morning and its beautiful sting was biting into the hearts of the people.

Entering the trees section for a second time, Lost in Rico was already twelve lengths ahead of the tiring Foyle Firefly and there was another length back to Mister Mallon. Another three lengths behind them, Orla was closing rapidly and the dream of second place looked all the more real.

With what had happened on the previous circuit, even though they didn't know it was malice and not a jumping error as Paul assumed, the nerves glistened from all of them. Even Frankie, a seasoned trainer, would have to admit to being more nervous than normal for this race. He'd pulled every string in the book to get Orla an amateur license and the free-spirited youngster was a treasure he was glad he'd been allowed to find. He wanted the best for her, like all of them, and some good results from her first few rides would be paramount. He just wanted her to get round safely and take the second place. He didn't care about the piss poor prize money or anything else, he just wanted her to achieve an impressive debut.

What he got was something else entirely.

"Oh my god". Robert said the three words a moment later when the lead horse re-appeared on the other side of the trees.

The announcer said the same three words into the tannoy but unlike Robert, he found more words to describe what he was seeing.

Oh my god… I can't… coming out from the back straight it's... THE WEE ENGLISH FELLA! The TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY TO ONE OUTSIDER! AND NOW I'M… I'M HEARING THAT LOST IN RICO CAME DOWN AT FOUR OUT!

The crowd 'oooohhddd' when hearing of the news of the favourites demise. If they'd have seen what the jockey of the horse had done on the first circuit at the same fence, then they'd have all said it was karma had they equally seen what happened the second time around. Starting the trees section, the jockey's belief that victory was his reigned supreme in his mind. There were only two other horses still going to his knowledge and he'd just got round both of them as they began to tire. Neither would find a second wind having ran their hearts out from the word go and he looked around to smirk at the retreating rivals. What he saw next not only surprised him but terrified him. He even completed a double take to be sure, but those red silks stood out.

Orla didn't fall as he thought. She was still riding, and she was coming upsides the two horses he'd shot past along the crest of the hill. He was the only one in front and the target was now firmly on his back. For the first time in a long time, he questioned his own mount and whether he had enough in the tank to fight off a challenge from Orla. The momentary lapse in concentration ended his hopes of even contesting the battle. When he turned back from watching her unrelenting progression, the fence stood right in front of him and he had no time to give the horse any direction. He could only prepare for the bruises that his body would sustain when he hit the ground as the horse clattered into the fence. He was down and hurting but it was a few moments later that the real pain came and that was the damage to his pride. Looking up, he saw Orla and 'The Wee English Fella' launching themselves over the big fence and calmly heading off to the next.

They were all cheering as the announcer revealed who was leading and the crowd were vociferously willing Orla home too, with the shocked announcer calling her in.

This is REMARKABLE! There isn't another horse in sight and the outsider… FLIES OVER TWO OUT! Foyle Firefly is just emerging from the trees but is at least thirty lengths behind with Mister Mallon another six lengths down and those are the only others going!

She's not even had to ask The Wee English Fella for effort, HE'S CANTERING DOWN TO THE LAST! There is just one fence separating them from a historic win and he's still so full of running! Measuring it up and… WHAT A LEAP! EXTRAORDINARY! I'VE NEVER SEEN ONE LIKE IT IN FORTY YEARS OF RACING! THIS IS TRULY SPECIAL! COMING TO THE LINE, WHAT A STORY WE HAVE HERE… SIXTEEN YEAR OLD ORLA MCCOOL AND THE TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY TO ONE SHOT, THE WEE ENGLISH FELLA, CRUISE TO THE WIN IN THE OPENER!

The announcer, who'd so cruelly spoken of her when he'd read out the runners and riders before the start, now found himself off his seat in his box, screaming the finish down the tannoy.

Joe, James, Erin, Clare, Sarah, Robert and Frankie were all jumping for joy and bellowing horse and jockey home, tears of joy running down Sarah's face. Paul was doing the same from his position around the bend and even he would have to admit to being choked up at the red silks approaching the winning post.

Standing up in her stirrups and looking towards her family and friends, her unused whip in her right hand, Orla punched the air in ecstasy.

"YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS"

Her victorious shout wrestled a tear from many an eye amongst the racegoers, the race officials and even some of the other owners and trainers.

Orla McCool had won her first race.

One on-course bookmaker found himself wiped out after the group collected their winnings having already paid out to the other man that placed a bet earlier. He'd only placed seven pounds on but that was still north of fifteen hundred pounds for him to pay out. He'd remember the warm but smug smile the punter, with a distinctive scar on his face, gave him when he collected the winnings.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Into the Darkness

The aftermath of Orla's race went by in a blur for her. After crossing the line, she was soon met with the ecstatic Paul who was crying with tears of joys when he first grabbed hold of the horse. She barely registered the only two other jockeys who'd finished congratulating her and swallowing their own prides after the collective barbs they'd thrown her way. It was a classic of a race, one that would live long in the legend of racegoers at the track and in the minds of those who would hear the retelling of the events of the race. When she made her way to the winner's enclosure, the rest of her family and friends mobbed her and the horse, along with the crowd who'd all gone to see the wonderous scene. The scene unfolding was one to expect after one of the major National Hunt races of the season, not the opening race of a local hunt card. But they'd got lost in the story of the two hundred and fifty to one shot and his sixteen-year-old jockey who'd pulled off the unthinkable on debut. Once dismounted, she was straight into the arms of her balling mother and Joe, James, Erin and Clare soon joined them in the hug. The Flanagan brothers both applauded her from next to them, Robert with a tear in his eye watching his student enjoy her victory.

The announcer, who had to give out the prize money and small trophy for the race win, quietly apologised for his earlier comment to Orla, Joe nodding his approval being in earshot when the man said it. Orla didn't care for what he said or what anyone said about her pre-race. It was the comments after the race that meant something to her, and no one was giving her grief then. The cheers rang out for minutes after, so much so that the start of the second race was pushed back ten minutes to get the crowds back out of the winner's enclosure. Orla posed for photographs and a reporter from the Derry Journal happened to be watching the racing, ensuring that she would make it into the Sunday paper. A far cry from when they'd appeared in the paper as religious hoaxers a year or so previously.

They'd not stayed too long afterwards, long enough to cool the horse down and get him safely back in his horsebox. Frankie and Paul reported back that he was in good health, not having sustained a single scratch on his way round. They, along with Joe and James, would soon enough be planning for the next race but not for a few days at least. Instead of going back to the stables, Joe, Orla and Sarah made it a two-car convoy back to Derry, Robert with the rest of the kids in his car. The winnings were collected and split up. Of the twelve thousand, five hundred and fifty pounds that they won in return, half went to Frankie and Paul for plenty of month's training fees and a little something each for the two of them. The other half was then split thirty per cent each for Joe, James and Orla with ten per cent spare. Joe gave Clare half of his as well, about nine hundred and forty pounds each. James did the same with Erin and Orla did the same with Sarah. Robert, insistent that though he put the bet on, that he didn't need the money, took the ten per cent spare with reluctance. Being as professional as he could be, he let the kids know that taking the money would mean he couldn't show them any additional leniency at school, something they acknowledged and firmly understood.

The day was turning out to be full of surprises, as when they reached the Quinn house, upon Joe's insistence before leaving the course that they congregate there, Mary and Gerry's shopping trip had taken on extra items. The house was packed full of banners congratulating Orla, which were bought regardless of the result and there was a buffet of food ready for them. They hadn't stopped to eat after the race, they were so caught up in the joy of Orla's win they forgot, and it was a welcome sight for them all to see that they would be well catered for. Joe called in a favour with the announcer following his apology to Orla and used his phone to call Mary and Gerry and give them the good news in advance. The mood was fantastic within the house the rest of that afternoon, fun was being had all around and it soon moved out into the garden where they learned the true details of what happened during the race. There was shock and laughter at the fate of the jockey of Lost in Rico, who'd tried his hardest to put Orla out of the race at big fence coming down the back, only to fall at the very same obstacle the next time round.

James and Erin were stood, his arm around her and resting on her shoulder, in front of the slightly open back door. Mary was back in the kitchen tidying up, but with the newly acquired knowledge of their activities and finding them in the perfect position to confront them, she ceased cleaning up and opened the door gently, so it tapped James on the back. The couple turned to find one of her sternest looks awaiting them.

"I want a word with the pair of ye". Her finger beckoned them inside.

Without having to think too hard about it, the pair of them had an inkling of what was coming. To think they could pull the wool over Mary's eyes, even though Gerry's covering seemed to have done the trick, was ultimately foolish. The music was always going to have to be faced at some point, they were never not taking their relationship to that level, but they'd hoped to make it until at least after the summer exams until they let on to Mary that they'd started sexual activity. In some ways they'd hoped to never tell her, but this was Derry and that wasn't possible.

Ushering them over to the dining table, they prepared to face her like they did everything. As a couple, with their hands clasped tightly together and their heads held high. They weren't ashamed of their actions and no matter how hard it would be, there was a silent understanding between them that they would make sure Mary knew they weren't ashamed either.

"I know all about yer little Valentine's tryst". She started, speaking in a calm but firm tone. "And what Gerry did to… conceal it".

"Mammy…" Erin spoke but was quickly cut off.

"I don't want to hear it Erin. I would have hoped the two of ye's would have waited a bit longer… I'm a bit disappointed this has all happened so soon…".

Erin was more scared of her mother than ever. When Mary was usually annoyed or angry, she'd show it in her face, and it would be reflected in the tone of her voice too. But she knew there was a special level of anger that Mary could ascend to on certain occasions and those times she would be sweet as anything before slicing in with a killer tongue. That was what Erin feared was about to happen.

"…but you've been sensible and used protection… and I can't tell you's off for doing the right thing like that. I… I just want ye words that you'll continue to be sensible until ye know… yer ready".

Erin's concerns were unfounded. Contrary to what she perceived her mother's reaction would be, Mary didn't apply the killer finish but instead carried an air of sincerity but still laced with worry. She would always want the best for her daughter, Erin knew that, and her asking for their words was her own way of ensuring that wish.

"You have them". James answered for them, bringing their clasped hands onto the table.

"Then I can sleep easier tonight". Mary smiled. "I know yer young and I remember myself at your age, but I don't want ye to put yer careers and dreams on hold because… well I think ye know what I'm trying to say".

"Yes Mammy, we get the picture…". Erin trailed off.

"I'm being serious Erin!" For the first time she raised her voice. "If in a few years' time, when you've settled and ye have a place of yer own then I'd be happy for you's but just… not yet. Neither of ye are ready".

There was silence for a few moments as neither Mary nor the couple wished to say anything more about what she was alluding to. Sensing that pushing the topic any further was not the wisest thing to do, when she spoke again, Mary did so only to lift the darkened mood around the dinner table.

"Anyway, the two of ye better go back outside. The absence will be noticed if I keep you's any longer".

James gave her a polite and thankful smile as he and Erin got up to go back outside, Erin not looking her mother in the eye at all. Mary knew she was talking to herself when it came to her daughter but was relieved that the smile the Englishman sent her way indicated that he'd taken onboard what she was saying. He was good like that.

An hour or so later, Mr Flanagan left and kindly took Clare home on his way back after she'd fallen asleep on the Quinn's sofa. They'd only given her the one glass of Champagne as well! But they trusted the History teacher with her, the man that was now a firm part of their family circle; he couldn't dip in too far as he had to think of the job, but he would always be welcome at their house. It was soon time for James to leave too and he was stood putting his coat on when Gerry came down the stairs and got his attention.

"Do you want me to drop ye home James?"

It was dark outside now, only getting that way a few minutes beforehand, but the weather became more overcast prior to the darkness which made it seem worse. However, it wasn't overly cold, and James quite fancied a stretch of the legs.

"Thanks for the offer but I'll walk Gerry".

"If your sure son… take care now".

Gerry walked into the living room, holding the door for Erin who walked out to say goodbye to her fella. If she wasn't having to control herself because her parents were in the next room, she'd have pinned him to the wall when he produced one of his trademark lopsided grins. The things that grin did to her…

"I hate saying goodbye to you". She mumbled as she cuddled up to him.

"It's no easier for me either". He chuckled, stroking her hair.

They pulled apart but kept their hands held together as he walked out the front door and into the Derry night. Stopping, they pressed together and kissed, holding the kiss there for a few seconds before pulling away again, sporting matching wide grins.

"You know what your mum was saying earlier…" James began.

"Don't James". Erin quickly spoke to try to stop him going any further.

"Wait". He insisted. "The other day when I thought that… well… when we had that misunderstanding, I'll admit I was petrified that you might be pregnant Erin. Your mum's right, neither of us are ready for that responsibility".

"I know". She sighed painfully, looking down at the front step.

"But if you would have been…". He squeezed her hand and she looked up. "…then I would have stood by you regardless. One day I want us to have a child… or children… of our own but it's when you are ready. And if you think you are ready tomorrow, we try for a baby tomorrow".

She'd sworn so many times in the past that she couldn't find any more ways in which to love him but yet again he proved her wrong. She still felt guilty that he'd gone for so long that day believing she might be carrying their child and to hear of how scared he was by the sudden thought of responsibility harrowed her. She knew her mother to be right and neither of them were wise enough to be able to handle a baby, even a devoted couple such as themselves. But James would stand by her anyway and spoke of them having children together as if it were a foregone conclusion. It told her that he wasn't going anywhere and that he was planning the rest of his life around her and she wanted to plan hers around him. It was almost his way of saying 'Till death do us part'.

"What would I do without you". She hummed.

"That's a question I find myself asking about you my darling Erin". He chuckled, earning himself a smack on the arm for referring to her as darling. "I'll see you tomorrow".

She nodded and he gave her one last peck on the lips before he turned and walked out to the gate onto the street. He looked back one more time and waved to her as she stood by the door, waving back to him with the exact same enthusiasm. All the way until he went out of her view, her eyes never left him.

But her eyes were not the only ones that didn't leave him…

Antony may not have been related to her and she might not even remember him, but he was immensely proud of Orla. Winning a handsome amount of money was nice too but to see her at her happiest, when he'd seen her at the other end of the scale, warmed him. He'd stayed away from the rush of the crowds when she returned to the winner's enclosure, risking the wrath of Joe was not something he wanted when the man would be at his happiest too, but from where he stood by his car, he could still see her jubilant celebrations.

Arriving home that afternoon, he couldn't wait to tell his mother the good news.

"Antony love, yer back early?" Mrs Scanlon said as soon as her son arrived in the living room.

"She won mammy! SHE WON!"

"Catch yourself on!" She laughed whilst rebuking him.

"I'm serious! She was miles behind halfway, but she kept going and won easily. I'm dead chuffed for her and Sarah so I am".

Mother and son hugged in the living room and she ruffled his hair like he was an eight-year-old again. He would always be to her in a way.

"Are ye gunna go and congratulate them?"

"Ehm… well…".

"Ant…"

"It's just like I've said in the past, I don't want to cause trouble for them ye know. But if I see Sarah out and about then aye, of course I will".

Mrs Scanlon beamed at her son again as he started to empty his pockets and a second later thrusted a handful of money in her direction. Her smile quickly disappeared, and she didn't need to say what she was thinking for him to know exactly what was on her mind.

"I had a bet on her too. Nothing else".

"Thank god… wait… how much money is this?!" She demanded to know.

"A thousand ma. It's yours".

"I can't accept that love". She scoffed, pushing it back into his hands.

"No ma, ye deserve it so ye do. I'm only taking what I need to get by, I want ye to treat yerself or the boys if ye want".

"Ach come here".

Mother and son were hugging again but this time a tear skipped down her cheek. In times gone by when Antony returned home with a fistful of cash, it would have been from dealing drugs or robbery… or worse. But for the first time in years, she had hope… hope that those days were truly behind him and an honest man was rising from the sins of a dishonest boy. He'd proven with Orla many years earlier that there was good in him, in glimpses only, but the foundations were there.

"I can't hug ye for too long ma, I've got something to take care of with the boys".

"What!?" Mrs Scanlon's hope floundered. "I don't like it when ye say that…".

"It's a wee problem but it'll be more than that if it's not sorted by tomorrow ma. We're brothers, we look out for each other".

"I don't want you's in trouble!"

"We won't ma… I promise".

Antony went upstairs, leaving his mother to ruminate on whatever they might be up to. The secrecy ate away at her as it always did. She wanted to ask him what this problem was and if she could help try to steer them away from any trouble. The family reputation would forever cast unfair judgements on them, she'd known that the minute she married into it. Her brother told her the same and they'd become estranged since, only knowing he'd fathered a child around the same time she had Danny.

At some point she must have fallen asleep when remembering her early years with her brother because it was two hours later when the doorbell rang, and she shot up from the sofa. Calling out for one of the boys to answer, she received no answer and realised that they must have all gone out whilst she was sleeping. Cheeky fuckers, not waking her up…

Yawning, the doorbell went again and with a grumble she rose from the sofa and walked around to the front door to see who was troubling her at this time. It was just about dark outside, and the porch light was on, revealing the silhouette of a female figure in what looked to be a dress. She had a horrible feeling about who it might be. Danny's plan to humiliate this girl that upset the girl he truly loved grated at her but when she learned of what went on between this Michelle and Danny's girlfriend a couple of weeks before, she didn't stop him either. She didn't really know the Mallon family that well, but they must have been poor parents if they'd bought their daughter up to randomly attack girls in the school toilets.

"Can I help ye?" She answered, her voice suspicious and her eyes narrow.

"Is… Danny… not in?" The girl's brows furrowed.

"Ah.". There was no doubt it was Michelle Mallon now. And now I have to be the one to break it to her… typical!

"What?"

"I'm sorry love…". She tried not to sneer. "…but Danny's out for the evening".

"But he told me to meet him… that he'd be here…". Michelle's voice broke and despite everything Danny had said, Mrs Scanlon couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

"I really am sorry love. I told my Danny not to do this but… he has his own ideas an-".

"Do what!?" Anger and heartache seeped from the young girl.

"I think ye know the answer don't ye. Get yourself home and back in the warm, don't dwell on it for long love".

Mrs Scanlon shut the door on Michelle, who stood on the Scanlon's porch with mascara-clad tears beginning to trickle down her face. She'd gotten all dolled up nice and proper for their big night… all for this. It must have been how Erin felt on prom night when John-Paul never arrived. Dressed up in your best, waiting for someone who you think is in love with you and then they gut punch you when you are at your must contented. Except Erin could rely on James that night and though she wouldn't want James to rescue her with the same intentions, Michelle felt the irrational need to cry into his warm shoulder and witter on about how stupid she'd been. It was ridiculous to think they were out to destroy her relationship with Danny… it was as if they knew all along that this would be the end result. They told her time and time again that he was trouble, but she didn't listen… didn't want to listen… and now she'd stumbled into her fate.

She didn't ever want to see Danny Scanlon again.

She didn't care for his reasons as to why he'd so cruelly rejected her.

Not for now at least.

All Michelle wanted to do was get home and get into her bed. Sobbing as she set off from the Scanlon house, she'd never felt so insignificant and undervalued in her entire life.

James's smile stretched from ear to ear as he walked back home that night along a long alleyway a couple of streets away from the house. He was now the owner of a winning racehorse and one of his best friends had steered the horse to the victory. A perfect day for him and another reminder of why staying in Derry was the best choice he ever made. Having found the missing piece of his heart with Erin, he'd found the best group of friends anyone could wish for in the girls and leaving all of them would have broken him the day of the Clinton's visit. They'd accepted him, in their own snarky way at first, but he was one of them… he was a Derry Girl… and the title befitted him better than any associate tag that his mother might have given him for the self-adh-… sticker business that she'd set up.

But not everyone accepted him.

And in the haze of one of the best days of his life, his mind skipped over that important detail as he thought about the fun he'd had.

Looking up to the end of the alley and seeing two balaclava wearing figures stood still, blocking his path, his subconscious desperately scrambled back to the skipped detail. Taking a look over his shoulder, there was another figure in black behind him. He castigated himself for not figuring it out sooner because not for the first time walking home along the streets of Derry in the dark, he felt eyes on his back. Only this time the eyes were there when he checked and not imaginary like they had been when he'd walked back with Michelle. Or perhaps they weren't then either…

He stopped.

Frozen in place, trapped by high fences to back gardens on both sides, trees in the way to his right too. He would have to face whatever they wanted alone.

"What do you want?" He questioned the now advancing figures ahead of him.

Receiving no reply, he turned his head again to see the figure behind moving too, noticing this time that they had something in their hands… a weapon of some description. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was in serious trouble. Still, all was not lost. He was an Englishman, there was always his stiff upper lip and diplomacy to fall back on. He could convince them to move off in the other direction… after all, Winston Churchill did say that 'Diplomacy is the art of telling people to go to hell in such a way that they ask for directions'.

The problem for James was that these people knew exactly what direction they were going in and that was right at him. He was the meat in the balaclava covered sandwich.

"Ye don't belong here English".

Finally, one of them spoke up. He didn't recognise the voice, but it was a thick native accent, and it wasn't lacking in sincerity either. Whoever it was, really didn't think he belonged in Derry.

"Maybe not. But I'm here aren't I? He rallied.

"That doesn't mean ye should stay…". The lad, voice gravelly and fierce, then dropped to a mere murmur. "… does it?"

Shifting on the spot, James looked over his shoulder for a third time at the figure behind him who'd stopped but placed their hands behind their back, hiding the weapon he knew they were carrying.

"I hear yer with Erin Quinn. Good girl no?".

"What's it to you?" James challenged, puffing his chest out a bit to seem confident. He really wasn't…

"She's a Derry girl… she ain't meant for filthy English pigs like yerself".

"Is that so?" He moved forward to look eye to eye with the lad in the balaclava. "Erin's capable of making her own choice and she chose me! If your jealous… tough".

The lad laughed at him, wheeling around on the spot to the second figure who chuckled very slightly, James barely hearing it but knowing he'd done so.

"Jealous? Is that what ye think?". The incredulous aggressor scoffed. "No, I'm not jealous. I just think Miss Quinn might need to be…persuaded… to change her fella".

His fist clenched when he heard the emphasis the lad put on persuasion. That was a threat to Erin and as long as James drew breath, anyone who threatened the love of his life would have to go through him before they got to her.

"Leave Erin alone. If you've got a problem with her, you deal with me".

"Oh English…". The lad laughed again, and this time leaned forward to put a hand on James's shoulder. "… that's just how I wanted it".

The wink over his shoulder confirmed his imminent fate. He wouldn't escape them now and he wouldn't even get to lay a glove on them. The wink that was shot deliberately beyond him was to the balaclava covered figure behind and half a second later there was a great thud on the back of his head. James didn't know what had hit him but with the force it carried, he was knocked to the floor, conscious but severely dazed. Not that it mattered.

Within a second the three of them set about him.

Kicking…

Punching…

Stamping…

His body began to fail him as he could hear the words but couldn't place them to anyone or even know the accent. Phrases like 'Fuck you English scum' and 'Fucking Brit cunt' floated into one ear and out of the other. The kicks smashed into his ribs, the cracks reverberating off the hard boots of his attackers. The punches were all aimed at his face, his nose soon gushing, and eyes bruised and bloodshot. They stamped on him all over, his stomach being the main target but his legs, arms and chest all receiving similar punishment. He barely heard the bottle smashing but five seconds or so after it had done so, he felt the broken glass rammed into his exposed right side, directly below his kidney. The assailant who committed the act, yanked the broken bottle back out of him but some of the shards remained.

Derry's streets were once again filled with the blood of the innocent, the price of a conflict that only ever seemed to harm those not wanting to fight rather than punishing those who encouraged it. His only crime was the nation listed on his passport. Derry's streets were still tasting Irish blood like they had done on Bloody Sunday twenty-four years earlier.

He heard the sound of his attackers running off into the night but though he looked in the right direction, he did not see them.

All he could see was her face… her beautiful face. The face he loved.

"Erin…".

And with only thoughts of her, James Maguire succumbed to the darkness.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Rhythm of the night

Orla insisted on having her Uncle Colm come round for tea that night, despite all of them trying to persuade her to change her mind. He turned up ten minutes after James departed and Orla excitedly showed him through to the living room so she could retell the dramatic events of the race again. Everyone else tried to avoid the pair of them, Erin helping her mother in the kitchen whilst Sarah pretended to be asleep on the sofa. Gerry and Joe ended up without an excuse but the two of them excused themselves upstairs to work on fixing Joe's wardrobe, the door having fallen off a couple of days prior. Mary could hear the two of them arguing the whole way through it and was fearful of leaving them alone with tools that Joe could use to kill him with him. But they resurfaced for dinner once she called them, neither carrying an injury inflicted by the other.

Once they'd eaten tea, they all found themselves sat in the living room. Sarah moved to the seat under the window with a cigarette in her mouth, Orla stood next to her. Joe occupied his usual spot on the armchair, baby Anna sat on his lap smiling at her parents, who shared the sofa with Uncle Colm. Erin perched herself on the armchair of the sofa as Colm narrated a story about a woman who returned the wrong item to the supermarket that morning and the argument that ensued from there.

"… and she was wailing like a vixen, so she was. The poor assistant Tommy, ye know Tommy whose ma used to sweep up at church on a Wednesday…".

"Why don't we play a game?" Orla cut off her Uncle's ramblings.

"Sounds perfect". Gerry replied. "What shall we play".

"MONOPOLY!" Orla shouted. "James has gone so he can't win!"

Erin rolled her eyes at the comment about her boyfriend's ability at Monopoly, but everyone reluctantly agreed to join in and play. Without James there to rule the roost, it was a far more even game with no one taking a clear lead. Uncle Colm, Joe and Mary all found themselves in jail quite early though and although they were all quickly out again, they were a few two hundreds short compared to some of the others. It was Gerry's turn and he happened to land on the so far untroubled Mayfair and decided to purchase it.

"I'll buy that". He said to Erin, who was acting as the banker.

Erin picked out the card for Mayfair from the diminished pile that was left and handed it over to her father, who was pleased to have the most expensive property in the game.

"No ye won't!" Joe suddenly erupted.

"I erm… think you'll find I will Joe". Gerry replied, chuckling.

"I said no".

"Well, that's not how the game works".

"Can we not have another argument on a family game night?" Mary attempted to quell their dispute.

"We wouldn't have if this prick wasn't getting ideas above his station!"

"What? I'm allowed to buy Mayfair Joe, there's nothing in the rules to say that I can't". Gerry argued.

"Mayfair is not for Southern tools like you! Ye have to be refined to own Mayfair!".

"It's not that big of a deal Granda". Erin scoffed in her father's defence.

"Aye it is Erin! Now yer fella, he's the sort of man that should own it. Modern… and sophisticated, not a neanderthal like Gerry!"

"Is he that fella who walked on the moon?" Orla enquired with them.

"No Orla!" Erin didn't hide her annoyance. "That was Neil Armstrong".

Orla frowned upon being told who walked on the moon, she could have sworn it was the fella that her Granda mentioned and not the one Erin said it was.

"It's too late anyway Joe". Gerry said as he handed the money to Erin. "I've bought it now".

Joe, with lightning quick hands, nabbed the money from out of Erin's hands and found everyone glaring at him.

"Now I have the money. And it looks to me as if yer trying to bribe me!"

The phone started ringing, providing Mary the chance to get away from the argument between her husband and her father, letting someone else deal with it for once. Erin would be the likely candidate to do so, and it would be a good lesson for her to know how to handle a situation like that in the future. The phone call was a welcome distraction, even if she couldn't think who would be phoning at such an hour.

"Hello…"

Michelle couldn't stop sobbing no matter how hard she tried. The humiliation of being tricked into believing she was special to someone when it had all been some cruel prank wrenched out tears from every hiding spot within. She appreciated the Scanlon's mother trying to be reasonable about it, but she'd known about whatever was in store too. Michelle just couldn't fathom why he would do such a thing. She'd never done anything to upset Danny as far as she was aware and didn't understand the need for him destroying her confidence in the way he had done. But she didn't need to know for now. She just wanted to be in bed.

"Michelle!"

She stopped dead in her tracks and looked up to see her parents walking towards her, her father being the one to call out her name. They were walking arm in arm with soft expressions on their faces and she sniffled to a stop with her sobs, in order to eye them suspiciously.

"James told us things might not work out so well". Deirdre clarified.

Of course he had.

That wee fucker of a brilliant cousin she had. He would do anything for anyone and even with the atmosphere between the group fractured and discontented, he still looked out for her. The realisation of his kindness made her blub again, but she was soon wrapped in the embrace of both parents. Their coats were warm, and she rested her head in her father's midriff and simply cried. She could feel their hands going through her hair and her father squeezing her a bit tighter as the cries continued.

"I don't… understand". She wailed.

"Shushhh just calm yerself Michelle". Deirdre urged.

"I…I…"

"I know love". Her father said. "We're here now".

She continued to cry into his midriff as Deirdre pulled away and she put a hand on her daughter's cheek to get her attention away from Martin's coat.

"There'll be other boys Michelle".

"But… I thought he was the one ma…". The sobbing continued "… he said… he said…".

"Boys will say a lot of things they don't mean Michelle…". Deirdre started. "… yer father told me he didn't love me once ye know".

That got a laugh from Michelle and her dad huffed but confirmed that the incident had taken place and he'd once indeed dared to tell Deirdre that he didn't love her.

"But I did love her". He smiled, receiving an elbow in the ribs anyway. "And I still do, obviously".

Michelle started laughing again and finally pulled away from her father's warm embrace, standing in front of both parents with a slight smile appearing.

"Thank you".

"Don't thank us love". Martin smiled. "It's James ye want to thank, he's a good lad our James".

"I… I know. I just… ye know. I've really put me foot in it with all of them. I… I blamed Erin for everything and I…".

"Stop love". Deirdre put her finger on Michelle's quivering lips. "He told us all the details. I think we both know that you's are all too good friends to let it have a lasting impact".

"Aye". Martin agreed with his wife. "I wish I had a group of friends like ya have when I was yer age".

"I need to call them and…". Michelle fretted.

"In the morning love. Ye can all meet up after church and then talk things out. I might even give ye some money to let you's all get something to eat". Deirdre grinned at her daughter.

Michelle's smile finally stretched the whole distance and her parents reciprocated it back at her. They soon set off on the way home, Martin informing Michelle that they'd had a call from Joe to tell them that Orla had won. Disappointed with herself, she'd began to cry again but Deirdre reminded her that they wouldn't think any less of her and as long as she congratulated Orla the next day then things would fall into place. Michelle was delighted for her friend. She, like the others, recognised that Orla was a talented rider and after her own failed attempt on horseback, equally knew that it was a difficult skill to master.

Turning into a long alleyway, they all spotted something on the ground in the distance. Michelle looked to her parents who were both frowning but in the seconds that followed the frowns turned to mouths gaping in horror.

All three recognised the coat as they got closer.

James's coat.

And when they all started running and realised that it wasn't just a coat on the ground but a body, their stomachs all dropped.

But it was when they saw the blood that the true panic began.

"Oh my god!"

Deirdre's shout pierced the Derry night when she finally reached the motionless form of her nephew, lying in a pool of his own blood.

Gerry and Joe were still fighting over the ownership of Mayfair.

"It's not a bribe Joe…you stole the money… that makes it robbery!" Gerry reasoned.

"You accusin' me of being a thief boy!?"

"In the context of Monopoly… yes. Yes I am!"

"Would the pair of you's be quiet!" Erin snapped at her father and grandfather. "We're tryin' to enjoy a family game and all ye do is argue. How about this then… yer both disqualified!"

Erin gave the pair of them a look that Mary would be proud of and they looked up to challenge her but on seeing the face that greeted them, both thought better of it. For the first time ever, Erin silenced the room with her commands. Apart from Orla, who was humming along to whatever tune played through her head.

"Aunt Sarah, it's yer turn".

"Ach I'm not so bothered now Erin love. All the fun's gone now Da and Gerry aren't playin'".

"Me neither". Orla returned from her little paradise world. "I'm gettin' tired now ye know, I want to go to bed".

Erin couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was Orla who wanted to play it in the first place and now she was going to abandon the game. Sarah too would join Joe and Gerry in being out of the running, which only left her mother and Uncle Colm to contest it and they were probably the joint worst at it along with Sarah. It was more fun when James played; they at least got to finish the game with a decent winner and she got to cuddle him, always a plus.

"Fine. But let's wait for Mammy to get back. Uncle Colm, why don't ye tell us a story to pass the time?"

If they weren't going to play properly and be civil, then neither was she. It would be torture for her to listen to Colm as well but if it meant punishing them for their lack of effort then so be it.

"Alright then Erin…" Colm began. "Joe ye remember Maggie Bennett, the girl who used to ride her bicycle down the ol' path along the Foyle?"

"Oh aye, fat thighs Maggie, how can I forget?" Joe sniggered

"Aye that's her, those thighs, I remember that Billy Prendergast, ye remember him don't ye Joe… well Billy Prendergast said to me, he said Colm, those thighs, they could pedal a spaceship to Pluto so they could…".

"Jesus…" Erin sighed quietly to herself.

"Anyway, ye remember she had the two wains and then moved to Tahiti on that mission with the French an' left her fella to look after em?"

"Aye". Joe confirmed again as they heard Mary put the phone down out in the hall.

"What's in Tahiti?" An inquisitive Orla spoke up.

"Tahitians I think love". Her mother said to her.

"I can't remember the wains names off the top of me head…". Colm continued, wracking his brains. "… ach hang on now, I think the wee girl was a Veronica and the wee lad… he was either a Simon or a Sean… well I saw her wee Veronica's wains t-".

Colm stopped when he realised everyone else had stopped listening to him and started looking at Mary, who had returned to the living room. The colour was drained from Mary's face and her lip was trembling, eyes like melting glaciers and carrying a sunken posture. Gerry and Erin got up from their positions on the floor, standing to face her.

"What's the matter love?" The concerned Gerry spoke up first.

"I…". Mary couldn't speak… not after what she'd just heard.

"Mary…" Joe pushed to get the answer of what was wrong.

"It… It's… It's James…".

At the first stutter from his wife, an alarm bell rang in Gerry's head. He knew immediately why she couldn't speak, and he could tell with how she'd angled her head slightly more towards Erin, that the phone call was about James. Fearing the worst, and knowing Erin would too, his hand was already ready when his daughter's knees buckled, and she stumbled back into him.

A whimper neither parent ever wanted to hear again was ripped from Erin's lungs as she lost control of herself, breaking apart in Gerry's arms. Joe's breath held and the water rose beneath his eye lids too, having to fight himself not to let them drip down his face. Orla and Sarah held hands as the pair of them teared up. Even Colm understood the severity of it, a solemn look on his face.

"He's…".

"Where?" Gerry didn't press for details on the lad, just where they needed to go.

"The Altnagelvin… now".

Taking command of the situation whilst everyone else struggled around him, Gerry steadied Erin onto her feet and into Mary's arms where she held her. A silent look was shared between him and Joe, enough to tell him that Joe would be coming too, and Orla choked out a response to say she would as well. Sarah and Uncle Colm were told to stay with Anna, a request neither argued with, Colm taking the baby from Joe and taking her up to bed with Sarah immediately. Within another couple of minutes, they were in Gerry's car, Mary in the front passenger seat with every purse she could muster hastily thrown into her bag. Erin sat between her Granda and Orla, who were both holding onto her as she struggled to do anything. Her breathing was erratic, her face lacking any colour whatsoever but she'd yet to say a word. The only noise that came from Erin was from her uncontrollable sobbing, that began the moment she found herself in Mary's arms and hadn't stopped since. Orla was crying too but despite her own upset at whatever had happened to the Englishman, she was more concerned with Erin.

As the hospital came into view on the horizon, Erin finally spoke.

"Is he dead?"

The question was at little more than a whisper, but they all heard it and, other than Gerry who was focused on the road, they all turned their heads to look at her.

"No love". Mary reached back to put her hand on Erin's shaking knee. "He's alive. And he will be because he's got ye to look after".

Mary tried to be as reassuring as possible but being the only one in full possession of the injuries Deirdre described, it was incredibly tough. She was already prepared for the worst and what she would have to do for Erin.

The worst part of it all for Mary was that when she thought about it, there was no easy answer as to who could have done this to him. James was English, the fact both of his parents were natives of Derry didn't matter when he opened his mouth and the accent rang in people's ears, which in turn gave the whole of Derry a motive to attack him. But it would take a special kind of hatred to beat a fella so severely and leave him to die on the cold ground of a quiet alleyway. They all made comments about England from time to time, but this required the savagery of a hard-line Provo or a complete psychopath. Yet for whatever reason, Mary felt a guilt… like it was her fault as much as the person or people who'd done this to him. There were generations of faults on either side of the conflict and now it'd spilled over to one of the kindest lads you could ever meet and left him fighting for his life. Violence was not Ireland's answer.

Martin was outside the main entrance waiting for them when they arrived. Gerry found a spot right up close to the emergency department and let the others bail out whilst he paid the parking. He'd soon find them in time. Mary was out the car and waiting for her daughter within a split second, Orla making her way around the other side of the car, holding her cousin's hand. Erin's legs which failed her earlier, transformed into her greatest asset as she almost dragged Orla along, running over to where Martin stood. Mary was running with them, barely keeping up whilst Joe walked as briskly as he could without having the need to run, not trusting his old knees quite so much anymore.

"Come on, he's this way". Martin said as they drew up to him.

Mary immediately pulled in front of the girls to walk with Martin and he in turn knew what she was after. His looks told her that James was still alive and fighting but the strain and unfallen tears hiding in the corners of Martin's eyes told her that it was bleak. Erin's sobs were the bitter symphony that themed their rush to his bedside, her hand still held tight by Orla, who pushed back her own tears in an act of pure strength. Joe stayed strong for the family too, grateful that Gerry kept his head and made the right calls, as he himself was splintering within.

Rushing through the main entrance and into the emergency department, there were people darting about all over the place, shouting instructions here, there and everywhere. Being a Saturday night there were plenty of drunks crying in the corners from various injuries sustained from fighting or falling. Martin made eye contact with Michelle, who was stood by a set of double doors where three nurses rushed through, gowns on and ready. She didn't hide the evidence of her own crying, though they were not aware it had started on the Scanlon's porch much earlier, the streaks of mascara staining her face. Stopping to allow a patient on a bed through, who looked in a pretty bad way with tubes sticking out of them, they finally reached her. Deirdre was nowhere to be seen but was presumably through the double doors, tending to James.

"Any change love?". Martin asked as they came to a stop by her.

Michelle gave a knowing look to her father but seeing Erin appear from behind him, she tried being as positive as possible. She still had to put things right with Erin, there was no point making things worse.

"No… but he's still fighting". Her voice cracked slightly.

Looking at the empty seats to the side of the doors, Mary knew it would be a long wait before they could get further news or see him. She was gesturing for them all to sit down but Erin had other ideas, wriggling away from Orla's grip and charging towards the double doors. She had to see him…

"Erin!" Mary called after her.

Gerry turned up at that moment, watching Erin running into the big room with the rest of them all following her, but Joe stopped, and they shared another look between themselves. The two men were very much aware of what was coming next.

"JAMES!... JAMES!" She cried.

Deirdre's head shot up from by his side at the end of the room and she tried to tell Erin to go but the words wouldn't come out. The life of her young nephew lay partly in her hands and the rest of her nerves were shot. She would treat him like any other patient, but this was different; James was family and James had so many people that loved him and cherished him. And the one that perhaps did the most was avoiding every nurse who tried to stop her from seeing him.

When Erin did see the state that James was in, she gasped and stumbled over backwards, but once again Gerry was there waiting for her with a firm hand. What had they done to her wee English fella…

She could only see his face and the outlines of his clothes, but it told the full picture. The face she wanted to snog constantly had gone, and what was left was unrecognisable. His nose was caved in, no doubt broken, and his eyes were forced shut, already bruised and battered. There were lumps appearing on his forehead where the punches landed, and his clothes were covered in blood. The nurses around him, Deirdre included, were plastered in the crimson tide that flowed from the Englishman's multiple wounds.

That was when Erin's heart truly shattered.

"He's losing far too much blood! We need to operate on him now". The lead Doctor commanded his staff. "Deirdre, keep up the pressure on that side wound. Kelly, get theatre prepared, tell them we have an urgent one comin' in. Can everyone NOT involved in treating this young man please leave immediately".

Tugging at Erin to go, Gerry found her planted on the spot and not willing to retreat, if anything trying to edge forward again but he couldn't let her. They had to go.

"Erin…". He cautioned.

She still wasn't moving and the reluctant Gerry found himself pulling at her to drag her back. Joe and Martin were ready too.

"Can you PLEASE leave now!" The lead doctor turned his attention to them.

"No!" Erin shouted back at him.

"Erin…". Gerry was now forcefully pulling her away.

"GET OFF ME!" She screamed. "JAMES! JAMES!"

Joe and Martin added their weight to dragging her back, but Erin was kicking and screaming, Martin having to hold her legs as they lifted her off the ground in an attempt to carry her out.

"NOOOOOOOO! JAMESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" She continued to cry and wail.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The wailing Erin, the three men restraining her, was carried out into the corridor. Her sobbing and screaming drew the attention of everyone around the emergency department, gawking and staring at the hysterical young blonde.

"OI!" Michelle yelled at them. "Quit fuckin' staring ye feckin' pervs!"

It did the trick, everyone around the department quickly turning their attentions elsewhere and Deirdre pointed to a room down the hallway for them to take her, Mary leading the way and holding the door for the men carrying the still screaming Erin. At the back of the group, Orla turned around and saw them rushing James away. Closing her eyes, she tried to pretend she wasn't there.

The clock ticked over to two fifteen in the morning in the side room. Deirdre was able to secure them the room for the night as they waited to hear back about James's surgery. Martin had gone home with Michelle after Erin's screaming subsided, Joe and the tired Orla getting dropped back home too with Orla being thoroughly shattered after a long day of ecstasy and then agony. Mary and Gerry elected to stay behind with their daughter. They were never going to get her home without news of James, and they didn't want to leave her side either, with the likelihood of the Englishman not surviving the night seemingly high. They'd both long fell asleep on the chairs in the side room, finished cups of tea laid out on the table in the corner. The same table found itself graced with Erin's presence but unlike her parents, she did not find herself in any shape to sleep. She still sobbed into her denim jacket, the one that matched James's, and in her mind, she thought holding it meant she was holding him too.

But it was death that had its grasp on James, not Erin.

She stood up and paced for what felt like the hundredth time that night. They'd made her glasses of water, but she kept spilling them, her hands shaking and unable to bring the glass to her mouth. Eventually Gerry took the bull by the horns and helped her, holding the glass and gently pouring the water into Erin's mouth. The room was warm but as Erin looked out of the window, she could see the frost settling on the grass in a small garden, indicating that outside was a different matter. People would be walking by, either on their way in from the car park or back out to it, but very few were still about at that time of night. Taxi's stopped and picked up those without cars, mostly the drunks sporting new bandages, and ferried them off back to the comfort of their own homes. A couple went past too, on their way out of the hospital and Erin watched as in between them, they held the hands of their young son whose thumb was in plaster. She felt a sudden rush of jealousy towards them, that a clearly happy couple could just walk away into the night with their child. That should be her and James, with a son of their own, happily returning home after a scary but not fatal wee incident. Instead, it would never be them because he would die in the hospital that night and a part of her would die with him.

Her sobs were no longer audible, just unending tears that ran off her face and splashed onto the windowsill.

The hum of the cars drifted in through the windows, the accompanying melody to the distant conversations and footsteps.

That was the rhythm of the night. The worst night of Erin Quinn's life.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: The Heart of a Lion 3rd March 1996

At some point during the torturous night, Erin drifted off to sleep at the table, slouched down with her head buried into her shoulder. It wasn't comfortable, her neck would be killing her when she woke up, but it was nothing in comparison to what James's body must have felt. Deirdre had already been by once, but finding them all so peacefully sleeping, she decided to delay the news for an hour. After their fraught rush to get over to him and then not being able to see the lad, she knew from experience how exhausted they would be, their minds having gone into overdrive for hours.

She returned and opened the door to the room, the noise rousing all three occupants from their various slumbers. Despite all being fast asleep a second earlier, they were immediately wide awake and searching her expressions for any sign of James's condition. Deidre's eyes carried dark bags underneath, the stress and strain of her own exhaustion from the night showing. Barring an hour or so where she waited for him in surgery, falling asleep on a chair with her gown still carrying his blood, Deirdre had been awake and tending to him. She'd changed now, into some spare clothes she kept in her work locker, casual and not like she would be if she were working.

"Is he?" Gerry, the only one capable of plucking up the courage, asked.

"He's alive. By some miracle of the Lord, he's alive…".

With that, Deirdre finally let go of her emotions and tears poured out of her. She sat down at the spare seat in front of Mary and Gerry and cried her heart out for her nephew. Mary's hands soon came around hers to comfort her and as thankful as she was for it, it made scant difference to Deirdre. She'd spent the last two years toughening the boy up, being as harsh to him as anyone else would, but she was his mother in all but name and it hurt her as much as it would if it was Michelle lying there.

Erin, who's breath stopped when Deidre entered the room, exhaled loudly and ran into her father's open arms. Gerry had been a rock for them all, standing tall whilst they all crumbled around him. He too was crumbling but he did not allow the emotions to consume him because everything would be far bleaker without a beacon of strength. He could have easily taken himself away to a corner and cried his eyes out for the young fella that one day, he wanted to give his daughter's hand to.

"I… erm…". Deirdre choked out some words, fumbling in her pocket for something. "It's a… erm… list of all his injuries…".

Deirdre cracked apart again, barely getting the end of her sentence away before retreating back into a wailing watery world of pain. The paper sat in her hand for a second as Mary and Erin both looked to Gerry to take it and read it, knowing they could not themselves. Taking a deep breath, he took the paper from Deirdre's hand and unfurled it, eyes immediately widening at what was listed. How was James alive…

Taking his time, Gerry carefully read them out.

Broken nose…

Orbital fractures to both eyes…

Severe bruising to the jaw…

Badly cut lip…

Fracture of the left Ulna…

Broken left Radius…

Six broken ribs…

Fracture of the right Tibia…

Fracture of the right Ulna…

Puncture wound of the right side; glass removed during surgery…

Blood clot in the lungs…

The list was already harrowing enough, and every word ripped into all of them in the room. Gerry felt like a butcher, feeling every word carving its way through the consciences of those he cared for around him. But it was the final injury that, even with all of his strength, he couldn't find the words to put it to them. He had to though.

"Too early to tell but high potential for brain damage… placed onto life support".

The whimper that neither parent wished for Erin to ever produce again reared its ugly head and Mary and Deirdre gave off cries akin to those of wounded animals too. The first tear dropped from Gerry's eye and nestled right on the words he'd read out to them moments before. Life support was the last chance saloon for a human being and James had ordered his whisky, drank it and was heading for the exit door.

"They… they've said…" Deirdre tried to speak but was losing to herself and a look at Erin, the beautiful young Erin melting in her mother's arms, only made it worse.

"They've said to call a priest".

That was the damning statement that throughout the ages, signified imminent death. In the last chance saloon… waiting for his last rites… everything about James's condition spoke of life coming to an end. The doctors were writing him off, not through cruelty or a lack of belief in the lad, but from scientific fact and experience. As Deirdre had told them the moment they walked into the room, the good Lord extended a miracle to the wee English fella to allow him to live through the night. They couldn't count on him to do so again.

"I… I know". Deirdre started up for a second time. "I know there was the letter an'… ye know… but I've got to ring Kathy… I can't not…".

"I know". Mary squeezed her hand. "He is her wain after all".

The dejection in Mary's voice hid the anger that she felt towards Kathy Maguire. Forgiveness was a distant thought; the way Kathy used James whenever it suited her own ambitions and desires was despicable. But the fact remained that she was his birth mother, it wasn't anything they could change, even if Deirdre and Mary had done more to mother him in two years than Kathy managed in the previous fifteen or so. She had to know.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Joe slept poorly that night. Returning home with Orla, who slept in with her mother like a child over half of her age would, he lay in bed thinking about the poor Englishman. He'd not gotten close enough to see the wounds that were inflicted on him but understanding enough from Martin's explanation of how they found him and Erin's reaction to seeing him, he knew they were horrific. The tremendous amount of guilt that Joe felt would remain unspoken; he couldn't bring himself to voice the ghosts of his own past. He'd never really been a full resistance member, but he'd protested enough in his younger days, despite his young family to look out for. That guilt didn't even take into account the night he assaulted a cop who'd pulled him over, punching the young fella in the face and knocking him clean out. They'd never identified Joe, the fella never reporting him and therefore the cops never caught up to him and the Joe of 1972 didn't possess the guts to hand himself in. Nearly a quarter of a century later and another young English fella, that wasn't really English at all but for the accent, became a casualty of Irish aggression. That stuck with Joe all night.

When he did wake up around seven that morning, he knew within minutes what he would do. Explaining himself to Orla and Sarah, he also confided in Colm, who'd stayed the night on a spare mattress at Sarah's urgings. Colm would be looking after Baby Anna; the baby didn't need to go to the hospital and be scared by it and Colm was happy to help. She'd at least sleep soundly when he began to talk.

They were out to the car by half past and on their way to the hospital. In between telling the others and getting to the car, Joe telephoned the Mallon household and spoke to Martin, who was about to leave the house himself along with Michelle. They'd made the call to Clare to tell her about James when they got back the prior night, the diminutive blonde breaking into sobbing on the other end of the line at the news. Martin would be picking Clare up on the way and they would all be meeting at the entrance before going to find out the latest. They were operating on the basis that no news was good news, but no news may have also been because no one could find the words to say he was dead.

A short while later and they were all together, Michelle and Clare crying when they saw each other but Orla remained defiant. Joe recognised the same spirit in her that he saw from her riding horses and in Gerry the night before. Orla was being the rock for the group where James normally would be, showing a previously hidden level of maturity that none of them knew she held. They walked in together, Michelle leading the way with Orla and Clare, the adults behind them all talking away about what had happened. Stopping at the side room where the others were sat, Joe stepped forward and wrapped the door with his knuckles.

Deirdre opened the door, Joe noting the fresh tears around her eyes and looked into the room to find the same look from Mary. Erin was between her parents, clinging to Gerry and Joe had never seen such distress from his granddaughter. For a brief moment he wondered whether they were too late, and the young Englishman was already gone but Gerry mouthed 'alive' to Joe when he searched for an answer, to the patriarch's relief.

"The wains are here. I think we need to give them some time". Joe addressed them.

Nodding their agreement, Mary and Gerry moved away from Erin who stood up to await her friends, as the adults all filtered out of the room. Michelle, Clare and Orla waited for them to leave before rushing in and immediately forming a huddle, crying and sobbing into each other's shoulders, Orla again being the only one to stand firm. She rubbed Erin's back, trying to sooth her cousin who'd still not regained any of her usual colour.

"Why?" Clare pondered through tears.

"I… I don't know Clare… I don't know". Michelle concluded grimly.

For five minutes they stood and just cried in their huddle but none of them could shake the cold feeling of the missing piece. The jigsaw that completed their friendship group always contained four pieces up until two years prior and though it had taken them a while to realise it, it needed a fifth piece. James was their fifth piece, the final piece but now he wasn't there, and the puzzle lay incomplete, not showing the true picture. A friendship puzzle that Michelle thought she'd destroyed herself from her own actions that Friday and when they pulled away, it was those decisions she addressed first.

"I… I fucked up…". She started, to the inquisitive looks of the others. "… Danny… he stood me up. He was never in love with me… it was all some sort of… pr-prank".

Michelle's stuttering changed the faces of all them and putting her own grief to one side for a moment, Erin was the one to throw her arms around her and comfort her.

"I'm sorry Michelle". She said as she pulled away.

"No, it's me who has to apologise. You's all told me he was trouble and I… I didn't listen because I thought I was in love. Proper. Not just me and me big ol' mouth again. And Erin, I accused ye of all that and I…".

"Michelle…".

"No Erin no, don't be nice to me". She sniffed. "I berated ye for what happened with John-Paul and I fell into the same fuckin' trap. Ye should all be tellin' me to feck off…".

"No! Our friendship…". It was Clare who intervened, taking all of their hands into hers. "… it's stronger than that. A few stupid boys or… girls… aren't going to affect us. This… This is stronger!"

It was at those words that they were thrown back together in a hug and tears flowed once more, Orla too this time, but the tears created a forge of fire as they fell to the ground. The flames of their friendship would burn brighter than any Danny Scanlon or Moira O'Keefe could.

Deirdre led the others to another room down the hallway, taking them past a couple of empty beds in the emergency area. James was no longer on that floor, having been moved into the intensive care unit on the floor above. That was the first thing Deirdre explained to them, having regained some of her composure with Martin back by her side.

"Can we see him?" Gerry asked.

"Aye we can, and I think we should before the wains". She replied.

"I just can't believe it". Sarah sniffled the thought.

"Did ye see anyone?" Joe put the question across to Deirdre and Martin.

"No, nothing". Martin sighed. "I'm not hopeful of anything".

In any other country, with any other attack on someone, there might be hope of finding a witness or someone who heard something. But in Derry, with an Englishman being attacked, ears wouldn't hear like if it was an Irishman or woman. There would be no witnesses if even there were witnesses.

"The cops are coming to interview me, Martin and Michelle shortly". Deirdre informed them. "Given the circumstances they've… waited to give us time".

"They'll do nothin'!" Joe grumbled.

"I know". Deirdre huffed. "But we have to follow the process Joe and ye never know…".

"Some fucking cowardly bastard or bastards did this. Leaving a fella like that!"

"Easy da". Mary put a hand on Joe's shoulder.

Joe simmered down and they all stood there for a moment, a shared sense of pain flowing a remorseless current through them. In all likelihood they knew they would never find out who'd done this to him unless he could wake up and tell them. Gerry filled Joe, Sarah and Martin in with the details of his injuries, reading them out from the slip of paper he'd kept. Gerry would never forget the way Joe winced after every injury was read out, as if the injuries were being inflicted upon him at the same time. The potential for brain damage was the real game changer though. James may never wake up the same lad again and any hope of finding out who the attackers were would be lost. He might not remember them; amnesia wasn't unheard of in people attacked so brutally and it would break them more if that were the case. None of them wanted to imagine the scene of him waking and not knowing who Erin was.

Deirdre went off to call Kathy, going to the staff office to make the call to her sister and break the news of the attack on James. A man walked by with a couple of newspapers in his hand and Joe stopped him to buy one off him, looking for a particular story on the back pages to try and get the spirits up before they went to see the Englishman.

"Here". He placed it down on a table. "Look".

HISTORY AT ENNISKILLEN: MCCOOL BEATS THE BOYS ON DEBUT

A little piece of history for one of our own yesterday as Orla McCool, 16, of Our Lady Immaculate College, stunned the amateur horse racing scene with her win on the 250-1 shot The Wee English Fella in the opening race at Enniskillen.

Riding in her first race as a jockey, McCool showed nerves of steel on the young horse, coming back from adversity early in the race to win by a distance. Settling at the back early on, it was somewhere along the back straight that the horse lost ground and coming out from the notoriously difficult trees section of the course, The Wee English Fella was at least forty lengths behind. But drama ensued at the first fence on the final circuit as half of the field were wiped out by the fall of Buncrana Steel, leaving McCool and her mount fifth and last of those still going. Along the back straight, the race favourite, Lost in Rico, took the lead and The Wee English Fella still had twenty five lengths to find. It wasn't to be for the favourite though as he came down with four fences remaining, leaving McCool the task of steering her mount round as the other remaining runners faded.

The course commentator couldn't quite believe it and was out of pocket by the end of the day too, having promised the hundreds of people in the crowd a free drink should she make it over the first. McCool, of no distinguished racing background, was delighted.

"That was cracker!" She told me enthusiastically. "I've never had so much fun in my life and I've got friends and family here to see it too!"

When I asked about what had happened on the first circuit, she brushed it off, telling me, "It doesn't matter because in the end I won the race, and my horse is safe and sound, so he is".

The horse, named after co-owner James Maguire, is trained by Frank Flanagan and Flanagan indicated after the race that both horse and rider were stars of the future, adding that they are set to become regular fixtures of the hunt scene in the weeks to come.

Deirdre returned as they all finished reading the newspaper, quickly running her eye over it and basking in the same joy that they all did.

"I've rang Kathy". She announced. "She'll be here tomorrow".

"Can we see him now?" Joe enquired with her.

"Aye".

"What about the wains?" Mary raised the point. "Who's going to be with them?"

"I called Sister Michael and Robert Flanagan earlier before I came to see you's. I've just seen them in the corridor and sent them to the wains".

Contented with Deirdre's quick thinking, the adults left the room they were in and went up the stairs opposite, the intensive care unit being above them and along to the left. They were all thinking about the newspaper and that while Sunday's paper brought the delightful news of Orla's victory, Monday's would inevitably contain the morbidity of James's attack.

The girls, still in their huddle, looked up when the door handle pushed down, and Sister Michael walked into the room. Accompanying her was Mr Flanagan, back to being a teacher and not their family friend Robert as he was the day before.

"Sister". The girls all addressed her.

"Hello Girls. Can we all sit down?"

They complied with her request, each finding a seat and sitting around the table where Mary and Gerry's finished cups of tea still resided. Sister Michael and Mr Flanagan sat on the side of the door where Deirdre had sat earlier, whilst the others took up position where Erin had been with her parents.

"Michelle's mother telephoned both of us to tell us of what's happened". Sister Michael began, taking note of the girls all sat in a line holding hands. "We are sickened by it. I don't think I've ever been so disgusted about anything in my life".

The girls all listened intently, shocked at the genuine side of Sister Michael that was so very rarely seen. Mr Flanagan they knew to be sincere and it was he that spoke next.

"We've spoken briefly and we are prepared to give you girls as much time as you need when it comes to school. But that's secondary, we've come here today to support ye girls".

Their faces lit up, a mix of surprise and gratitude at the sentiments. They never expected anyone from outside of the family to come and support them, not least on a Sunday morning when people would normally have better things to do. But there they were, two authority figures that provided stability, quelling the instability of the last twelve or so hours.

"I'm sorry ye've had to…". Erin apologised to them solemnly. "I'm sorry to take ye from church on a Sunday Sister Michael…".

"Erin…". Sister Michael leant forward, grabbing her hand. "…The church can spare me for the morning so it can. I am the Lord's servant and in his wisdom, he's placed me here by your side".

Those words struck a happy chord with Erin and the tears of joy from them ran down her face as she squeezed the Sister's hand.

"I… I think…" Erin sniffled into a sentence. "I think James would want us to carry on and come to school Sister. As long as yer all happy to?"

She posed the question to the other three girls, but the answer was already known to Erin without having to ask. There was never a question needed if she was happy to. They all agreed too; James would be devasted to wake up and find their lives disrupted by him.

"Together?" Michelle said.

"Aye". Clare smiled.

"Absolutely!" Orla, defiant as ever, agreed.

"Are ye sure girls?" Mr Flanagan stopped them. "We don't expect ye to".

"Erin's right sir". Michelle stated. "He'd be raging if we stopped everything for him, so he would. As long as we stick together, nothing will break us because we have each other".

There was a reason why Sister Michael held the girls in higher regard than any other group under her control at Our Lady Immaculate. The reason lay in Michelle's sentiment. Never in her life had she come across a group so determined and defiant, with such a bond between them. She never admonished them for defying her ruling on the magazine, publishing the controversial story amid Jenny's protests. She enjoyed them doing it, challenging her and showing the fire within. And with Jenny, and Aisling, she'd seen the other side to them, the acceptance of their past mistakes and willingness to change their outlook on people. It took a brave group to admit their faults and address them in the manner they had.

So that's why a couple of minutes later when Erin asked her and Mr Flanagan to go with them to see James, she had no qualms about doing so. Walking up the stairs she found the time to congratulate Orla too, informed by Mr Flanagan of her victory, she was proud of the often-unguided student who'd been steered on the right path and consequently steered herself to a victory. Standing in the private room in the intensive care unit, monitors beeping and blaring away, it took a lot for the Sister herself not to cry. He was not the shy boy that first stalked the corridors of the school in need of the toilet or the more confident, loved-up young man that she'd seen since the turn of the year. He was a mess of tubes and wires, bandages and plaster. The girls were all crying and shaking again on seeing him, but she couldn't blame them. Mr Flanagan himself swallowed hard to avoid choking up. He'd seen the lad shouting and cheering for Orla just under twenty-four hours earlier and now he appeared to be on his deathbed. It was heart-breaking.

"My English Rose…". Erin sniffed back the tears, stroking his hair and not touching any other part of him out of the fear of causing more pain. "… we just forgot he was amongst thorns…".

"Not thorns". Sister Michael spoke up from across the room. "No Erin… Derry was the only thorn he was amongst, and it is full of pricks".

Under any other circumstances they would laugh at the comment, but Erin latched onto the poetic undertone to her words. Sister Michael was wiser than any of them could dream to be and her statement was true. Derry was the great big thorn around the beautiful rose, but the rose was yet to step right on the heart of the thorn, so it despatched it's pricks to do the bidding instead. And its sharpest pricks did the most damage, the rose now laying trampled and flattened.

But whilst he might have been the rose, he was something else too.

His blood may have been Irish, but his accent and his manners were English.

He had one thing from England that Ireland couldn't muster.

The heart of a lion. The English Lion.

And though they couldn't hear it beneath the noise of the machines, the lion still roared.

"Boys!" Mrs Scanlon shouted up the stairs.

"Yes Ma". Her youngest Brian replied.

"Are ye getting out of bed today or what!"

"Soon ma!" He called back.

It was nearly midday and she still hadn't managed to rouse two of her three sons. Antony was already out and about, off to meet up with his Maria no doubt, but Danny and Brian were both being incredibly lazy. It was a regular theme on Sunday's. The boys didn't go to church and she didn't force them, but they didn't do anything else either which irritated her greatly.

Whilst Brian might not have moved, Danny joined his mother downstairs a minute later, fully dressed and picking up his shoes from where he'd left them.

"Off out are ya Danny?"

"Aye ma. A certain someone is expecting me". He grinned, rather more mischievously than she liked.

"Don't do that!" She rebuked in return.

"Ach sorry Mammy". He smiled, knowing what she meant.

"Ye know that Mallon girl turned up here last night. Proper dressed up she was…".

Danny froze for a second, thanking the Lord that his luck held, and his mother had her back turned so she couldn't see the expression on his face.

"And?"

"I let her down gently. I'm still not happy about this Danny. No matter what happened at school with her and…".

"It was for the greater good Ma". He interrupted.

"Well, I don't agree. And yer father would say the same if he were here!"

"It's done ma ok. I'm moving on".

"And what about the wee lass Michelle hmm?"

"I'm sure she'll forget me in time…". He mumbled.

"What was that?" Mrs Scanlon didn't quite catch what he was saying.

"I said I've got to go now ma".

With that, Danny exited the house, slamming the front door shut behind him. She could hear Brian finally getting out of bed upstairs too and got the orange juice out, his preferred drink over any hot one. It was about to strike midday, so she turned up the radio, which had played quietly throughout her conversation with Danny. The midday news bulletin would be on and she'd missed the one at eleven as she was hanging the washing out.

Sickening violence returned to the streets of Derry last night. A young Englishman, James Maguire, is fighting for his life in hospital after an unprovoked assault. Details are still filtering through and whilst no official statement has been given by the Police, it appears he was attacked in an alleyway a few streets from his home. Further updates will follow throughout the day and we will soon have a reporter on site at the Altnagelvin to give bring us up to speed with the latest…

Mrs Scanlon was one of a number of people hearing that news.

But only one would have a smile on his face.

A certain man, of a certain cloth, beamed from ear to ear.

They had delivered.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Mother

When the priest arrived to read the last rites to James, Erin's poor heart couldn't take it. Seeing the collar on the holy man sparked a further barrage of tears and only Orla and Gerry holding an arm of hers each could keep her standing. Hearing the words from the priest put most of them in tears. He was a kind man and after he'd finished, he remarked to them not to lose hope, as he could tell from just how many people were present, that the young man was cherished, and God may smile upon him as they all did. The man had a fair point too.

Erin, Michelle, Clare, Orla, Mary, Gerry, Joe, Sarah, Deirdre, Martin, Sister Michael and Mr Flanagan…

Twelve. Twelve of them there. And there were others not present too that only increased that number.

At half past one that afternoon, Erin finally went home. She needed to go home, to shower and get away for a while. Though she was reluctant to leave James's side, it was also doing nothing to mend her heart to continually look at him in that state. Mary and Gerry returned with her too, leaving Joe, Sarah and Orla to stay with the Englishman until their return. Deirdre returned home to the Mallon house, falling into bed and sleeping straight away in her exhaustion. Michelle went home with her and Martin too, Clare going back to the Mallon house where the two kids stayed together and watched the tv, steering clear of the news to avoid any more reminders of what had happened. Michelle herself had already been through her memories with the cops after seeing James, giving all the detail she could about how they'd found him. If anything, it was worse reciting it to them.

It was around four o'clock when Erin found herself at the dinner table, her mother asleep upstairs next to baby Anna, having relieved Colm of his duties and sent him home. Gerry made them both something to eat, Erin not having eaten anything more than a dry biscuit since the night before. She simply stared at the plate. It wasn't the usual Sunday dinner, that was out of the question, but he'd done some bacon and sausages, along with three pieces of toast. Making the same for his own sustenance, he tucked in to eat it, but found himself unable to when he realised Erin was yet to touch hers.

"Love… ye need to eat". Gerry put his knife and fork back down, leaning in to try and get her attention.

"I can't daddy…". Her voice cracked, eyes unmoved from the plate.

"Erin, you h-".

"What if he dies daddy? I don't know if I can live without him…".

Erin broke down into a fit of tears, putting her hands up to cover her eyes. Sighing, Gerry clasped his own hands together. It was a thought that rattled around in his head the moment they were forced to drag her from the room as she was kicking and screaming. He'd been strong for them all but if James was to die in the coming hours, what was he supposed to do to comfort Erin? Their love for each, so potent and powerful, would be smashed apart and the pieces would be left strewn across their lives. They would have to go on, no matter how rocky the road would be, there would be life after James. A worse life, a living hell for his daughter, but it would still be life and it would still have to be lived.

Sighing again, he started the conversation he never thought he would have with her and never wanted to have…

"Erin, life…". He stopped, taking a deep breath again. "…life will always continue…".

"How can you say that!" She cried, lifting her hands away from her face.

"I know it hurts Erin but… if God decides that its James's time th-".

"IT'S NOT GOD'S CHOICE!" Erin shouted at him.

Gerry could only sigh again. The words were hurting him as much as they hurt Erin, but the conversation had to be held, she needed to be prepared.

"Okay". He said softly. "Then look at it like this, if he does pull through, what good will it be when he wakes up to find you all skin and bones, not eating proper".

"I…".

"Ye can't help him if ye make yerself ill Erin. You might be hurting inside, yer stomach might be telling ye not to but ye have to eat love. If not for yerself then for James".

"But I just…". She struggled.

"I'm having to force myself too…". He stopped putting his hand on Erin's. "…James is like the son we never had… that's how I see him and he's the perfect lad for ye love. I want nothing more than to see him by yer side, my grandchildren at yer feet. But… we have to face up to that not happening, as hard as it is".

Erin wanted to respond to him but found herself unable. At seeing her floundering, Gerry got up from his seat and almost ran around the table to cuddle her. Taking the seat next to her, he took her fully into his arms like she was a baby again, rocking her as she cried into his shoulder. Whilst she lay there and cried, he used his left hand, picking up the fork to scrappily cut away at the sausage. After a short battle with it, he picked up the first piece and presented it in front of Erin's mouth. If she wouldn't eat like a grown up, then he would feed her like he'd done for her years before and in a similar way to the water the night before. Father and daughter sat there as he fed her and though she couldn't voice the words, Erin felt just a little bit better that he'd done so.

Erin and her parents returned to the hospital at six o'clock. Not wishing to disturb Colm again, Mary took Anna to the Mallon house, Martin offering to look after her until Joe collected her on his return trip from the hospital. Michelle and Clare also helped with Anna, the pair of them recognising that Erin would want to be alone with James for a while and they respected that. If anything changed, they'd be by there in a flash anyway.

Arriving on the intensive care ward, they raced around to see him, finding Joe and Sarah outside his private room. Orla came out a moment later just as they reached the room.

"He's still fightin'". Joe informed them. "But no change".

"Thank ye again Joe". Gerry addressed his father in-law.

"That's alright Gerry". A rare tender moment was shared between the two. "The doctors have been coming by and checkin' on him, but they've said nothing".

Mary advised Joe about picking up Anna and they spoke as a family for another couple of minutes. Erin was itching to go in and see him, but they held her back, wanting to all go in together rather than for her to suffer alone. They learned from Joe that the priest returned too, shocked to see James still alive and not having passed like it was expected he would. Not many came back from having the last rites read out to them, yet the wee English fella wasn't going down easily, and the priest reiterated his message of hope. Finally giving in to Erin's urgings, they said goodbye to Joe, Sarah and Orla, who all left to retrieve Anna from the Mallon house.

Erin ran into the room, immediately re-occupying the position she'd left hours earlier, stroking the strands of his curls. Mary and Gerry held hands on the other side of the bed, looking down at the prone figure of the Englishman, tubes and wires still sticking out from every angle. It was strange to them because in many ways he looked at his most peaceful but the wounds across his face told a different story. The silent tears fell from their daughter again as she fought a battle in her own head, trying to tell herself that he would be given the miracle by God, but it was just too bleak looking at him beneath her, battered and broken.

"I…I… I want…" She stuttered. "I want to… stay… tonight".

"Sorry love?" Mary replied.

"Tonight… every night… until my wee English fella is better".

"Love…". Mary was cracking but just about held it together. "… ye can't… it's a hospital".

"I'm not leaving him. I let him go last night and look what happened…".

Erin whimpered and her parents shared a look. They didn't want to say no but they had very little choice. She could visit him in the day, before and after school, but she wouldn't be allowed to stay overnight. They couldn't release a bed for her to sleep on, they were needed for patients, people that required them because of their own illness or injury. A broken heart wasn't on the list.

"Love…". Mary addressed her again.

"No Mammy". She broke off her stare at James and turned to her mother. "I won't sleep in my bed again until he's in it with me".

"Wh-".

"Not now love". Gerry stopped Mary. "Let me go and speak to the staff, see if they can make a wee exception".

Smiling at her father, Erin sat down on the seat next to the Englishman's bed and put her head in her hands and sobbed again. Mary was soon crouching in front of her, holding her daughter tightly and not wanting to let go. Erin didn't think she had any tears left; she'd been crying almost constantly for twenty-four hours and yet still they fell.

Gerry returned ten minutes later with a smile on his face and two nurses carrying in a mattress, with a duvet in his hands too. Mary's eyes widened at him, but Gerry held her off until the staff finished bringing the rest of the things in, some additional blankets for Erin and even a hot water bottle should she want it. Mother and daughter were in disbelief at how in the space of a few minutes, Gerry managed to not only convince them to let her stay overnight but provided the resources for her to do so. Once the staff departed though, Mary had free reign to question him.

"We can't Gerry!" Mary whispered.

"Yes we can love". He put his hands over hers. "Do ye really think Erin will sleep tonight if she's not here?"

"Gerry…".

"No Mary. She won't".

Gerry pulled his wife into a hug and looked over her shoulder to see Erin beaming back in appreciation, the smile he liked to see from his daughter. He'd missed that smile over the last few hours and was glad to have it back. They sat with her until half past eight that night, giving her a final chance to change her mind, but Erin stood her ground. The hospital staff made a promise to look after her in their absence, so the parents left reluctant but ultimately satisfied that she would be safe. She opted to sleep in her clothes that night, still wrapped up in the denim jacket that reminded her of him and him having his arms around her. The nurses made her cups of tea and some toast after Mary and Gerry departed, a kind gesture which she thanked them for. Summoning up as much strength as she could, she finished both the tea and the toast, feeling far better for it afterwards. Lights went out at around ten o'clock and she stood by his side, pressing a chaste kiss to his curls before settling down on the makeshift bed propped up on the floor.

"I love you". She whispered into the now dark room.

Lying down on the mattress, she settled in and was soon asleep, her dreams turning to happier times for the two of them.

Erin woke around six o'clock the following morning. Instead of waking to the sounds of birds in the trees outside, it was the unending rhythm of the machines that ended her slumber. It took her a couple of minutes to register her surroundings, sleeping heavily she'd forgotten where she was, and the unfamiliarity of her settings set in motion a few brief moments of confusion. But on hearing the machines still going, she let out a deep breath.

James was still fighting

She picked herself up out of the mess of duvet and blankets that had kept her warm and was back by his side. He hadn't changed, of course he hadn't, but just seeing the rise and fall of his chest allowed her own heart to continue to beat. Just then, the door opened, and Deirdre appeared.

"Morning Erin love". She smiled.

"M-Morning Deirdre".

"Mary telephoned me when they got in last night". She explained. "I dropped by and Joe was up and gave me all this for ye".

Deirdre held up a bag and inside were Erin's school clothes as well as her own school bag. Of course Granda had done that…

"Thank ye". Erin smiled her appreciation.

"I'll take ye to the staff showers in a few minutes. There's a towel ready for ye, I figured ye might want to freshen up before going to school".

She put the bag down on the table in the corner and walked over to Erin, putting an arm around her nephew's girlfriend and cuddling her. Erin was taken aback by Deirdre's warmth, having often seen her be harsh and cold with both Michelle and James, but couldn't deny her gratitude for it.

"How come ye here so early?" Erin muttered into her shoulder.

"James's ma will be arriving shortly". She felt Erin flinch at her side. "I figured it was best I was here when she turned up".

Erin held similar views to her mother on Kathy Maguire. The pain she'd caused James with her vile letter had long been unforgiveable in Erin's mind and she had no right to walk back into his life. But the circumstances were not as they were in the past. James might be dying, and she understood that a mother couldn't just standby whilst her son slipped away. She had to be there. She couldn't deny Deirdre's logic in wanting to be there either; if anyone should confront but still comfort her then it had to be Deirdre.

"Martin's gone to pick her up from the airport". She clarified.

"She must be devasted". Erin reasoned.

"She didn't give anything away on the phone, but our Kathy's always been like that".

They spoke about James's mother for another couple of minutes, Erin kissing his hair again, then departing for the staff shower. She was glad of it, feeling dirty sleeping in her clothes and only having a quick wash during the brief time she'd been at home the day before. By seven, she was dressed and ready for school, meeting up with Deirdre again by James's side. Her fella's aunt smiled at the fresher Erin when she returned, looking more like the normal Erin Quinn she'd see than the broken girl that she truly was inside.

"I think it's time for ye to go". Deirdre said to her.

"Aye. But I need to say bye to my prince first".

Deirdre couldn't help but laugh slightly at the description of James and neither could Erin. For the first time she pushed away the tears when they threatened her, instead turning to happier thoughts and laughter. Kissing the same spot in his hair again, she stayed and stared for only a few seconds more. Sighing but finding determination beyond her knowledge, she left his side to go to school and found that, as Gerry had told her, life would have to go on. Deirdre went with her outside and Erin prepared herself for the long walk back to the bus stop to meet the other girls. But Deirdre had been hiding something from her and when they got outside, she found the empty school bus waiting for her.

"Mr Flanagan arranged for a route change to pick ye up here first".

Erin was speechless. Mr Flanagan was going above and beyond for her again. This time she didn't know what to say and was thankful he wasn't there because it would have been embarrassing the way she stood there and gawked at it in silence. Accompanying her to the entrance, the driver came prepared to, having with him a bacon sandwich and a carton of orange juice for Erin. Another detail that Mr Flanagan had no doubt insisted upon, the little things her friends and family were doing to ease her pain flickered the soul back into the shattered heart within her chest.

Boarding the bus and tucking into her breakfast, the driver pulled out of the hospital, on his way over to the first stop on the school run. As he drove out, Martin's car pulled in and Deirdre's glare fell upon it. Her husband parked up and a few seconds later, the sisters were reunited.

Kathy Maguire was back.

The girls were surprised to find Erin already on the bus, Deirdre not even telling Michelle about it, and they all squeezed onto one row in order to be closer to each other. Clare was practically sat on Orla's lap, not that the young McCool minded at all as it allowed her to braid Clare's hair much easier. The other girls, from various age groups, offered their thoughts and prayers to Erin on the bus. It was another sweet gesture, this time from those she didn't know so well, and joyful tears fell from her after a while. The four of them were all holding hands on that row, something that remained the same all the way into the building. They met up with Jenny and Aisling outside the assembly hall and it became a six-girl huddle. The two of them were tearful, fond of the Englishman and feeling the wretchedness of the gaping hole his absence created. At one point, Michelle looked up to notice Moira watching them in the distance, her eyes narrowing at their enemy, but she scurried away. She was a problem for another day, a day when James was out of the woods and they could turn some of their attention elsewhere.

They took up their usual spot for assembly but instead of singing, Jenny and Aisling joined them on their row. Sister Michael suspended the usual run of assembly events as she had something of a far greater importance than a few songs to say.

"Good morning".

"Good morning Sister Michael".

"You will all be aware by now, about the sickening attack that occurred on Saturday night, on our own James Maguire…".

She looked around the room, heads nodding and faces reflecting back sadness. Her eyes stayed focused on Erin for a brief moment, flashing the subtlest of smiles, before returning to her announcement.

"… It goes without saying that the cowardly and despicable act is one which is difficult to come to terms with. James's friends and… partner… have very bravely came into school today to honour what they believe he would want them to do in his absence. I want you all to look to those girls as a reminder of what strength looks like in dark times and what we can achieve when we stand as one and do not seek to force divisions within our lives".

Students all turned to look at the four girls, with Jenny and Aisling's support by their side, and they held their heads high. They refused to cry, even Erin who'd been unable to stop for so long, continued to dig at reserves of mental strength she didn't know existed within her.

"If!" Sister Michael shouted to get their attention again. "If anyone knows anything about this attack, you might think it insignificant when it might not be, then I invite you to come to my office and we will deal with it from there. But I will also give you a very stark warning, girls. If I find out that ANY of you, and I mean ANY of you, have withheld information from either myself or the police, then you will never step foot in this school again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Sister Michael". The students replied in unison.

"Good. Now, we will be lighting candles and saying prayers for James at lunchtime here in the main hall. I would consider it a duty for you all to attend and at least show your respect for those who are praying if you do not wish to yourself. Dismissed".

The students began to fan out and go off to their various lessons, the four girls staying in place to wait for Sister Michael, an instruction she'd given them before the start of the assembly. Jenny and Aisling went to the first lesson without them but were given hugs before going to thank them for their support.

"Girls". Sister Michael walked over and addressed them, Mr Flanagan moving across from his position too. "First of all, how is he?". She looked at Erin.

"No different". She mumbled, battling away with her feelings once more.

"I see". The Sister replied. "And how are all of you?"

"We're coping Sister". Michelle answered.

"Aye". Clare sighed a response too.

"I'm glad to hear it girls. I wanted to tell you that I'll be relaxing some of the normal rules for you girls for the time being. If ye need to leave a lesson because you feel overwhelmed or you just want someone to talk to, then there is no need to ask. Just go. And my door will remain open for the four of you".

"Thank ye Sister". They replied together.

It was yet another olive branch extended to them by their headmistress. Underneath the witty but fiery exterior, there was another side to the Sister they were beginning to understand. The compassionate and peaceful lady that lived under the mask, that was no different to them in her approach. She looked out for those she cared for.

"Thank ye for the bus Mr Flanagan". Erin turned her head to him.

"It was my pleasure Erin". He smiled.

"He's a very resourceful man is Mr Flanagan". The Sister added. "And I'm sure his door will be open for the four of you too".

"Always". He confirmed.

"Thank you as well Sister". Orla spoke up. "For not mentioning the race".

When the Sister found them ahead of the assembly and told them to wait for her afterwards, Orla had made the request for her not to mention the race victory. She didn't want any attention taken away from James, her victory was nothing compared to James's life and she told the Sister just as much. Like Joe, she too was shocked at the previously untapped degree of maturity within Orla and kept her word, not shining the light on the otherwise stunning achievement.

"Not a problem Orla. Now the four of you best get to class. I will see you at break time".

Smiling after their dismissal, Michelle led the girls away out of the hall and down the corridor, rushing off to their first lesson of the day. Sister Michael and Mr Flanagan stood together watching them leave, a sense of admiration and respect brewing within the pair of them.

"Brave girls". Mr Flanagan remarked.

"Aye". Sister Michael agreed. "We just have to hope James carries the same bravery".

Kathy Maguire spent months believing she was correct and cutting off all contact with James was the right thing to do. The letter was written in a hurry, the emotions still high, but she couldn't find it in herself to feel guilty about it either. It took her weeks to find someone to help her with the business and on Christmas Day she found herself working nearly the whole day just on keeping it afloat. Her life only resettled in late January once her employee started and the workload eased. Trade was good in the couple of months since, Kathy using her connections to open the door to various opportunities. James became a distant memory.

But then the phone call came.

The first misgivings about her decision came on the flight, alone on her row, when questions rose from within.

Am I to blame for this? It would never have happened to him if I'd never left him there…

Who would look out for him? Sure he had family and friends but they were nothing compared to a mother's touch…

If I don't want anything to do with him… why am I sat on this flight?

She batted them away on the plane, not wanting to inspect her own feelings so thoroughly and publicly. There was an uncomfortable silence when Martin picked her up. She'd never been keen on him even before she'd first moved away from Derry, Deirdre introducing him to her parents as a lovely fella but Kathy disagreeing, and they rarely spoke at the best of times. He didn't seem to push the conversation either and it stayed like that all the way to the hospital. It was an equally frosty reception with Deirdre too. Words were spoken at least, a simple 'hello' between the pair before Deirdre took her to see James. Nothing more was said on the journey to his bedside, but it was an uncomfortable silence for Kathy this time. She wanted to speak to Deirdre, get the full story about what happened from her, but found herself unable and her sister unwilling.

Her second round of misgivings occurred when saw him.

She didn't need a third round.

Kathy Maguire shattered like a pane of glass struck by a car. She could feel shards of her own heart leave her and scatter across the room, embedding into every chip in the wall and every little gap between cupboards. She'd sank to her knees before she realised it, her wailing filling the whole unit with a glum, melancholic air.

"My… beautiful boy… what have they done to you…".

Deirdre was by her side a second later and the two sisters put behind years of differences and disagreement, arguments and attacks, to embrace the shared pain. The scars of Kathy's letter healed within an instant between the two and it hit Kathy so incredibly hard that she was a failure as a mother. A complete and utter failure.

Staying locked together for a couple of minutes, Deirdre eventually managed to get Kathy up to sit on the chair beside James's bed. She went off to get them a cup of tea each, and on her return moved the table so that it rested between them. A conversation, long overdue, began.

"I've failed him". Kathy started through the sobs.

"Ye here now Kathy, that's what matters". Deirdre put a hand on hers.

"No Deirdre, I can't be forgiven that easily…". She turned her head away. "What have I done?"

The howls of grief fell from Kathy, her usual stiff guard long gone, thrown to the floor amongst the pieces of her heart.

"We all make mistakes Kathy…".

"But not like that!" She cried out. "I told him…I…".

"And what ye did was wrong. But ye have a chance to put that right".

"Do I though Deirdre?" Her head whipped back round to face her sister. "What happens if he… if he…".

Kathy couldn't finish, the raw pain of her own feelings of helplessness and failure rupturing her natural defences. Years of her own selfishness waited on her conscience, ready for the moment to be unleased and the gates were open for it all to pour out. Every night she would leave him at home to fend for himself whilst she went off with a man to a fancy restaurant, and usually the man's bed, arrived so vividly in her mind. The nights his stepdad would be left to look after him, Kathy not caring for what they would get up to or whether James was even happy in his company. The mornings she wouldn't be there to wake him up for school… the Sunday afternoons she'd spend working and ignoring the pleas from the boy to play with him. And now the one time he didn't cry out or ask for anything, his life hung by the thinnest of threads.

"He's strong Kathy!" Deirdre pulled her from her sobs. "He's got the blood of Ireland in his veins, so he has. And he has people to fight for".

"Not me". Kathy commented dejectedly.

"Of course he does! Yer letter hurt him… I won't hide that from ye. But yer his mother Kathy, he'll always love ye, a son does".

She could only pray that her sister was right.

The machines marched on, providing a noisy backdrop, but they were just the quiet backing vocals to a louder song composed of the tears of a frightened, demoralised mother.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Children of the Revolution 4th March 1996

Kathy sat for another half hour, the merciless waves of tears hammering out and down her face until they ceased with a few sniffs. Deirdre stayed with her the whole time, holding her hand and drying her eyes and when the sniffles stopped, she made them another cup of tea. For two more hours they sat and talked, interrupted by the occasional doctor or nurse who came by to check on James. They spoke of their younger days, happier times of playing with friends and being carefree, the starkest of contrasts to the situation they found themselves in.

"I'm sorry to you as well". Kathy suddenly changed the topic back.

"For what?" Deirdre asked.

"The financial burden I've left you with… I've not sent money for…".

"Ye do realise he's yer son don't ye?" Deirdre, almost sniggering, replied.

"What do you mean?"

Kathy looked at her sister as if she were speaking another language.

"James has been making money for himself, so he has".

"He has a job?"

"Not… exactly". Deirdre smiled. "He gives betting tips to Joe McCool and the two of them… well James wins enough to sustain himself ye know".

"Maybe I haven't been such a failure after all…". Kathy's lips edged up into the vague form of a smile.

"Of course ye haven't!" Deirdre reached for her sister's hands again. "They own a horse of their own now as well. It won on Saturday, so it did".

The pieces of Kathy's heart, that were spread around the room, suddenly began to reform and travel back to her body. Hearing of her son's ability to look after himself and make his own way, utilising his best assets, set off the homing beacon of pride in her chest.

"A racehorse?" She checked.

"Aye, a racehorse. One of the girls rode it too".

"Without trying to sound cheesy… that's my boy!"

The sister's laughed merrily at Kathy's statement, for a moment the thought of James fighting for his life a couple of metres away dissolved and just their amusement filled their minds. He was certainly the son of Kathy Maguire alright.

"He's got his girlfriend as well".

"Oh?" The somewhat shocked Kathy stated. "I wasn't sure he was into girls you know Deirdre. I always thought he might be… ye know… not that I have a problem with that!"

"I think everyone did to be honest. Although Mary wasn't that surprised in the end".

"Mary? Mary Quinn?"

"Aye. Gerry wasn't either now when I think of it… but James did say Joe and Sarah thought he was a wee gay fella too".

"I'm sorry. I don't… I don't follow".

"Erin…Mary and Gerry's daughter… she's James's girlfriend".

She remembered the blonde girl from her brief visit to Derry in November, who'd shouted out in the street thinking Kathy was trying to kidnap them when she'd seen Michelle and James. She was a cute little thing from the brief time she'd clapped eyes on her, and it warmed her to know that he'd found love. What scared her was where he'd found it. She'd not missed the angered looks that Mary Quinn sent her way the morning she borrowed her phone. Back then, she couldn't understand why there was so much hostility, even if she had left James behind in Ireland. But knowing their family and knowing where James rested his heart, the mist of the exchange cleared, and she understood. Mary would have taken him in and cared for him, so her anger that morning wasn't from what Kathy had done to him but what she hadn't done for him.

"I stand no hope then…". Kathy sighed.

"With Mary?" Deirdre raised an eyebrow as she sipped her tea. "You'll have to talk to her yerself Kathy, but if ye show the sincerity ye have done with me then I think the two of you's can work it out".

"I… I don't know if I'm ready. And there's…".

"There's what Kathy?"

"I… I left in a hurry and the business…".

Despite everything with James, Kathy still had to think of her livelihood. She could leave her employee to run things for a day or two but a permanent absence with no plan around it… it would ruin her.

"Go back to London this afternoon Kathy".

"What?" She answered incredulously to her sister. "I can't leave him now".

"I'm not going to judge ye for getting yerself in order love. The girls went to school today because they thought he'd want them to go on. The same would apply to you".

It took further persuasion from Deirdre, but Kathy arranged a flight back to London whilst she was still at the hospital. She arranged a taxi too but had concerns about leaving, owing to the vast amounts of press that were gathering outside the hospital. When Erin had left on the school bus earlier that morning, there was only a reporter from the Derry Journal scuttling around, easy enough to avoid. But half the world's press seemed to be at the scene when they took a look from the window of the room. Not wanting to be identified as his mother for the time being, Kathy asked if there was a rear entrance, but Deirdre came up with a better idea, smuggling her out of the hospital dressed in a nurse's uniform. It was an odd but ultimately necessary end to the sister's brief reunion, but with Kathy safely in the taxi and promising to return at the weekend, Deirdre took a sigh of relief, darting back indoors to avoid the press herself.

It was just after two o'clock when Mary and Joe turned up at the hospital. Uncle Colm was looking after little Anna again for them, with Gerry and Sarah both at work. They saw the gaggle of reporters filming their news stories but were able to walk by unrecognised. Derry hadn't opened its mouth too far yet then…

They met Deirdre outside James's room, who was preparing to go back home herself, getting a lift from one of her colleagues who'd finished their shift.

"Where's Kathy?" Mary asked.

"Gone back to London". Deirdre replied.

"Again!". Mary seethed. "That woman has no s-".

"I sent her Mary".

"You did what now?"

"I sent her back…". Deirdre began to explain. "She's got the business to look after and she'd left it in a right state, so he had".

"But he's her wain!" Joe protested.

"Aye Joe but ye know how it is. Even in the best-case scenario, he won't be wakin' for another week at least. She's coming back at the weekend".

"So she saw him then?" Mary questioned

"Aye. She...". Deidre stopped to wipe a lone tear from her eye. "… she was proper broken like. I've never seen our Kathy cry like that in… years".

The shield Mary built to protect herself from any of Kathy's usual malice was being breached by this sudden turn in character. She still had a lot to say about the letter, but Deirdre's sincere retelling of the event would be no lie, she was not a spiteful woman and they'd been friends long enough to know when the other was being serious. Perhaps there is good in Kathy after all…

"What about James?" Joe spoke up for the second time.

"I spoke to the doctor twenty minutes ago. They're sending him for scans on his brain in the next hour, to try and determine what the damage might be. He's not getting any worse at least…".

"Hope then". He huffed slightly in return.

"Aye Joe, that… well… all we can do is hope".

Deirdre found herself wiping away at further tears, Mary rubbing her arm in a gesture of friendship and care that she adored.

"I told her about James and yer Erin. She was worried that ye wou-".

"Kathy has done nothing good for that boy Deirdre". Mary stopped her. "But if she's serious about making amends then I'll have to accept that".

Mary and Joe said their goodbyes to Deirdre, who was able to dodge the press outside herself by leaving via the staff car park. It would be well known by now that James lived with her and she wasn't ready to face the media vultures yet. There was a television in the room that James was being kept in and whilst he was taken for scans of his brain, they turned it on and soon discovered the source of some of the press interest. James was being spoken about by the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, John Major, whilst he was in Hong Kong.

"Why the hell is Major talking about James!" Joe was furious.

"You know how it is da, now this has happened they'll use him as justification for the soldiers, so they will".

"And where were the soldiers Saturday night then? Hmm?"

"I know Da!" Mary snapped. "I'm not saying I agree with it. That's just the way it is".

Joe turned the tv up to hear the PM.

The events of the last forty-eight hours in Northern Ireland are disturbing and though I am sure that the Royal Ulster Constabulary will conduct a thorough investigation, it is a concern that an unprovoked attack such as this has taken place in Derry.

"What is that prick doing!" Joe shouted again. "It's not up to him to make a comment like that!"

"Easy Da!" Mary cautioned.

Joe continued to grumble about the PM bringing up the incident with James for another ten minutes, Mary occasionally interjecting with her own thoughts. She could see both sides of the argument. A comment like the one he'd made to the press wasn't necessary and James was now being converted into a political weapon. But she knew as well as the PM did that the attack on him was undermining the overall effort for peace. England wasn't looking for trouble when it came to James being in Derry, it was an act of Irish aggression that damaged the want for peace.

Actions spoke louder than words.

"O'Neill, Derry Journal".

"Hello".

The voice on the other end of the phone was distorted, an attempt to hide the true identity of the caller.

"Who is this?"

"There will be four girls getting off a school bus outside the Altnagelvin in the next hour. They have answers about James Maguire".

"Answers?". O'Neill asked.

"Small blonde, Clare Devlin. Tall, probably eating sweets, Orla McCool. Dark haired, Michelle Mallon, his cousin. And the other blonde, Erin Quinn, James Maguire's girlfriend".

"And who is this?... hello?... hello?"

The phone went dead on O'Neill, but he was soon getting the word out to the reporter on the ground about the four girls…

The girls toughed it through the day at school. The lunchtime vigil for James was touching, almost everyone at the school lighting a candle and praying for the wee English fella. They never saw Moira O'Keefe or her couple of friends, but they didn't expect it with her strong hatred of James. To their credit, none of them had to leave any of the lessons they were in and they all tried their best in each one. The learning became a distraction tool, especially for Erin, who could lose herself in the world of study to combat the constant thoughts of her boyfriend's suffering.

Mr Flanagan took their French lesson again and towards the end of it he went to the back of the room and got the four together. He informed them that he'd arranged for the bus driver to take them straight to the hospital at the end of the bus run so that they could see James. Another brilliant act from their History teacher which they thanked him for. He'd set the rest of the class homework, but he'd been hesitant to give the girls the same work. Instead, he gave them a choice. If they didn't wish to complete, then there would be no detention at the end of it or they could work on it as a team and hand in one piece between the four of them. They took option two, Erin in fact insisting on it as another welcome distraction whilst they battled on without James by their side. He was the best at French of all of them and they wanted to do him justice by completing the homework to the best standard they could without his input.

Walking out of school at the end of the day, they walked by Moira and her group, Michelle flipping Moira the bird and receiving a smirk in return. Clare opted to scowl at the girl too, something which surprised the others. Clare wasn't usually one for confrontation.

"Aye we'll be there soon". Michelle said when they were on the bus, the hospital in the distance.

"We did well today". Clare remarked. "See girls, look what we can achieve when we are together".

"There's still something I don't understand". Orla piped up.

Not this again. For all the good he'd done for them, Mr Flanagan using the expression 'Calling a spade, a spade', was one of his less impressive moments.

"A spade is a spade, why does he need to go on about it?"

"It's a figure of speech Orla". Erin replied.

"I get that but why a spade. I like spades".

"Ye like everything Orla". Michelle commented.

"Ach not everything Michelle". She countered. "I don't like the Spanish".

"What!?" The seemingly offended Clare responded.

"They see hola when they want to say hello. Well, it sounds like Orla, so it does, and they never asked me if I was ok with it, did they?"

The usual round of huffs and puffs ensued from Orla's left field comments, but for the girls, it was a slither of normality that they were able to cling to. The only part of the conversation missing was James's usual sensible solution or practical comment on the matter.

The bus pulled into the hospital and in seconds they were aware of the press. Erin remembered the one reporter she'd manage to avoid that morning, but now there were a sea of cameras and microphones and they were all around the bus in an instant.

"What the fuck!" Michelle shouted as she peered out the window.

"What are they doing!?" Clare fretted.

"Fuckin' journo's, must know who we fuckin' are!"

"They might be here for Orla and her race Michelle". Erin tamely suggested.

"No chance". She replied. "No offence to Orla, but I doubt there'd be fuckin' Germans and shit here".

Michelle's knowledge of other countries had proven poor before and it wasn't Germans but French reporters who she pointed out. A reporter from Le Monde was at the side of the bus along with camera crews and reporters from France 24 and France 2. There were Spanish… Italian… Japanese… American… most of the countries that they could think of now seemed to have a representative there. There were of course reporters and crews from the all the major English channels and the same Derry Journal reporter Erin avoided before too. A few cops were about, trying to keep the masses of press away from the bus and they succeeded for a few moments, allowing the girls to alight from the bus.

Then the journalistic assault began.

What happened to James Maguire?

Are you responsible for his attack?

Miss Devlin… Miss Devlin!

Miss Mallon, do you have anything to say to whoever carried out this attack on your cousin?

Miss McCool, what do you know about the attack?

Miss Quinn, did you do this to him?

Erin was frozen in the sea of cameras, Michelle and Orla trying to force her forward, but the tears were flowing, and the legs were not complying. The cops were too few and far between to hold them back and as soon as she stopped there were cameras in her face, and she didn't know what to do. Michelle swatted a couple away, but they were relentless in the bombardment of questions and pictures. They needed a way out and fast.

But allies were never too far away for the girls.

Frankie Flanagan dispatched Paul down to the hospital that afternoon to show their support for the English lad who, in the short time they'd known him, they had both taken a shine too. He'd arrived behind the school bus and the moment he'd found a spot and paid his parking, he was sprinting over to the girls. One cameraman from England got in far too close and a second later was shoved backwards to the floor by Paul. In the next second his jacket was off and over Erin's head and the girls all looked round to see him pushing them forward.

"Paul!" Orla shouted.

"I've got ye girls, come on".

He drove them on through and into the hospital, the cops forming a line behind them, a few feet away from the main doors, to prevent any journalists getting in. The one thing they didn't prevent however, was Joe striding out into the gap between the cops and the doors.

"OIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII". He roared.

The press all turned their attentions and cameras on Joe, the cops dispersing and allowing them right up into his face. Perhaps the cops knew how bad a plan that was and thought they'd watch and laugh, especially at one reporter and her cameraman, who's camera rested an inch or so from Joe's nose.

"You better put that down boy… or you know where it's goin'".

The reporter and her cameraman were from the Netherlands, but they understood Joe well enough to back right off and concede their position. It was better than the alternative. The Derry journal reporter, who'd been the first there, was the one Joe looked for and when he found her, he made it very clear that she would be the only one he would talk to.

"The rest of you's, I ain't answering nothin' ye have to ask".

Joe's reputation amongst the press might not have been the same as it was amongst the jockeys, but he carried an air that seem to guarantee their respect for him without hesitation. It was almost as if they were terrified of him when he ran his eyes over them all.

"May I ask, what relation you are to Mr Maguire?"

"I'm his governess… what does it feckin' matter!"

Within a sentence, Joe had already ensured most major television stations present would be apologising for foul language that night.

"I'm not here to discuss how I know the boy. What I want to know, is what gives you the right to go and harass a group of young girls like that!"

"The Derry Journal offices have received information that suggests the girls may know what happened to Mr Maguire…".

"Right! And ye just believe that do ye!?"

"It was merely a follow up…".

"Have you any idea what those girls are going through?! Those girls, two of them are my granddaughters and the other two are their best friends. They only know the pain this is causing them, and you bastards are causing them more!"

"Your language…".

"Don't you dare!" Joe shouted back at her. "My granddaughter Erin, James is her fella and I'm having to watch her cry every day for that lad because he can't hold her hand or support her and she can do nothing for him! She's helpless in there and what do ye do… stick cameras in her face. Yer all no better than rapists!"

There were a few shocked breaths let out at Joe's comment, but he held firm during the brief silence where the reporter tried to recover herself.

"That is a very strong statement to make, Mr?"

"I'm not wrong though, am I?" His eyes narrowed on her, refusing to name himself. "Yer taking advantage of four vulnerable teenage girls, the only reason yer not in jail is because ye have a badge on yer shirt!"

"We have a job to report the news…".

"Well done Polly Poirot! But to pray upon the girls like that, no… ye don't. And I'm telling ye all, if I find ye doin that to them again then there'll be trouble!"

The cops gave Joe a look of silent warning at his threat but didn't get involved. He couldn't see what they were thinking but, in their heads, they were all in agreement with him about the press behaviour.

"And I have something to say to John Major as well!" Joe continued.

"Is that regarding his statement from Hong Kong earlier today?". The reporter questioned.

"Aye that's right! Major, ye great tool, keep your nose out of this! I don't want that boy being used as a political football by you or anyone for that matter! Our family doesn't need you hurlin' his name about to justify anything ye want. We just want James happy and healthy again".

"I'm sure we would all agree that is paramount above all, Mr?" She tried for his name again, a more genuine question from the woman within rather than the reporter.

"Joe McCool". He answered it this time. "But whoever did this to him doesn't, do they?"

"Do you have any inkling who that might be Mr McCool?"

"Jesus! Look around ye!" He threw his arm in the air dramatically. "Decades of hatred have done this! Sure, the hatred might wear a different name tag each time but it's still the same message under every attack. This country has spent years fighting for an idea that has to go around a table. It's taken me years to realise that but that is how it has to be! We've tried violence and now look where it's got us. James might not have Ireland listed on his passport and his accent might be from the other side of the sea, but he's a better man than most Irishmen could ever dream to be and I'm proud to have him looking after my granddaughter, so I am! He's no soldier or politician, he's just a boy and how many more boys is it going to take to for people to realise this has to end!"

Joe's speech shook the reporters and for another half a minute they all scribbled notes in silence, no pictures taken or anything else. He was done by then too and before anything else could be asked of him, he was back inside, and the cops were moving the journalists away once more. Joe felt raw, and instead of going straight back to see his family, he went to the men's toilets and cried his eyes out. It was the first time since his Marie died that he'd wept so profusely but the sheer gravity of his own words came back to hit him. His own guilt resurfaced too. His views towards England were always acceptable to him, and most of Derry, but seeing what the hatred of England could do to an innocent lad like James, Joe's heart ached just liked Erin's.

Watching Joe McCool's speech with one of his new associates, a certain man of a certain cloth felt the power of the emotion through the screen. Exactly what he wanted.

"What do we do about him?"

"Relax Mr Scanlon". The man replied. "I remember Joe McCool. He was almost one of us back in the day ye know".

He remembered Joe well. They weren't close friends by any means but through friends of friends they knew each other. He remembered Joe running away, avoiding the cops on Bloody Sunday and his subsequent softening when it came to the cause. He put aside his wish for an Ireland free of British influence and instead chose his family.

"We need to plan to finish Maguire then". The Scanlon replied.

"What did I say!?" The man snapped back. "No body. This was the statement we needed, and that boy will never be the same again. Let the Brit fucker suffer for the rest of his life".

"But…".

"No buts Scanlon! Ye might have yer own agenda but yer part of something bigger now. Unless… of course… yer having misgivings".

The man reached for his side, for the pistol in its holster, but the Scanlon stopped him needing to reach for it, assuring him of loyalty.

"Never. I want those Brits out of Ireland!"

"Good". The man moved his hand back. "Will the other two be joining us shortly?"

"Aye". The Scanlon confirmed.

"Then the lessons will begin. Think of this as… a summer camp". The man grinned.

"Like church camp?"

"In a way Scanlon… in a way. But the only bible you'll be reading here is the one that tells ye how to make a bomb".

The two of them laughed at the man's statement. The attack on James suited both sides and now they would be getting the lessons they craved to deal with the British menace. The man got the resources he needed. Everyone was happy. For now…

"Welcome to the revolution boy".

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: Friends in high places 8th March 1996

Friday came around and James still fought. The young man who the doctors never believed would make it far past surgery was still battling on almost a week later. The progress was minimal but by Thursday, there were the first flickers of an improvement. His lungs remarkably were beginning to function to how they should, and the doctors deemed him able to come off the life support, but he remained in a coma. There was still concern for the head injuries he'd sustained and the lasting damage they could have caused him, so that is how he remained.

Throughout the week a daily rota took place of people visiting him. The doctors encouraged them to talk, to him and with each other while they were in the room, in the belief it would help his recovery in the long term. Every night Erin slept on the makeshift bed, the staff washing the sheets and delivering fresh blankets for her as Deirdre arranged. She would wake up and spend time with her wee English fella before school, telling him which lessons she had each day and how much she loved him. Deirdre would take over for a few hours, usually until around half past ten, still being around for a lot of the day as she continued to work, drawing from the inspiration of the girls' bravery in going to school. Joe would then sit in with him until two, Paul joining him on the Wednesday, where their racehorse and the rest of the racing were discussed. Mary would then take over at two, accompanied by Clare's mother Geraldine, who held the lad in just as high regards. They would stay with him through until six, the kids joining part the way through the afternoon and the conversations varied between them all. Homework would often be completed at the tables in the room, the four girls supporting each other to complete each piece. They would then be replaced by Gerry and Sarah, driven by Joe, who would sit in with the lad whilst Mary took Erin and Orla back with her father to have dinner. Martin, his workplace understanding the circumstances and not asking him to travel, would be on hand to pick up Deirdre and Michelle, with Clare going home with her mother too. Joe would return at half past eight with Erin and take Gerry and Sarah back with him. She would take up her usually nightly spot at ten after speaking about how the lessons she'd described in the morning went… and how much she loved him again. It was a real team effort.

School days were difficult for them, but with the support of Jenny and Aisling, as well as all of the staff and most students, they got through it. Orla continued to be the rock of the group, the only one yet to have to leave the classroom at any point. Erin had a couple of moments throughout the week where everything became a bit too much, Clare and Michelle having a moment each, but as promised there were no reprisals. Mr Flanagan spoke to them after each occasion to check if there was anything he could do, and they would all speak to him each day. He would be visiting the Englishman along with Sister Michael on the Saturday morning, showing further support for the girls once again. Moira O'Keefe stayed out of their way and they didn't go looking for trouble with her either. In lessons she said nothing, the occasional glance over at them but nothing tangible when it came to any abuse directed their way.

It was lunchtime and the four girls were sat together, without Jenny and Aisling as they were helping Sister Michael with something, conversation turning to their first weekend in a long time with no plans.

"You should all do something". Erin suddenly said to them. "Ye know… go somewhere… tonight. The pub or something".

"What?" Michelle replied.

"Go out. Take yer minds off things".

"Catch yourself on Erin!" Michelle again spoke up. "We do things together, we aren't going anywhere without ye".

"Aye. We're a team remember!" Clare agreed with her.

"I can't go anywhere tonight. I've got to be up to work the horse in the mornin'".

"See, no Orla either. We aren't goin' nowhere". Michelle reasoned.

Erin thought they might say that, but she still felt guilty that her refusal to leave James's side at night was holding them back from what they might want to do.

"Please, the two of ye, please just go out and have some fun". She begged of them.

"We can't Erin!" Clare hissed. "We can't just…".

"I think ye should too". Orla voiced her agreement with Erin. "Don't stop yer plans because I'm not there".

"Orla!" Clare turned to her.

"Clare…". Michelle put a hand on her wrist to calm her, sighing. "…maybe they're right. Maybe we need a night away… glam up and get pissed".

"Maybe not that far Michelle". Erin giggled.

"We can't!" Clare continued to protest.

"I'm not going on me own". Michelle replied to her protestations.

Clare hated it when Michelle's very rarely seen puppy dog eyes made an appearance. She hated it because she could never say no to them.

"Eugh… fine!"

The rest of lunchtime was devoted to Michelle planning the night with the massively reluctant Clare, but her reluctance was eased when they were invited to a party. All four were if they wished but Erin and Orla said their apologies to the invite. The party was being hosted by a girl in their class who understood if they didn't want to attend but Michelle answered for herself and Clare, much to the small blonde's annoyance. When it came to a party though, Michelle was always going to struggle to say no.

The usual schedule changed on the Friday afternoon as Erin went home first rather than going straight to the hospital. Gerry picked up fish and chips on his home, Fionnula relaxing her ban given what happened to James, eating together with Erin before going to the hospital. Erin asked them to let her have the rest of the night alone with him in there, with only any nurses or doctors coming in to disturb them, a request her parents agreed to. She stood there next to his bed, stroking his curls like she had done all week and telling him about her day.

"Michelle and Clare are off to a party tonight James. I know you would want them to keep going and have fun even if you couldn't be with them. It'll be good for Michelle I think, after everything with Danny, she needs to find a good lad and she might at the party. Clare too. I know Mikayla let her down gently but there might be others out there for her".

Erin stopped to sigh. She wished she could be at the party too, James dancing with her as the music drowned out the room and they could then walk home and kiss under the stars.

"We've got plenty of those occasions to look forward to though". She started speaking to his prone figure again. "I might even ask Mammy if we can have a wee party once yer better. Could you imagine? Everyone would have to give their full details out and what blood type they were, Mammy chasing lads who've had one too many down the street with the wooden spoon. It'd be cracker".

She paused again, going through the scene of a party at the Quinn house in her head and finding herself chuckling. They probably wouldn't be allowed anyone beyond their group, Jenny and Aisling aside, and Uncle Colm would end up as the DJ. The hits would be non-stop, but they wouldn't be tunes that could be danced to, unless there was a dance for the story of Lizzie McDuff and her foot chase with a swan down the Limavady Road.

She was distracted from remembering that story when the doors opened and a visitor from England appeared in the room.

Not Kathy.

Harriet.

In the week from hell that Erin had endured, she'd not really given too much thought to what Harriet would think when she heard the news about James's attack. Though they'd only known each other for a brief period of time, Erin knew that James had rang her a couple of times since the start of the year to see how she was getting on and their friendship remained solid. In hindsight she should have asked Jenny and whilst Jenny hadn't said anything herself, Erin realised it was more from not wanting to add any further thoughts to her head that she'd maintained the silence. It made for a nice surprise.

"Harriet". Erin smiled.

The blonde was as beautiful as ever. She was casual, in a jacket and jeans, not quite the denim jackets Erin and James sported but of quality nonetheless.

"Oh Erin".

Harriet ran over to her and they embraced, the two blondes crying into each other's shoulders for a couple of minutes. Erin held her tightly in the embrace, grateful for the love and friendship that Harriet held for them.

"How is he?" Harriet asked as they parted.

"Fightin'". Erin smiled, flickering her eyes back to James. "Fightin' with everything he has".

"He's strong". She remarked. "I heard about his injuries and…".

Harriet herself whimpered, remembering when the news came through late that Sunday morning. She was playing with her younger brother and listening to the radio when it came, having to stop what she was doing. Her parents were aware of the friendships she'd made in her brief stay in Derry and comforted her in a rare touching moment. Her own relationship with them was often strained; their expectations of her were high and she had a name that carried weight. But when it came to a certain Englishman in Derry, they'd softened, and her father especially was horrified by the capability to inflict such injuries on another human being.

"I don't know how he's alive Harriet". Erin cried. "And we still don't know if he'll be the same when he wakes up".

"What do you mean?"

Erin stared at her for a moment trying to work out why she would ask such a question. It was his head injury of course, the whole reason he was still in a coma. How could s- oh of course…

"The cops left one injury off the list…". Erin explained to her. "… an investigation technique they said".

"I see". Harriet replied, sniffling.

The two of them sat down, a nurse bringing cups of tea for the both of them, rejecting Harriet's offer of some money for her kindness on the way out. They sat there in silence for a few minutes drinking their tea, a peaceful silence that Erin enjoyed, despite it making the sound of the machines louder in the room's atmosphere.

"Does Jenny know ye here?" Erin finally broke the silence.

"Yes. I'm heading off to her house when I leave here".

"Right". Erin smiled. "How come ye got here so fast?"

"Private plane. And my father had a car sent too for my time here". Harriet responded.

"Is that not dangerous?" Erin was curious.

"In some ways I suppose. He is a Lord and I suppose that makes our family a target for certain acts of aggression. But I was always going to come, I knew the two of you would still be together and that meant you would be in pain and needing all of your friends".

Erin grinned happily at the English girl, a thanks for her thoughtfulness. The original jealousy that she held for Harriet was long forgotten and there was no doubting the friendship with her would be a long lasting one. She stayed for another twenty minutes and the topic of discussion moved onto her life back in England. The relationship her parents chose for her seemed unappealing at first but getting to know the young man she was being 'matched' with, they'd found a genuine connection and love for each other. It was rarely the way in those sorts of relationships, a lot of King's and Queen's throughout history held little to no love for each other and that was the basis of the eventual marriage Harriet would have. Happiness was always a side note but Erin was delighted that there was a true bond between her and her boyfriend.

"Thank ye for coming. I appreciate it". Erin said to her as Harriet put her coat back on.

"He's strong for you Erin. Remember that". Harriet replied as she pulled her in for a hug.

Erin just held it together so that she didn't cry on Harriet's shoulder and they pulled away from each other smiling.

"Oh, and I meant say…". Harriet said before departing. "… I have something for you to tell Joe. My father had a word with Mr Major, Joe won't have to worry about anymore comments".

Harriet flashed a cheekier smile and turned away to leave the room. It left Erin with an ever-wider smile on her face.

They had friends in high places.

Harriet's father to deal with the politics, God to keep James alive.

The party was in full swing by the time Michelle and Clare turned up. They were late, Michelle falling asleep after starting to drink the moment she got home when she found neither Deirdre nor Martin present. It took severe banging on the doors and windows from both Clare and the taxi driver to wake her, but they succeeded just before the driver's patience ran out. There was plenty of booze when they got there, Michelle heading straight for the shots whilst Clare sipped gingerly at a vodka and coke. Success when it came to meeting anyone special was a different story to the victory in getting a good drink. Despite the house having at least one hundred people packed into it, not one guy or girl interested the pair of them.

"Fucks sake!" Michelle grumbled.

"I know, this is shit!" Clare moaned.

"Great idea of Erin's this, I'd rather be sat in that fucking room listening to those fucking machines".

They both grumbled and sighed, Clare not voicing it, but thinking along the exact same lines as Michelle. Being in James's room at the Hospital, machines telling the doctors and nurses of his condition drumming in their ears… that was far more palatable than the party.

"We could take the party back to mine". Michelle put the idea across.

"What about yer parents!? Clare nervously suggested.

"Ach, if it's just you they won't care. Ye can stay over if ye want".

"What about my parents!?

"What about the Queen of fuckin' Sheba? Stop asking questions Clare, just fuckin' come back to mine and we'll get proper hammered!"

Michelle shouting it out over the music that drowned most conversation out brought a laugh out of Clare and she agreed but wanted to use the loo before they left. Rolling her eyes, Michelle told her she'd wait outside and lit up a cigarette. They would walk back instead of getting another taxi as Michelle reasoned getting a bit of air wouldn't do them any harm and the night wasn't overly cold like some of the nights the previous week. But after a minute, she soon regretted the decision to leave at that very moment and regretted ever coming at all. Not noticing the figure at first, she looked over to the end of the drive and leaning up against the side of a car was Danny Scanlon.

That bastard.

The same bastard that strung her along.

Her own feelings that she'd pushed away, buried beneath the anguish of James's condition, began a destructive march into the front of her mind. There were no friends to stop her, nothing else to put her mind to and the combined influence of pre-drinks, a couple of rounds of shots and more became the deadly mix that told her to confront him right there and then.

"OI!" She shouted at him.

Danny looked up and saw Michelle charging at him and grumbled. He never wanted to see her again…

"Piss off Mallon!" He shouted back.

"No! What the fuck were ye playin' at!".

"Fuck off I don't have to answer you!"

"Yes ye fuckin do!" Michelle was right up in his face now. "Leavin' ye ma to clean up ye shit for ye!"

"Ye don't know what yer talking about!" He growled through gritted teeth.

When Michelle looked over his shoulder down the drive, the situation predictably blew up in her face. Moira O'Keefe was walking towards Danny and it didn't take Michelle long to realise exactly what was going on. Bastard…

Danny had been with Moira the whole time.

The bastard played her in a sick game with the bitch who hated them. All their battles with Moira, all the snide comments and the arguments in class, culminated in the brutal actions of the previous week.

"Oh I see!" She scowled at him.

"Ye were a good sport Mallon!". He smirked. "But if someone put a gun to my head and forced me to be with ye, I'd take the bullet".

The comment staggered Michelle. Her self-confidence, sent into a downward spiral by his rejection the previous weekend, was sent to rock bottom. He was cold in his statement, an overriding viciousness that rocked the foundations of her whole existence. Moira smirked the whole way up to Danny's side and they began passionately kissing right in front of her, hands roaming each other in the same way Michelle had hoped to find herself with Danny. They took themselves away after a minute and at the same time Clare walked back out of the house to find the two of them locked together and Michelle slumped down on the curb sobbing. She ran to her.

"Michelle!".

"Michelle!".

She called out her name twice and on the second call, Michelle lifted her head, the tears dropping from her at incredible speed. Clare immediately helped her back up and took her into her arms, the friends standing outside and hugging by the cars. Not a single word was said between them, remaining the same the whole way back to the Mallon house where they both continued drinking and crying. The story was outed to Clare over multiple drinks, the Scanlon named cursed thoroughly and Moira's name meaning total mud.

They eventually passed out, Michelle on her bed and Clare on the floor. Deirdre and Martin found them that way before going to bed themselves and threw a few blankets over Clare, tucking Michelle in and placing a bucket at the side of the bed. It would be needed.

All week, Joe pondered on how to thank Orla for the strength she'd shown the group. His granddaughter, like Gerry, held the fight the rest of the family searched for. The two of them had put their own emotions aside and focused all their efforts in comforting the others. The mature side of Orla which none of them knew existed had come to light during the week and he figured it needed to be acknowledged and rewarded. He'd always took her to the cinema in the past but that felt too much like a child's reward, so instead he decided on a meal. Dropping the surprise on Orla when she returned from school, she jumped into his arms in delight and quickly rushed around to get ready. They were off to one of Derry's fancier restaurants, so Joe donned the same suit he'd taken her to prom in, finding Orla in a beautiful red dress that Sarah had bought her for Christmas. Joe thought himself a lucky man when he saw her; two beautiful daughters and two beautiful granddaughters. I've done a good job…

They had a lovely three course meal, Joe telling her the moment they got there that it was for her courage during the week, something which she shrugged off. He didn't try to force the matter with her though, admiring her humble and modest attitude towards the adulation over any attempt to bask in it. He went as far as allowing her a glass of wine, Orla feeling like a real grown up sitting in the candlelit room, sipping at wine.

"Excuse me". A young woman, only a couple of years older than Orla interrupted them from the next table. "Are you Orla McCool?"

"Ye?" Orla frowned, Joe frowning too.

"I read the story about your race". The woman smiled. "My name's Sophie".

"Hello Sophie". Orla changed the frown into a smile.

"Ye were so inspirin'". Sophie gushed praise upon her. "To beat the boys like that in yer first race, I thought it was cracker!"

"Thank ye. This is my Granda, Joe".

"Joe McCool". He held out his hand and Sophie shook it.

"Ye must be proud of her Mr McCool".

"We all are love". Joe confirmed.

"Can I… Can I ask for yer autograph?" She smiled at Orla.

Orla froze for a second, unsure of how to respond to such a request. The last thing she ever expected was anyone outside of the family truly caring for her achievements, but here she was in one of the poshest restaurants in the city, being asked for an autograph like a film star.

"Here you go love". The beaming Joe took a pen out of his pocket. "You'll have to get used to that when ye big and famous".

All three of them laughed and Orla did her best signature for the first person to ever ask for it. She continued to smile as they finished their drinks, talking away with her Granda about school and some of the things she was learning. Joe always loved to listen to Orla, even if some of the things said were random or came across odd, she was always good for a wee chat.

After they were finished, Joe linked arms with her, and they took a stroll around the streets to walk the meal off before heading home in the car. Continuing their conversations, the topic returned to the autograph.

"De ye feel like a star now?" Joe chuckled.

"Yes Granda!" She giggled. "I'm… famous".

"You'll be a big star love. That I'm sure".

"Thanks Granda". She grinned, pausing for a second. "Can I ask ye a question?"

"Of course love". Joe smiled.

"How did you and Grandma meet?"

Joe stopped, bringing them to a halt by a street corner. For a moment, Orla thought she may have offended him with the question and went to apologise but he started speaking before she had the chance to.

"We were at a dance when we were both in our early twenties…" Joe also began walking again. "… I'd gone with a couple of my mates at the time and yer Grandma with a couple of hers…".

The dancing was in full swing, couples trotting about all over the dancefloor. But for Joe McCool it was a boring night. His mates had both found girls within a few minutes and were amongst the crowds and there he was, stood by the bar on his own. He put his glass of whisky down and then the most beautiful girl he'd even seen strode up next to him at the bar. She too was on her own and also didn't look overly happy with proceedings.

"Are you cursing ye luck too?" She asked.

"Aye". Joe responded, with a nervous feeling in his stomach.

"I do wonder why I bother sometimes".

"Funny". He chuckled lightly. "I say that to myself too".

"Ye drinkin'?" She winked at him.

"Ye dancin'?" He winked back.

A few minutes later and both boxes were ticked…

"Just like that?" Orla laughed.

"Aye love. Just like that".

They turned the corner and reached the car, watching a young couple pass on their way into the city centre for their Friday night. Derry was quiet though, not too many people about enjoying a drink despite the weather being clear.

"Ye know Granda". Orla spoke up again. "I think she'd be proud of ye now too".

"Thanks love".

Getting into the car, Joe kept a little smile to himself and thought of Marie looking down on him with satisfaction. He was doing the best he could for his family and that was all she'd ever asked of him. The most beautiful woman Joe ever met.

It was not far from lights out time at the Altnagelvin Intensive Care Unit. Erin was dressed for bed, still buzzing slightly from Harriet's visit. The television was on in his room and she'd brought up the teletext for her final round of speaking to him that night. She'd had the idea whilst she was getting changed, believing that if the doctors were right that conversation would act as stimuli for him, she could at least read him something he would like to hear. In her own Erin Quinn way of course.

"Right then James. We're off to…oooh Scotland first!" She was almost purring with delight. "And Ayr racecourse".

Reading James the results of the days horse racing would be a challenge for her with some of the more technical terms, but she'd do anything for him if it would help.

"So we start with the one fifty. The winner was called… huh. What a weird name… UK Hygiene which was four to one. That's good isn't it… four to one?"

She remembered a second later that there would be no response, so she continued.

"Anyway, I imagine they'll get rid of the poor thing if it's dodgy… ye know… wash their hands of it!"

Erin's initial giggles turned into full blown laughter at her own joke, believing it to be a brilliant one and hoping that if he could hear her, then he would be laughing, even if he couldn't show it. Calming down she returned her eyes to the screen again.

"Second place was Singing Sand… didn't know sand could sing to be honest… and third was The Stitcher. Ye know James, I reckon the jockey thought he had the race sewn up!"

He might have been unable to say it, but she was still his dose.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Absent Fathers 9th March 1996

The crisp morning air covered the still dark Flanagan stables. Paul was up and beginning his rounds with the horses. He was booked to ride that afternoon in the final race over at Tyrella in Country Down. It wasn't for Frankie but for another trainer that was based a few miles away, Paul stepping in to ride after the normal jockey picked up an injury in a training fall earlier that week. He didn't have to leave until later that morning, so he was mucking out the stables and getting the horses up and ready for their work that morning. They had a couple of girls from the village who'd come up and help but they didn't start until six, so he got the ball rolling around quarter to, getting things moving quicker. He'd just said bye to Joe, who'd dropped Orla off for her own riding out of 'The Wee English Fella', the first time she was back onboard since their win the previous Saturday.

But strangely, since she'd gone off to the horse's stable, which was separate to the main stables, she'd not returned with him as normal. She would always be straight out onto the gallops with the horse, wanting to get jumping as soon as she could, yet that morning she wasn't. Concerned for both her safety and that of the horse, Paul began to walk around to the stable round the back and it was only as he drew close to the right turn that would take him there, that he heard cries.

Orla's cries.

He rushed around the corner, praying to the Lord that nothing serious had happened. He found Orla sat outside the stable, the horse stood up perfectly fine in its box and looking out into the dark early morning. Orla though was not, she had her head in her knees, crying profusely.

"Orla?" Paul spoke with a hint of apprehension in his voice, almost tiptoeing his way to her.

She lifted her head from her knees and dried her eyes, sniffling.

"Sorry Paul, I'll erm…".

Orla was on her feet a second later, turning away from him to give the horse a stroke. He neighed in delight at the attention.

"Wait Orla". Paul spoke up again, now directly in front of her when she turned around.

"Wh… What?"

He could see the bloodshot red eyes and the tears that still escaped from the corners on their way down both sides of her face.

"Is it James?" Paul asked, worried for the fella. "Is he…?"

"No… no… but".

"But what Orla?"

When he questioned her again, she broke down into tears once more and without thinking, Paul pulled her in to hug her tightly. He hated to see her upset at something, a girl usually so full of life. He'd seen the true strength of her character too, earlier that week when he'd stepped in to assist with shepherding the girls inside the Hospital away from the hornets' nest of reporters. And how she'd dealt with the jockeys who tried to ruin her career before it had even properly begun. Whatever was making her cry must have been incredibly significant after him having witnessed those events.

"Jam-… It… erm". She was floundering as they separated, so he put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. "I… ach ye shouldn't have to listen to me".

"I want to Orla, please, tell me what's got ye upset?"

She sighed, bowing her head to look at the floor.

"I've not really stopped to think about how it makes me feel Paul… ye know James being injured like that and I… I miss him. Apart from me Granda, any men in my life seem to… disappear and I… I don't want James to!"

She was sobbing again as she finished, the final words coming out more as a shriek and he took her hand, gesturing for her to sit down again and he sat down next to her.

"Can I tell ye a story Orla?" Paul sought permission, being granted with a nod.

"When I was seven, I lost my parents in a car crash. Some arsehole truck driver ran them off the road and the car flipped. I survived without a single scratch but they both died. I moved in with me uncle for a time afterwards but then he died, knocked out in an incident at his workplace and never regained consciousness. For a long time, I… I thought I was a curse, that anyone in my life would walk straight out of it and I lived in a home for orphans for three years after that, with no lads for company and no men at the place. But one day, a nice fella turned up to the place to see his aunt who was one of the staff… that was Frankie and we got talking and he took me in.".

"Yer like his… son then?" Orla enquired.

"Aye I suppose". Paul chuckled. "Look, what I'm trying to say is I know the pain from when people leave ye life and when things are bleak. But life works both ways, and ye'll always have people who stay and are there for ye. Yer Granda ye say is there and he will be for ye. He's a good man Joe and he's done a grand job with his family, so he has".

"Thank ye Paul". She looked into his eyes and beamed a smile of appreciation his way.

"That's alright. And… I'm a man and I've no plans of disappearing from yer life anytime soon either. Neither has Frankie".

"Can I have another hug?" She almost giggled her request.

"Of course ye can". He replied, pulling her in. "Friend?"

"Friend". Orla confirmed.

"But…". He started as she removed herself from him. "… we'll lose our friend behind us if he doesn't see a fence soon. We can't stay cuddling all mornin'!"

The two of them sat and giggled for a minute before Orla began her session of work with 'The Wee English Fella' and her worries for James, though still present, fell back with the knowledge that there were men in her life to stay. Friends.

Likewise, Paul had an additional spring in his step too. He was proud to be friends with Orla McCool.

She didn't think it was possible to be more hungover than the night she hosted her own party.

But Michelle soon realised that was bollocks. Her head was a wreck when she woke up, staring down at the empty bucket beside her bed. Well…

A minute later Michelle was still staring down at the bucket, but it now contained some of the contents of the prior nights binge. She heard the groaning from the floor and it soon came back to her that Clare drank all night with her and would be in the same condition.

"Michelle…". She groaned again. "… what have ye done to me?"

"Ach… I know Clare… we're so fucked". She huffed out.

"Can ye…". Clare stuttered. "… get up?"

That was something she was contemplating herself before Clare asked. Michelle didn't know whether it would be possible to remove herself from the bed. Her body was telling her not to and wanted more sleep to fight off the effect of the alcohol, but she was Michelle Mallon, and her body would have to fuck off. Slowly sliding her right leg out of the bed, she put it down a few inches away from the bucket and with her right hand on her side table, she focused every bit of physical strength she had to push herself up. It was messy, her right leg wobbling like a big jelly, but with a bit of a twist and some more leg quivering, Michelle was on her feet.

"Aye to that". She finally replied to Clare.

"Will ye… help me?" Clare asked her.

She considered the request for a moment, they were a team after all, but sometimes they would have to do things for themselves and this was one of those times.

"Not a fuckin' chance!" Michelle rather croaked her rebuke. "If I bend down to give ye me hand, I'm gunna fall on ye and we've been through this about… ye know… I don't like ye like that…".

"Grow up Michelle!" Clare screeched.

"Don't fuckin' yell like that". Michelle's hand went to her forehead.

"Help me!"

Michelle had to shake her head and Clare gave her the evils, disappointed by the lack of help Michelle was prepared to give. She tried with all her power to rise up from beneath the blankets that she couldn't remember getting out, but just couldn't manage it. Panicking, she foolishly attempted a roll to the side to try from another position but the sound her stomach made caused her to pause.

"Holy mother of god…".

"Fuck!" Michelle heard it too. "Hang on, I'll get ye the bucket".

In her haste to retrieve it, Michelle seemed to have forgotten that she was nursing as bad, if not worse, a hangover as Clare. Trying to move far quicker than was advisable in that state, she tripped over her own feet turning around, and screamed when the destination became inevitable. She was going headfirst into the bucket with no way of preventing it.

"Michelle!" Clare cried out.

"Eughhhhhh! Me own boke!"

Controlling herself, Clare realised what had happened to Michelle and put a hand to her mouth. Any chance of help was gone now as Michelle cried in the corner about being plastered in her own boke. It would be a solo effort to get to the bathroom. Changing tactic completely, she was able to get herself onto her knees and with a cry of fear, began the humiliating crawl towards the door. Every movement set off a depth charge of agony in her stomach, the boke ready to break down the final barricades her body raised in defence of her dignity. Come on Clare, nearly there…

The door had ideas of its own however and was suddenly pushed open. Clare cacked herself and only just dodged out of the way, missing her narrowly, but it left her with another problem as the swaying to the side broke the last defences and she hurled straight up in the direction of the door. All over Deirdre Mallon's shoes.

Michelle looked up in horror as her mother stared down at the diminutive blonde who had tears running down her face and a second load of boke barrelling out of her mouth onto the same spot.

"MARTIN!" She roared.

"Yes love!" He called back happily.

"FETCH ME THE BIG SPONGE!"

"Are ye sure ye don't want the wee sponge love?"

"JUST GET ME THE BIG SPONGE MARTIN!"

"Alright! Jesus…".

Erin allowed herself to wake up later that morning, staying on her makeshift bed until eight o'clock. She'd got going from there though, having a shower and changing into the fresh clothes she'd brought from home the night before. One of the nurses got her a cup of tea and did some eggs on toast for her, which acted as her breakfast.

She was stood stroking his hair as normal at nine thirty when the door opened, and Mary arrived in the room.

"Morning love".

"Morning Mammy".

"How is he?" Mary asked, putting a bag down on the table.

"No worse". Erin sighed. "Still my wee English fella".

Mary smiled and came to hug her daughter, no tears falling this time, but the hug was more out of a need for a sense of warmth.

"I bought ye some things…". Mary pulled away. "… a couple of books, paper and some pens. Figured ye might get a little bored if yer staying the whole day".

As well as asking for permission from her parents to leave her alone with him the night before, she'd also told them that she wished to spend the whole of Saturday with him, agreeing to come home for lunch on the Sunday.

"Thanks Mammy". Erin replied. "Harriet visited last night".

"The wee English girl?"

"Aye".

"That was good of her. I didn't think you's would see her again if I'm honest".

"I wasn't expecting it. But it was nice". Erin smiled.

Mother and daughter spent half an hour talking, interrupted only by the visit of Sister Michael and Mr Flanagan. It was a week since Mr Flanagan was Robert to them, the family friend who'd drove them to watch Orla win her first race victory. Oh how things can change…

"Erin, Mrs Quinn". Sister Michael addressed them.

"Morning". Mr Flanagan added.

"Aye, thanks for coming". Mary replied.

"Not at all Mrs Quinn, we wanted to see how the wee English fella was getting on". The Sister said to them.

The two visitors walked up to the side of the bed and ran their eyes over James, still wincing at the facial injuries and tubes sticking out of him. His eyes were now back to normal at least, the orbital fractures healing with some external treatment from the nurses. The broken nose would right itself, not overly changed in its shape at least, and the breaks to bones in his arms were beginning to heal too. It was the fractured tibia that would take time to heal, multiple months of recovering would be required. And then of course there was the potential for a brain injury.

"I should tell you Mrs Quinn, that as a school, we cannot express how much pride we have for the girls in coming to lessons this week". Sister Michael looked over to Mary.

"They're brave wains, so they are". She commented. "I'm not sure I'd have had the courage back when I was that age".

"I can't say I would either". Mr Flanagan interjected. "We're all inspired by them".

"Thank ye sir". Erin smiled.

"Don't M-"

Mr Flanagan was interrupted as the door opened behind them and Kathy Maguire walked into the room. Surprised by her promise to return being honoured, Mary glared at her and she shyly looked back into Mary's eyes. Mr Flanagan and Sister Michael didn't need too much prompting to make themselves scare, knowing exactly who she was.

Kathy Maguire was preparing for her second long overdue chat of the week.

After being cleaned up by Deirdre and scrubbing Michelle's bedroom floor like it were the end times, Michelle and Clare finally headed out for the day. It was already midday and the pace they set whilst walking through the streets could have easily been matched by most of the elderly. They were hanging out of their arses, pissed beyond belief, and Clare especially was struggling to operate normally. Her head was in total agony and she'd told Michelle in no uncertain terms that she would never be touching another drop again. Michelle of course would, and she doubted that Clare could keep to her promise, but she fared little better with her own hangover.

Dennis's wee shop was the first port of call for the pair and it was a relative safe haven as he certainly wouldn't sell them any booze.

"Fucks sake this isn't goin'" Michelle moaned, with the shop in the distance.

"Why are we so stupid?

"Ach we're not stupid Clare. We're just… visionaries".

"Aye well in the sense of double vision I suppose we are, but not in any other sense!"

Michelle huffed and kept her mouth shut for the rest of the way to the shop. There was plenty of people about, going about their business but looking a hell of a lot better than the two girls did. Dennis's shop was empty and for once he wasn't behind the counter when they went in, instead refilling the fridge where they'd be getting their drinks.

"What's the craic Dennis?" Michelle shouted out to him.

"Fuck me!" He jumped out his skin. "Ach, it's you's".

"Wow, hardly a reception for ye best customers!" She argued.

"Me best customers?" He chuckled, shutting the fridge and walking away from them, back to the counter. "My best customers visit every day and pay me the right amount of money".

They couldn't deny him that. Bar the one time Orla paid the correct amount, they still never gave him enough money for what they were buying. He still couldn't quite work out himself why he let them get away with it so often, though the tally of times he'd shouted at them to 'Get Out' had grown to twenty-two times. Joe McCool slipping him a few extra notes from time to time tended to help though.

"Ye well, we've had a lot on recently Dennis". Clare sighed.

"Aye… I know. How is the fella?"

Surprised by Dennis's question, neither girl answered for a second, making him think that the poor English fella who he occasionally clashed with must have passed away. Sensing his thought process, Michelle eventually blurted a few words out.

"Still fightin ye know".

"I erm… I hope he pulls through. Fuckin' sick whoever did that to him".

"Aye. Thanks Dennis".

Dennis showing compassion was yet another thing to throw into the crazy week they'd had. He was no fan of the Brits, but the girls were beginning to realise that there was a growing sense around Derry that what was done to James was wrong. He was innocent and not another hated Brit like a soldier or a politician.

"Don't worry about payin either".

The unexpected kindness continued, and they couldn't find the words to thank him, just smiling at him sweetly instead. Walking back out onto the Derry streets, bottles of water in their hands, Michelle and Clare began to dream that perhaps things were really changing. And peace was close.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of god.

But not everyone in Derry wanted to make peace.

Kathy was on her own in a showdown with two generations of Quinn. She didn't fear what Erin had to say, for she barely knew the girl beyond the fleeting visit the prior year, but fully expected to be annihilated by her mother. Mary's face told the story, it was similar to the one she'd pulled in her own house that fateful day in November.

"Kathy". Mary said from across the other side of the table that now sat between them.

"Mary". She replied, trembling.

"I think we have a few things to discuss, don't you?"

"A-Aye".

They both reached for their cups of tea and eyed each other while drinking. Erin viewed the scene like it were an old Western, two veteran gunslingers lining each other up, copying each other's actions. The only way it could have gotten any more authentic were if the doors came open and some tumbleweed rolled into the room. She wondered which one would draw first and didn't have to wait long as it was Mary who had the quicker trigger finger.

"Disowning your own wain Kathy… why?"

Mary didn't hold back her feelings, pouring her own emotions of anger and resentment into the statement. She might have told Deirdre she would accept Kathy for being genuine, but she wanted to find her own ground with her before committing to anything. And for that, Kathy needed to know her honest opinion.

"I… I…".

"You know Kathy, I had to sit with yer boy and hold him while he cried!". Mary was almost choking up herself. "I'm not his mother, he wasn't even with my Erin then, yet he still came to me. He shouldn't be coming to me".

"I… I know. I… was wrong". Kathy admitted. "The letter… I should…. I should never have written it and I reg-".

Kathy stopped her sobbed out story because Mary Quinn held a hand on hers and smiled at her. Not a menacing smile or an 'I told you so', but a smile of friendship and understanding. Of forgiveness.

"I regret it Mary. It's taken me far too long to know it but… I do. I don't deserve James as my son, he's a far better person than me…".

"No Kathy". Mary squeezed her hand as she broke down into more tears. "We all make mistakes, we all do… stupid things. Really stupid things. But what you've done isn't unforgiveable".

"It should be".

"But it's not Kathy. James is part of my family now and my family will always open the door for a second chance, no matter what the past might be. I'm willing to leave our past where it is, if you are too?"

She couldn't quite believe that Mary was saying those words. The hardened shell of Mary Quinn was gone and from within, Kathy could see the reason why James would go to her for comfort. She wasn't the stone-faced mother that despised her, quite the opposite it was turning out, that in fact she was a benevolent woman ready to let the mistakes of other days, keep to those days and not impact anything going forward.

"I want him back in my life Mary, I do".

"Then perhaps we can consider ourselves friends again Kathy".

Years of mistrust, hatred and even possibly jealousy, evaporated within a second. Kathy got up from the table and they hugged, Mary holding her whilst she cried onto her shoulder. Mary herself put up a good defence, keeping the tears in, but she couldn't deny that they were there and waiting should she have chosen to.

Erin remained silent throughout, not finding anything she wished to interject with, as most of the knowledge of Kathy's failings of her wee English fella were with her mother. She had questions, one in particular, but was unsure of how to approach Kathy about it. On sitting down again, Kathy turned her attentions to Erin, smiling at the blonde girl. Taking a better look at her, she noticed the similarities to Mary and Gerry, but above all how lucky her James was to have such a beautiful girl like Erin.

"You're not going to shout stranger danger at me are you?" Kathy chuckled.

"No". Erin's eyelashes flickered nervously but she still managed a slight chuckle herself.

"My sister has told me all about you...". Kathy moved to put her hand on Erin's, Erin looking up at her mother and then looking back to Kathy. "… thank you for looking after my James for me where I've… failed him".

"Ye haven't failed him Miss Maguire". Erin countered. "And I think he knows that. The letter hurt him but… he knows ye were emotional and… scared… when he refused to go with ye. He's got a big heart has my wee English fella".

Kathy smiled at the nickname she knew James had acquired in his time in Derry and at the sentiment that Erin put across to her. There was a way back in for her now and hearing that James understood the irrational and emotionally charged letter was not the real Kathy speaking, it comforted her immensely.

"When I said I want him back in my life, I don't mean I want him to come back to London with me". Kathy clarified. "His life is with you now… I can see that".

"Ye not moving back to Derry then?" Erin asked.

"No…". She scratched at her neck nervously, a trait Erin recognised from James. "… I want James in my life but I… can't… come back to Derry. Not to live".

"Why? Yer always welcome here Miss Maguire, isn't that right Mammy?" Erin looked to Mary.

"Aye". Mary nodded.

"Thank you, but… I just can't".

"Is it because of James's daddy?"

Kathy's head shot up from where she'd paused to stare at the table. Somehow Erin managed to dive straight into her head and pull out the one thing Kathy hoped to have buried. She'd not spoken about it in some years, the story only being partially known to even Deirdre. Her whole life hinged on the decisions made nearly twenty years earlier, only being the woman she was in that room because of what she'd done. The shame that came with her own actions were ones she never wanted to revisit but, in the Hospital room, while her son lay comatose, the box in that part of her mind was opened.

"I'm sorry… I". Erin went to apologise.

"No no Erin. I've ran from it for a large part of my life, it's just… hard to talk about. I've never told anyone the real story…".

"Ye don't have to tell us Kathy…". Mary put her hand over her shaking ones again.

"It's time Mary. I always knew one day I'd have to say something to someone. I just didn't expect it to be you".

The two women shared a grin and Mary stroked her hands with her thumb, gently trying to coax the story out from Kathy.

"I… I had an affair with a married man…". Instead, Kathy blurted it out, but neither Mary or Erin gasped or made judgement. "… it lasted for a few months. He used to visit me when he told his wife he was at the pub and we… carried on like that. He already had kids with his wife you see, and one day, one of the kids was ill and she went looking for him at the pub. As you can guess, it all came out in the wash and he stopped seeing me. A couple of days later, I realised I was pregnant with James and I… well I went to England with the intention of having an abortion but… I didn't. I know we were… breaking his vow to his wife but he was a good man, and I couldn't just take away a life he'd created like that so I… I had James and stayed in London".

"He still lives in Derry?". Erin probed her for more, very softly. "I'm not expecting ye to name him…".

"Aye". Kathy nodded. "He sorted things out with his wife and from what I know they had more kids. She must have been pregnant at the same time as me too. I can't bring myself to come back and remind him of… well you know what I mean".

The revelation was finally out there. Years of bottled-up tension escaped from Kathy and she relaxed, shoulders dropping. Mary and Erin's hands both found hers and that morning, by the side of James's hospital bed, Kathy Maguire finally came home to a family in Ireland.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Bomb 21st March 1996

Nearly two weeks later and the same routines of the first week since James's attack remained in place. They all still alternated their duties by James's bedside and there was never really a moment during the day where he was alone. The doctors were encouraged by his progress and though they hadn't confirmed it themselves, the family were beginning to believe there was no lasting damage. Deirdre herself refused to speculate to them but when Erin privately confided in her for her opinion, she gave it and she too thought the likelihood was that James didn't have any brain damage.

Kathy stayed for a whole week in Derry, sleeping in James's room for her time in the city. She would join Deirdre in the mornings and be by his side, leaving part the way through the day to help to run her business remotely before retuning again in the evening. She had no problem sleeping at night knowing Erin was watching over her James like the angel that she was. Mary and Gerry took her to the airport the following Saturday, and they departed on the best terms they'd been on since childhood. Kathy's sincerity was appreciated by them all; she no longer turned her nose up at Deirdre or looked down on any of them. She even started talking to Martin, a miracle Deirdre considered to be in almost the same regards as James's. Sarah took a keen interest in Kathy's stay in Derry too and finally cornered here on the Thursday for tips on how to keep her eyebrows looking so well. Kathy always thought she was far too kind and reciprocated the kindness with some tips on the eyebrows, which Mary found herself rolling her eyes at when Sarah began to practice the following weekend.

Harriet returned to London on the Sunday, but not before going up to the Flanagan stables to see Orla in action along with Jenny and Aisling. Erin passed the address on during their chat at the Hospital and Orla was delighted to see the young English girl's return. Harriet herself was a keen horse rider and Paul allowed her to ride one of the horses and the two girls took them around the small track, Jenny and Aisling cheering them both on from the side. Harriet's father also owned a few horses, horses for the flat though and not the jumps, but before leaving to return to England, she promised to speak to her father about investing in some horses over the jumps and whether Orla could ride them. It would mean going to England a lot more, her father would most likely insist on the horses being trained there, but it would be a fabulous opportunity for Orla, and she was keen should it come to fruition. It wouldn't be long until she would be back though, promising to return to see Orla's next race with the 'The Wee English Fella' and that was coming up on the 23rd March at the Farmacaffley hunt.

With Erin almost always either at school or at the Hospital, home life became a lot different for Mary and Gerry, especially in the morning. It did mean that Anna got a lot more attention from her parents, but something never felt right about the gang of girls not sat around the table. Michelle not annoying Joe with her swearing, Clare not cacking it about something or other and the lovebirds not eating the faces off each other. There was only Orla at breakfast now… not that she didn't make it interesting…

"I'm tellin ye Granda, the film's about people watchin' trains".

"What sort of moron watches train!" Joe complained. "Gerry, do ye watch trains?"

"No".

"See love, even Gerry isn't sad enough to watch a locomotive steam by. How the hell they made a film out of it I don't know!"

Mary rolled her eyes at the comment. 'Trainspotting' had been released the month before and one night once Erin was dropped back at the hospital, her and Gerry went out to see it. She didn't want to ruin Orla's idea of what it would be about, but it would suffice to say that she wouldn't be allowed to see it and it really wasn't about trains.

"What are you boys up to then?" Mary addressed Joe and Gerry.

Gerry was taking a couple of days off work to be with the family, coinciding with a couple of jobs around the house that needed his attention. It also gave him time to have a bit of rest from the relentless work and hospital regime of the past few weeks.

"I'm gettin' that new wardrobe Mary". Joe replied. "Gerry's givin' me a hand with it, so he is".

"Aye right". She didn't hide the suspicion in her tone.

"What? I know that look, what is it?"

"Forgive me da, but the last time Gerry took time off work, look what happened with the wains. I've got my eyes on the pair of ye".

Though ultimately accepting of the Valentine's incident, Mary still cursed Gerry for engineering the scenario and any time the two of them had done anything together in the past it usually ended in an argument, leaving her suspicious of Joe too.

"This is yer fault ye tool". Joe rounded on Gerry.

Some things would never change at the breakfast table.

Sitting on the bus that morning, Orla was absolutely buzzing. Frankie phoned Joe the night before and confirmed that 'The Wee English Fella' would indeed be ready to race that Saturday. It was a fairly quick turnaround for the horse, but Paul was convinced throughout the week that the horse was firing on all cylinders and would be ready to run. It would be the final run they would give it until the winter, where Frankie was already suggesting moving the horse away from the amateur events and moving under the National Hunt rules. It was still a long way off, but another win at the weekend and the horse would confirm that the ability was there for certain. A lot of owners would sell up and see their horse be purchased for a vast amount of money and go to one of the big stables around Ireland or the rest of Britain. But not this horse. He wouldn't be sold.

"We're going straight to Mr Flanagan to tell him!" Orla excitably told the others.

"Aye alright calm yerself though Orla". Michelle groaned. "My heads still poundin'"

Michelle would never learn her lesson when it came to alcohol. Not for the first time she was arriving at school nursing a sickening hangover.

"Drinkin again Michelle?" Erin sneered slightly.

"Too right! Me ma keeps leaving vodka in the house… what does she expect me not to drink it?"

"Aye she probably expects ye not to drink it Michelle…". Erin quipped. "… because… ye know … it's not yours?"

"Well why does she keep leavin' bottles about then Detective Quinn?"

"I don't think ye can class it as 'being left about', when I've seen ye go through every cupboard and dresser in ye house trying to find vodka". Clare remarked.

"Ye alright… ye makin' me sound like I've got a problem". Michelle huffed.

They all held their tongues, or rather Clare put her hand over Orla's mouth whilst holding her own, and they didn't tell Michelle what they really thought about the matter. The rest of the bus journey was peaceful, chatting away happily about the day ahead and Erin was in a particularly good mood as they had an English lesson that afternoon. Exiting the bus, Orla led the way to Mr Flanagan's classroom, the girls meeting Jenny and Aisling along the way who tagged along for the journey. They too would be in attendance at Orla's race at the weekend, going along with Harriet who was staying with Jenny once more.

"Mr Flanagan! Mr Flanagan!" Orla raced into his classroom, where he was marking some books before assembly.

"Orla… girls. What can I do for ye?"

He put his pen down and closed the book he was marking, finding the six girls stood in front of him smiling away.

"I'm riding again at the weekend sir!" She exclaimed.

"That's fantastic Orla". He grinned. "Will ye be winning again?"

"I reckon so".

"That's the spirit. Does Frankie think yer horse is ready then? He wasn't too sure the last time we spoke".

"Aye he's cracker according to Paul!"

"Well Paul's a good judge so he is. Will you be attending this time Michelle?"

Mr Flanagan smiled, addressing the young Mallon who had a hand on her head, and it didn't take a genius to work out why.

"Aye sir, nothing's stoppin' me Saturday".

"Good. Jenny, Aisling?"

The two girls both dipped their heads to confirm they would be going along with the others.

"Do you remember Harriet, Mr Flanagan?" Jenny asked him.

"The blonde girl from England who was with us before Christmas?"

"That's her! She's coming with us to watch sir".

"Excellent. A full house for ye all then".

Not quite. Erin wouldn't be attending the horse racing again like before. With the positivity about James's condition, she didn't want to spend too much time away from him and once school was finished on the Friday and she'd been home to get a few things, the rest of her weekend was planned around being in the Hospital. Orla understood and supported it, knowing that James's condition was everything to Erin and there would be other races to watch in the future. With James.

"Almost". Erin shyly pointed out.

"Of course". The teacher gave her a reassuring smile. "And how is he more importantly?"

"We're hopeful he might wake up soon". She replied.

"That's great! That makes me a lot happier, so it does. I've missed having the wee English fella about the classroom".

They all laughed at his statement and chatted away until the bell rang for assembly. He couldn't really give a damn about the books to mark when he had that group of girls to speak to. They were always a breath of fresh air, even on the most miserable mornings, and they were good to have a bit of craic with and brighten the day. He too was roped into attending the racing again, Orla pointing out the space left in her Uncle Gerry's car with Erin not going and he couldn't say no to Orla McCool.

Not many people could.

When Gerry set out with Joe that morning, he had an incredibly awful feeling that getting the new wardrobe would end up being a lot harder than it should. Most trips out the two of them had together ended in disaster. Their first time out as just the two of them was purchasing things for the incoming baby Erin and they ended up being banned from Dunelm for two years after bringing down a whole shelf and Joe then ending up in a dust up with the manager. Another time they went over into the free state to Sligo, Joe having a driving ban again at the time and Gerry pressured into taking him to see an old friend. Joe's poor directions got them lost and they ended up on a farm track in the arse end of nowhere, shouting at each other and incurring the wrath of a farmer and his trusty shotgun. It couldn't get much worse than that.

"Come on then Gerry, let's go". Joe said as they walked away from the counter having purchased the wardrobe, Gerry pushing it on the trolley out to the car.

Joe insisted upon parking in the first space they saw available, despite Gerry noting the spaces nearer to the row of shops. It meant a long walk back across the car park, longer than it should have been, which Gerry wasn't pleased with.

"You see Joe…". Gerry seethed out whilst pushing the trolley. "…I said we should have parked closer".

"Are ye still moaning about that ye eejit?"

"Not moaning Joe… presenting the logical argument".

"Don't you start with me boy. Ye just focus on pushin' that trolley and keep ye mouth shut".

Gerry soon realised it was already going famously well. Reaching the car, the two of them managed to withstand any want to argue with the other and succeeded in getting the flatpack item onto the roof rack without too much hassle. They set off on the relatively short trip back home and Joe decided to make conversation to try to make the time spent with Gerry seem shorter.

"So yer coming Saturday then?"

"Aye that's right Joe".

"Don't ye go scarin' the horses now. I won't have my family shown up by you being a dose!"

"Oh no! My plan to take over the world by scaring a few geldings has been discovered… what will I do!"

"OI!" Joe reprimanded his sarcasm. "I'm being serious. I won't have you making this family look stupid".

"And why does it have to be me Joe. It could be one of the wains…".

"Ye coward! Leave the wains out of it! Ye-… hold up is that our Colm over there?"

The other part of the day Gerry was dreading was when they got back home and Colm arrived, Joe insisting they needed a third pair of hands to put the wardrobe together. Gerry didn't think they did, but he lost the argument to Joe and went along with it in order to not cause any more trouble. Pulling over to the side of the road, it was indeed Colm and Joe beckoned him over to give him a lift the rest of the way to the house. Yeah… it was getting worse… Gerry thought to himself.

"Alright there Colm". Gerry spoke to him as he got into the back.

"Morning to ye Gerry. Ye know, I felt a twinge in my elbow this morning, and I said to myself, Colm…".

What felt like the longest two minutes of Gerry's life ensued before he finally had the parking spot outside the house in sight. Colm continued to go on about his elbow and then remembered a prior incident with it about thirty years earlier, which was a story Gerry first heard himself about eighteen years earlier.

Approaching his spot, Gerry began to slow up to pull in and all was going well until the fatal snapping sound came from above. Leaving Joe to secure it down suddenly proved to be a terrible idea as the wardrobe shot forward in its packaging and went crashing through the back window of one of the neighbour's cars that was parked in front.

Joe simply stared at Gerry with a look of pure disapproval and Gerry stared back, ready for the incoming shouting match and realistically taking the blame. Mary would kill the pair of them too. From the back seat, Colm had something to say about it.

"Ye know, I remember the time Tommy Campbell and his brother, ye know Davey with the one eye, well they dropped a chair and the leg fell off…".

The children of his revolution were progressing nicely. They would spend every evening learning the techniques and tactics that would eventually drive the soldiers back over the Irish Sea. The three of them started with guns under his tutelage, pistols being the first port of call. All three of them proved competent, though he suspected at least one of them already had experience when it came to firearms. They moved onto rifles then, which proved to be a bit of a struggle but with a couple of weeks training they were all hitting the targets out on the range, buried within the forest. There would be no cops or soldiers to disturb them out there and only a fool would venture into the forests to confront them. The lessons since Monday were about bombs and how to make them. He was an experienced bombmaker, his skills already leaving a kill count in double figures when it came to Brits. They were still young though, and after the first lesson on the Monday, he was concerned they would be unable to deliver but two rigorous sessions later and they appeared to be ready to at least handle one, if not fully make one.

"You've done well young Scanlon. Yer two absent associates too".

"Aye. But what's our next move".

He enjoyed the enthusiasm that three of them showed to remove the British threat from Ireland. It was refreshing to hear it from young voices.

"Come with me and I'll show ye".

The two of them walked inside from the range where they'd done further practice shooting and into a small room at the back of the cabin. An office in many ways, plans scattered about it. Maps and flags adorned the walls and there were boxes full of bullets on tables to the side.

"The target is here". He pointed down at the map of Derry on the main table.

"The Ebrington Barracks?" The Scanlon replied.

"We are going to blow it up… not just a grenade over a fence or a bomb under a car. The whole thing".

"Killing all the soldiers. Forcing them out of Derry".

"Correct Mr Scanlon. One of you will go into the barracks, slipping in undetected and being the last person anyone would suspect of carrying a bomb. The other two will wait out of sight of the soldiers and hold your position until the one from the inside has returned. Then the bomb goes off and the three of ye deal with any soldiers outside before making ye getaway. I'll be waitin' with a car a few streets away to get ye out".

"Are ye not comin' then?"

"Don't seem surprised Mr Scanlon, I'm not the spring chicken I once was ye know. Ye need me alive to have any relevance in the wider revolution".

The two stared for a moment, a silent challenge between them holding in the atmosphere for a few further seconds before the Scanlon broke contact.

"What if anything goes wrong?"

"Ye get the fuck out of there. The person going in takes the biggest risk, if they get caught, they say fuckin' nothin. And ye don't try and rescue them".

"Why not?" The Scanlon asked.

"Ha!" The man mocked. "If ye think two of ye can take on the British Army on their own turf and live to tell the tale then ye must be on fuckin' speed. Ye'll get shot to pieces and then you'll mean nothin' to anyone".

"We'd be martyrs to the cause".

"I need soldiers… warriors. Not martyrs".

"And when are we doin' it".

"We're going to make a real statement. Fifth of April, Good Friday". The man smiled.

That was the plan. Blow the Ebrington Barracks to kingdom come and force the Brits out of Derry, ready for the people to rise and take the city. Derry would just be the start; it wouldn't be long before Belfast threw out the Brits and Ireland would be just that, no longer with the shroud of the bastards from across the sea hanging over them.

"But how does the person get inside?" The Scanlon quizzed him. "And which one of us?"

"I think ye know that very well".

The Scanlon listened to the rest of the plan, concerned for the safety of their associates… the one going into the barracks in particular. The cause was everything and the three of them would willingly die for it.

But that wasn't there only cause. Their mentor may have warned them off, but they weren't done with a certain English fella yet. They knew how to make bombs now too.

That was their real aim.

That night, Erin was stood in her usual spot by his bed, stroking away at his hair and talking to him. She'd already been through the horse racing results, adding her usual amusing twist to each race result to humour both herself, and hopefully him. She'd also watched the Police statement about James's attack earlier that night, an update to the rest of the world with what any of them could have told the same audience on the night of his attack.

Nobody saw anything. There was no tangible evidence at the scene. The investigation was as such closed until they could speak to James.

She wasn't offended by the Cops decision to close the case, because there was very little that could be said or done unless the wee English fella had any information. Even then, there would be no guarantee of James remembering anything about the incident and there was no guarantee of him remembering anything at all. If that were the case, Erin believed she would never recover.

The door opened and it was around the time the last check from the nurses usually occurred, so Erin looked up expecting to find a nurse but instead finding the main doctor and Deirdre.

"Erin love". Deirdre addressed.

"Deirdre… what… what's going on?"

"Take a seat love". Deirdre gestured to the chair behind Erin.

She sat down, a mix of fear and nervousness combining to make a sickening pit of worry in the depths of her stomach.

"Doctor Kennedy has an update for us". Deirdre explained.

"Thank you Deirdre". The doctor smiled.

He was a young doctor, no older than thirty, with strawberry blonde hair swept over to the right. His hair was thin, already showing early signs of receding, clean shaven barring the lightest of pencil moustache's.

"We've analysed the scans of James's brain and we believe that there is no lasting brain damage going forward…".

Erin let out a huge sigh of relief and a few early tears of joy fell, quickly smothered by Deirdre's loving arms and the doctor waited for a moment whilst she let out the emotion. Deirdre herself let the tears fall, having already done so when the doctor spoke to her before going to see Erin. But he wasn't out of the woods either…

"But…". With one word Erin tightened up again. "… we cannot be certain what his memory will be like. He may come around and begin to remember everything, but we must be prepared for that not being the case also".

"Aye". Erin sniffled a reply. "My da has already said about that".

"You have a good family Miss Quinn. Do not resign yourself to that fate either though. James… James is a special case. I've never seen someone fight injuries so severe as his, so quickly. I've dedicated myself to science for many years, but I have to admit that his source of survival cannot be from the body's usual reaction. I think it's his heart that's fighting for him and I can see with my own eyes why he's battling on so hard".

Erin blushed at the compliment. It was not the first time that she was being told that he was fighting because of her, fighting to be able to see his Erin again.

"We still have tests to do". He continued. "But providing all of our criteria is fulfilled, there is no reason why we shouldn't see him wake in the next few days".

"When are ye doing the tests?" Erin asked the doctor.

"Tomorrow morning. I will lead the tests myself and by the time you are back from school, I should have the answers for you".

"Thank ye doctor".

It would be an agonising slog through school the next day, but it would be worth it if Erin could get back to the Hospital and find her wee English fella to be waking up. Her mind had been telling her for almost three weeks now not to get her hopes up, not to dream and then let her dreams be stolen by reality. But she could truly dare to dream that James would pull through. She could cling to something more tangible than just thoughts now, there was scientific expectation to back up the hope, even if the doctor couldn't understand the speed at which it was happening.

"I'll be here all day too so he's in good hands". Deirdre smiled at her.

"The best". Erin grinned.

"On a different note, is there anything I can do for you while I'm here Miss Quinn?" Dr Kennedy posed the question to her.

"I… I have a question".

Erin stuttered slightly but his expression was warm and inviting, giving her the courage to put what was on her mind over to him.

"How likely is it that he'll forget everything?"

It was a difficult question for the doctor but one of the more usual ones to face in the situation James was in. It was heart breaking when a patient would wake up and not remember their loved ones, though sometimes the memory would come back. Then there were the times it wouldn't, and families shattered with the grief they would have from the patient's memory loss.

"It is hard to put a number on it Miss Quinn. But he's already survived where most do not, I wouldn't put it past him to defy the odds again".

"Can I ask ye another?" She grinned at him.

"Of course".

"Can I have a hug?"

That was usually the other question he'd be asked, and Dr Kennedy immediately nodded his permission and soon found himself being squeezed to death by Erin Quinn. Not the worst way to go…

"Not too much now, if James wakes up, he might get the wrong idea".

They all laughed at the doctor's comment and Erin smiled brighter than she had done for weeks. After the doctor and Deirdre left, and she said goodnight to James, she sat in her makeshift bed on the floor of the room thinking about the light at the end of the tunnel they were in and how it seemed so close. She would have her best night's sleep at the Hospital that night.

Mrs Scanlon looked at the clock and it was eleven thirty. Danny and Brian were already asleep, but she was waiting up as her Antony was yet to arrive home. Since he'd come out of prison the month before, there weren't many nights where he would stay out too late, and if he did, he'd always phoned her to tell her. He'd finally got a job, taking work at a different dealership in the city as a mechanic, knuckling down with his life and moving away from the criminality. The Scanlon name was finally being put to good use and no longer just seen as the shower of shit it had been in the past.

The door opened a few minutes later and she stood bolt upright, her arms crossed and huffing as he walked into the living room.

"And where have ye been Ant?" She immediately demanded an explanation.

"Why do ye ask?" He replied, taking his coat off.

"I've been worried for ye son. I don't like when ye start goin out late… ye might be causin trouble for all I know!"

Antony rolled his eyes at his mother, understanding of her concerns but disappointed that she still hadn't quite learned to fully trust him yet.

"I've just been with a friend that's all".

"Yer Maria again?" She continued to question, but in a much friendlier tone.

"No. I'm seein' Maria again tomorrow if ye must know".

"Then who?" The tone reverted back to suspicious.

He sighed. He was in his late twenties, not twelve…

"I've just been going over some plans with a friend alright. No one ye know".

"No one I know… well that makes it worse!"

"Ma! Please, I'm not that person now… I've got a new perspective as I've said. I know the cause I need to dedicate myself to now. I'm not just aimlessly causing trouble…".

"And what cause might that be? Hmm?".

He really didn't want the argument with his mother, but she was making it very difficult not to. It wasn't her busy to know what he was up to and who he was up to it with. Not yet anyway…

"I'm going to bed ma. Love ye".

She didn't reply, instead just looking and listening as he walked out of the room, whistling and humming the song Children of the Revolution as he trudged up the stairs.

She would be keeping a very close eye on him, that was for sure.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: Gloria Victis 23rd March 1996

Five o'clock. Sarah had gone to sleep on the backseat and Joe left her there with a few blankets over her. He was sat inside the car too, the rain pelting onto the windows that morning from where he parked up outside the stables. It rained all night, and the ground was getting very heavy outside, potentially providing a real slog fest for Orla's second race later that day. She was already getting the horse ready with Paul, who was riding another one of Frankie's horses in a different race at the track earlier on the card.

"Ye nearly ready Orla!" Paul called out.

"Aye!" She shouted back.

She was just finishing up the last little bits with 'The Wee English Fella' before getting him into the horsebox, shared with the horse Paul was riding that was already loaded up. Frankie was busy inside getting documents and other bits and pieces ready before the race. It was a busy weekend for him as he had another runner at Dundalk on the Sunday, which Orla was surprised with finding out that she would be riding on the phone the night before. It was the start of a rather busy ten days or so at the Flanagan stables.

"He's lookin' well". Paul remarked as she led the horse into the box.

"Aye, he's in good shape".

After a couple minutes, the horse was loaded up and ready, and they closed the back of the horsebox. They weren't leaving for a little while yet so the two of them headed inside the rear of the house, Orla needing to get changed a short while later anyway.

"How come ye not ridin' the one tomorrow Paul?" Orla said to him as they got under cover from the rain.

"Ach well I've rode him for a couple of years now and I thought it'd be good to let ye race on an older horse like. Slower races when ye get to his age. Different challenge to yer horse there".

"Oh. Thanks Paul… it's good of ye to help me like that".

"We're friends remember". He smiled at her.

"Aye that we are. That we are".

"Shall we go through what I said about the track for today?"

"Alright. So, ye told me there's only five fences on the circuit and we do two and half laps, jumping thirteen fences".

"Correct". Paul nodded. "And?"

"And it's undulating so it is, so don't hang out the back or he'll get tired, keep him in the middle of the pack until the last three fences, then start movin' up".

He grinned his approval of her repeating what he'd been through with her on the phone the night before, Orla writing down the notes and studying them the rest of the night. When she put her heart into something, she wouldn't waste any energy elsewhere and an outsider would be mistaken for thinking she was a professional rider with the amount of preparation work she did. She'd also asked Paul for advice for the horse on Sunday, the ride out to prepare him on the Sunday morning being the first time she would ever sit on the horse.

"How's James?" Paul then turned the conversation to the stricken Englishman.

"Erin phoned after ye phoned last night. He opened his eye again and was blinking so he was… but he hasn't said anything yet or moved".

"That's fantastic".

"Erin was barely holding it together ye know. I'm happy though. It means Erin's happy again and I want to see her smiling more".

"And how does that make ye feel Orla".

"Cracker… Absolutely cracker!"

That was the honest truth about how Orla felt when it came to Erin. She'd seen the strain of how much James not being there by her side had put on Erin and knowing that he was slowly waking made her feel excited for her. But also for herself. She couldn't wait to have James back by their side, joking away and watching her ride the horses and cheer her victories.

Eventually, Orla headed inside to get changed into her gear, returning a short while later as Frankie and Paul congregated out by the horsebox, ready to get going. Saying goodbye to them, she jogged over to the car, finding Granda Joe asleep as well as Aunt Sarah, behind the wheel, his head lolling to one side. The sound of the door opening woke him up and he looked up to her with a grin, proud to see her in the silks of 'The Wee English Fella'.

"All set love". He whispered, trying not to wake Sarah.

"Aye". She replied in an equally low voice.

"Remember, today is for James. Yer win is for him".

"It is. And I will win Granda".

"I know ye will love". He smiled.

They set off on the journey just as the rain stopped, the course south of Armagh being over a couple of hours away. She was confident she would win for James and Joe was confident too. Besides, she'd have all of her friends there too and that always gave her added motivation.

Preparations were frantic at the Quinn house. Mary believed she had the morning planned out to perfection, to be able to leave by their nine o'clock cut off time. The first step of the plan did succeed, she'd got up at six as she wanted and was showered and dressed by half past. Joe, Sarah and Orla were long gone by this point, so she only had breakfast to make for herself and Gerry as well as a little something for baby Anna. It was with Anna where it all began to deviate from the plan. Uncle Colm was on babysitting duties once again and Mary's instructions to him were clear. Make sure that he got there for half eight.

Colm turned up at ten to seven. He'd already eaten at least but with Gerry still asleep upstairs and Anna not providing enough of an adequate distraction, she was pulled into his long rambling stories. A woman's skirt falling down in church was amusing and shocking in many ways but when the woman died twenty-five years earlier and Colm's story was from ten years before that, patience wore frighteningly thin. It was a setback to her plans, but it wasn't the end of the world and after another hour or so of speeding up a bit, Mary was back on track. The purses were all sorted, her bag had every possible provision under the sun within it and the washing up was done. Then it was Gerry's turn to meddle with her plans.

The incident from two days prior with the wardrobe was still dragging on. She'd known that morning it was a mistake to let the two of them go off on an adventure together, given the previous disasters that occurred when it happened. The surprising part was when the latest disaster came, it was one that took place right outside the house, rather than in the city or out in the country. The neighbour whose car the flatpack wardrobe smashed through the back window of didn't take kindly to it, understandably, and Joe immediately put all the blame on Gerry when they were confronted. That satisfied the neighbour who gave a verbal barrage that even Joe wouldn't throw at the man, but Gerry fought back and the two began a bitter war of words in the street. Joe pulled Gerry away in the end but not before the neighbour threatened all sorts of action in retaliation. Learning of what happened, she wanted the pair of them to apologise and pay for the damages but what she didn't want was Gerry deciding to do it on that morning.

It was nearly ten to nine and Gerry still wasn't back. And then the arrival she'd dreaded all morning occurred.

"MOTHERFUCKERS!"

"Why are ye shoutin' that Michelle, there's only Mrs Quinn here!" An irritated Clare whispered to her.

"Because it's my thing, ya know that".

Walking through to the kitchen, they checked back to see Colm with Anna, Clare giving Michelle an extra glare on seeing it wasn't just Mary in the house. Michelle shrugged it off and instead went for a high five with Mary but didn't see the wooden spoon lying in wait, getting a smack on her palm for her troubles.

"That's for the language!" Mary pointed a finger at her, her expression stern.

"Christ… alright Mary…".

Clare sensed the incoming argument and jumped in to avoid Michelle being strangled on the dining table for her insolence.

"How are ye Mrs Quinn?"

"Raging Clare… Raging".

"Aye I can see that…". Michelle sniggered.

"You'll get the wooden spoon again if ye don't keep it shut Michelle!" Mary turned on her again.

Putting her hands up in the air in a sign of surrender, Michelle took a seat at the dining room table and stretched out while she waited until it was time to go. Clare stayed stood up, fidgeting awkwardly next to her friend.

"For feck's sake…". Mary muttered under her breath looking out of the window.

"What's up Mary?" Michelle asked.

"Ach, Gerry's out talking to the neighbour and he's been ages, so he has. We're gunna be late if he doesn't shift himself".

"Nightmare". Michelle commented, receiving a third stern look.

"Would ye go and find him Clare love?" Mary asked of her.

Clare stared at her, trying to understand if she was being serious and cacking herself at the same time. She couldn't say no to Mary Quinn: it was a death sentence.

"Okay…".

Holding enough nerves to down an airliner, she shuffled back outside, looking to see which house Gerry was at. She found him two doors down to the left and briskly strode out of the gate and down the road to the gate of that house. He seemed to be conversing amicably enough but not wanting to incur the wrath of Mary, Clare took a deep breath and decided to end the conversation on his behalf.

"MR QUINN!" She shouted, at a high pitch.

Gerry practically jumped out of his own skin when he heard her screeching, and the neighbour didn't appear to be pleased with her either.

"Is everything ok Clare?" He frowned with a slight annoyance across his face.

"We need to get going!"

"Aye… right".

He never pulled her up on the need for the shouting out on the street, especially after the much more positive chat with the neighbour. It was almost as if Joe not being present to stir the pot made it all go much smoother. Who would have thought it…

Erin didn't often procrastinate when it came to homework, but Maths was the one exception to the rule. She hated Maths with as much passion as she loved English. It was so rigid in its structure, not letting her explore and be creative like she could be with poetry and writing short stories. Algebra was a particular bore. They would never need to know about it when they had jobs and lives. Her parents never spoke of algebraic equations anyway.

She'd put it off but over lunchtime she decided to hell with it and began to start working on it in the early afternoon. All morning was spent by James's side watching as his eyes would occasionally open although she could never tell if he could really see her or not. He'd also moved slightly that morning, a shuffle she heard when she was stripping the sheets off of the makeshift bed. It was only a small movement but having the ability to move was another important tick off the checklist, though the doctors had already ruled out paralysis.

"Alright there Erin?" Deirdre asked when she walked in, two cups of tea with her.

"Ach, this homework… I hate it!"

Being as overly dramatic as ever, Erin flung her arms into the air as she spoke, Deirdre snickering to herself at the sight. She knew how much drama Erin Quinn could create at the drop of the hat and a piece of homework annoying her so much seemed about right.

"I was always in trouble for not doing me homework ye know". Grinning, Deirdre sat opposite her.

"Really?" The surprised Erin stopped working to listen.

"Aye I was terrible for it. I didn't have the patience for it ye know. Not like our Kathy".

"That surprises me".

"Why? Do I come across as a goody two shoes or somethin'?" She laughed at Erin.

"Yer just very driven and focused. I would have thought it was the other way round when it came to ye and James's ma".

"Catch yourself on! … Kathy was a right little bookworm. When I was about ten…".

The two of them sat there for twenty minutes or so, Deirdre using her lunch break to relive memories of her own schooldays and the times that Kathy would think less of her for not doing her homework. Deirdre was always the one wanting to go out and explore, cause trouble and chase the boys, and it was like that until Kathy reached fifteen. From then on out, the roles reversed, and it was Deirdre who was studying and Kathy out chasing the boys. It was more of an enforced choice for Deirdre, needing to study to be able to do her training as a nurse, the job she'd wanted for a long time. It ended up being pure coincidence that they became pregnant around the same time, but it did dawn on Erin that they both could have had very different lives without having Michelle and James respectively.

"The worst of all though for worrying about homework was yer ma".

"Mammy?!" Erin's shock was even greater at that revelation.

"Aye she was terrible for worrying so she was. Probably worse than Clare ye know".

Erin was starting to think Deirdre was taking the piss because there was absolutely no chance anyone could top Captain cack attack at her own game. Hearing that her own mother was the candidate, she didn't believe it one bit.

"Ye can catch yourself on Deirdre!". Erin sniggered, Deirdre immediately turning stony faced and Erin shrunk back into herself.

"I mean it, she was the worst! I shouldn't tell ye this, and under no circumstances do ye repeat this to yer mother, but she cried her eyes out when she got a detention once. Sobbed like the sun wasn't coming up the next day ye know".

Guffawing at the statement, Erin nodded her agreement not to mention to her ma, but that was free blackmail being offered by Deirdre and she wouldn't forget it.

It was soon time for Deirdre to go again and she left to return to work, being posted in the same ward as to be close to James at all times but still required to do her normal job. Erin looked back down at the algebra, briefly contemplating a further procrastination but, upon deciding against it, sighed and moved on to the next question.

The ground at the Farmacaffley course dried up far quicker than expected from the rainfall of the early hours. It wasn't the worst for the 'The Wee English Fella'; he'd won in the same conditions the last time out, but the fast-drying surface could often be tricky for a young horse to adapt to. Orla was riding in the fifth race at ten to four, a long time to wait at the track but they had to be there early so that Paul could take his ride in the first race at ten to two. The pressure was on for Orla when he won the race in a great battle between four horses as they went to the line. Frankie didn't often run two horses on the same card, and it was even rarer for him to win two races on the same card.

When Orla went to weight out for her ride, she found the jockey's to be far more hospitable than they had been a few weeks earlier. The particularly nasty jockey wasn't riding at the track that afternoon, but a few of the others that did were in opposition again and this time they wouldn't belittle her. They'd seen what she could do, and any underestimation of her ability would be foolish. They even had a bit of craic with her whilst she presented to the judge, Orla joking back with a few quips of her own to the bemused men.

The best bit for Orla came when she went out to mount up in the parade ring and the sea of people shouting her name and wanting an autograph. She'd assumed the one at the dinner table a couple of weeks before would have been a one off, despite Joe's insistence that it was the first of many, and her Granda was proven right. There must have been one hundred people waiting for Orla's signature and to her credit she stood and signed every single bit of paper or notebook handed her way. Sarah beamed in delight at the adulation her daughter was receiving as well as the gang of girls huddled around her. Harriet delivered the news of her own talk with her father once she arrived at the course and he'd agreed to invest in some jump horses ready for the next winter campaign. Frankie and Paul almost didn't want to hear it but the two of them weren't fools, they were never going to hold onto Orla forever. She'd only ridden one race as an amateur but the pair of them knew her talents would be put to use elsewhere. It wasn't a set-in stone decision yet, Granda Joe telling her to think about it, something which all of the girls agreed with. They made for quite the sight in the owners' area, the large group stood with owner, trainer and jockey.

Another change from the previous occasion was the price. Orla went off three weeks earlier at two hundred and fifty to one because she was a city girl with no racing background. 'The Wee English Fella' was the red-hot favourite this time around, a four to one chance in the field of thirteen runners. The distance was again three miles, the standard distance for a lot of the amateur races but the track's rugged terrain made it a severe test of stamina.

"There she goes". Frankie said to the girls as Orla cantered the horse down to the start.

"She looks confident". Aisling remarked, the others voicing their agreement.

"What do ye think then Frankie?" Joe gave him a final questioning of their chances.

"It's a good race… plenty of talent in there and they're all a couple of years older than our lad but he's got a good jump in him as ye know".

"Aye. And the best jockey". He smiled.

"For certain". Frankie smiled back. "But like Paul was sayin', she can't get goin' too early but can't start too late either".

"I'd just push the other fuckers off". Michelle snorted. "And that's why I'm stood here watchin… I know".

Start time approached and Paul returned to take up position with the binoculars, getting a good sight of Orla eyeing up the first fence of thirteen on the way round. Nine less than the race before but that made every jump more critical and 'The Wee English Fella' never had a problem with his jumping. The announcer, the same man from the last time, spent the moments before the race talking up the chances of Orla and her horse instead of the downgrading abuse he'd thrown at her before. She was already a crowd favourite and he'd eaten humble pie and been out of pocket the last time; there would be no harsh words before the off the second time around.

The tape went up and they were off…

The first one and a half circuits went by without too much trouble for her. There were plenty of others who couldn't say the same; there had been two fallers and one jockey rather unceremoniously dumped to the floor within that time. The field of ten that remained were well spread out, the leader taking them along a couple of lengths ahead of the main pack. Orla was sat within the main pack of six, in sixth place in the field and following down the centre rather than the outside like the last race. The three behind them looked well out of it already and the undulating nature of the course was already sapping the strength of some of those in front of her.

From the owners' area they were all cheering for her but were drowned out by the hundreds of people in the main crowd cheering the horse on. James's involvement in the horse was well known too and throughout the day, other racegoers would come up to the group and ask about the real wee English fella. The public would always love a good story to a race, horse racing being known for producing some glorious tales of success and heartbreak, this one being no different. The announcer himself even led the crowd in a round of applause for James, a sign of respect for an Englishman in Ireland that was not seen often.

Racing around the first bend for the final time, Orla began to get the first feeling of something not being quite right with the horse. Usually a reasonable galloper and good round the bends, he was slow and dropped back a place, having to be given encouragement to regain it. She didn't think him to be injured but on the long run downhill towards the fifth last, she tried to think what had gotten into the animal. He seemed to regain a sense of himself on the approach though and jumped forward with such vigour that he gained two places, albeit one place through one of the others falling. The crowd cheered at such a leap but on the uphill drag towards the next fence, he suddenly started to slip away again, returning to the final spot in the leading group of six.

"What is it Robert" Frankie asked his brother, Paul having gone down to the bend to wait for her arrival at the line.

"I don't know Frankie. He's jumping well but he keeps slowin' up".

"Pass em here". Frankie gestured for the binoculars.

Sighting Orla regaining a position before jumping the next fence, he kept her in view over it and this time whilst the horse jumped well, he didn't quicken away from the obstacle as he often would. Something was definitely not quite right but with a young horse that was still maturing, they could sometimes act a little strangely in races and it wasn't grounds to pull the horse up. Passing the binoculars back, Joe took over the duties of watching. His main concern, along with all of them, was that Orla would fall from the horse and get herself hurt in the process.

"How is she Joe?" Harriet asked.

"Well love, she's lower in the saddle than I've ever seen her before…".

"That sounds really pervy Joe". Michelle joked.

"It's lower in the saddle than you've even been either, ye mouth". He retorted from behind the binoculars.

They all sniggered and smirked at the rebuke, Sarah included and even Frankie had to admit it was amusing. Robert, for the sake of his profession stayed neutral on the matter but was fighting a losing battle over Joe's humorous response to the young Mallon.

Back out on the track, Orla was having a hard time understanding what was wrong with the horse. She'd stop driving him on again as he appeared to be back on an even keel as the third last fence homed into view but something still wasn't right. Jumping the third last, she jumped ahead of the horse in third who was tiring and the front two were perfectly poised for her to catch when she would say go for it coming around the top bend. But for a third time, on the short run between the two fences, the horse lost ground and the leaders put three lengths into her. That left her five adrift and, neither making a mistake at the penultimate fence, gave her a lot of work to do.

"She's losing ground". Joe sighed.

"Jesus…". Frankie trailed off.

"Hey come on guys, there's still time…". Jenny chipped in with positivity. "… you know what they say, Rome wasn't built in a day!"

"I hope she won't be too upset". Clare resigned herself to accepting Orla's defeat.

"I agree with Jenny". Michelle spoke up again. "It ain't over till the fat lady sings and that one over there hasn't belted out Pavarotti yet".

She pointed to a large woman who was stood on the inside of the course by the winning post, the others shaking their heads at her rudeness.

"I think she's got a great chance still". Gerry remarked.

"Stay out of it you, are ye tryin' to curse her?!" Joe furiously replied to him, the binoculars down to look him in the eye before going straight back up. "Well done ye ham-fisted eejit, she's just lost another length!"

"She's got no chance from there". Frankie sighed in resignation himself. "Never mind, we'll go again".

It wasn't really Gerry's fault that the horse was losing ground, but the fact remained that he was, and Orla still sat trying to work it out. 'The Wee English Fella' never felt so lethargic and it couldn't have been Paul misjudging his suitability to race again as he was far too knowledgeable to get it wrong.

"Come on boy". She tried to cajole him as she pushed away. "Yaaaaaa!"

All the tricks that would usually work were not and coming around halfway between the last and second last, she suddenly found herself with seven lengths to find and not enough track to do it. The whip, the last resort for the jockey, was in her hand and she'd always tried not to use it and was yet to need it on her mount.

"Come on boy, don't make me use it!" She almost shouted at the horse.

"I don't want to!"

The follow up came as more of a whimper but it was the honest truth. She really didn't want to use the whip on him.

But with the home bend coming up and an enquiry into her riding if she didn't use it, defeat was looming, and it became a certainty. Drawing it back, she closed her eyes.

Erin's hatred of algebra was only increasing as the day went on. She'd managed to answer, hopefully correctly, some of the harder questions, but found herself unstuck on what was supposed to be the easiest question of the lot.

5x+3 = 7x – 1

"The x is… five… no… maybe". She huffed into the room, the machines not being of any use to her though.

Writing down the workings out, she quickly realised that x couldn't be five. If x was five, then it would make too much on the first part of the equation and the second half wouldn't balance back to make the right figure as it should.

"Fecks sake!" She slammed her fist on the table.

Looking back over it again, she tried nine as the x, but it too wouldn't fit properly, leaving her with same problem as with five. Seeing red, she began to rant.

"What is the point of this! This is meant to be Maths for god's sake, leave the letters alone they're meant to be for English!".

Taking a breath, she continued on with the crusade against algebra.

"And why have so many x's! What's it wantin', trying to have all those x's… a spot on Coronation Street or somethin'".

The equation bore the full brunt of Erin's frustration, taking another torrent of abuse aimed at the equals sign in the middle and complaining that it wasn't a protest for equality, it was a school subject. Erin did think that everyone should be equal, but her maths homework was hardly the place for that debate, and it wasn't fair that her Saturday afternoon was being ruined by the stupid thing.

"Ach come on, this is ridiculous!" She still whined. "5x+3 = 7x – 1… how hard can it be!".

"X is 2".

"Ach, thanks James".

She froze. In a split second, the pen dropped out of her hand onto the table and her breath caught, her knees turning to mush, and blood racing around her body.

"J… James".

She rushed to his side and peered down at him, noticing that this time both eyes were open, and he was blinking away.

"Help…".

Shit. Of course. He was in agony.

Bursting out of the room, her lungs got ready to deliver an eye-popping shout down the hallway.

"DEIRDRE!"

Deirdre was talking to Dr Kennedy and the two of them sprinted down the hallway to James's room, Erin retreating back inside with a hand on the door.

"HE SPOKE! HE SPOKE!"

They let off breaths of relief, fearing Erin was calling them as he'd taken a turn for the worse but instead finding that less than three weeks after being at death's door, James Maguire was back. Dr Kennedy approached on the opposite side of the bed, Deirdre staying on Erin's side and holding her hand as she gripped the rail, tears of happiness running down her face.

"James…". The Doctor tried to get his attention. "… James, this is Dr Kennedy, can ye hear me?"

"Pain…". He murmured in reply to the doctor.

"I know yer in pain James, I'll get something for it".

Dr Kennedy opened a cupboard to the side of where the machines were blaring away and pulled out a syringe ready to inject the pain relief. For the first time in those weeks, James was consciously aware of the agony the severe injures would have on him and he would need it to calm him more than anything. Erin looked away as the needle went in; she wasn't afraid of needles before but seeing one go into James's arm sickened her.

"Tired…". James spoke for the third time.

Erin looked around at both the doctor and Deirdre for an explanation, neither of them offering any surprise at his statement.

"You will be son. You've got plenty of rest to have, settle down there now".

Squeezing Erin's hand, Deirdre ran her other hand over her back to comfort her. He may have been back, but it was only fleeting, and it would be an agonising wait to be able to have a full conversation with him. It could be days away or weeks away, but every minute would be draining nonetheless.

"E… E…". James wasn't done yet though. "…Er… Erin".

Hearing her name, she let go of Deirdre's hand and shot forward to stand over him again, looking down at his beautiful green eyes.

"Yes James!" She cried, softly cupping his cheek for the first time since he was attacked.

"Love… you".

Those were his last words before drifting off to sleep again. The tears trickled out of not only her eyes, but Deirdre's too and Dr Kennedy watched over proceedings with a fond smile. This was one of his favourite bits of the job.

Leaning down, and with no rush, Erin gently placed her lips onto his and held them there. She'd missed doing it, not knowing what it might do if she did it whilst he was comatose, but it had never felt better. She loved him so much.

"I love you too my wee English fella". She mumbled between their locked lips.

The run in of the ten to four race at the Farmacaffley hunt would be one remembered just as highly as the race weeks before at Enniskillen. With her whip already drawn, 'The Wee English Fella' suddenly sprang to life again before she struck him, and the jolt forward almost threw her off. Quickly regaining control, Orla charged around the home bend and the lengths began to drop away. The first two horses were neck and neck, but she had them in her sight now. They were drifting apart on the run up to the final fence, leaving her with a very exciting opportunity that she grasped.

"What the…". Joe could barely speak as she appeared.

"She's… chargin'!" Mary shouted enthusiastically.

"I don't believe it…". Frankie dropped his hat on the ground from the pure disbelief. "… surely she can't win from there…".

"Look!" Robert piped up. "There's a gap!"

He'd noticed the same thing she had from behind the leaders and the fast-approaching horse was angled to go straight between the slogging front runners. The jockey's in front would hear her coming but she was so much faster than them it wouldn't matter. But above all, Orla was talented and liked to put on a show for the crowd so as the two leaders got in close to climb over the last, she asked for a mammoth leap from 'The Wee English Fella' and he took off miles from the fence. A lot of horses would dive through it and the jockey would look like an idiot on the other side when they smacked the turf. But not this jockey.

The horse, fully trusting his rider, delivered and jumped through the centre of the two rivals and into the lead, the crowd roaring at the spectacular leap. 'The Wee English Fella' landed running too but still had the hill to the finish to climb up. The two rivals were quality horses, a couple of years more experienced than Orla's mount. Neither could match her though when she kicked him on, and lengths were soon appearing as if they were being given away for free.

"FUCKING GO ON!"

The loudest shout on the course was of course Michelle's but they were all shouting and screaming for Orla as she charged up the hill and crossing the line, she was up in her stirrups again, roaring to the crowd that adored her, whip in hand once again but still so far unused.

Paul was cheering her on like a madman from around the bend, her victory completing a great day for them both and was tearing up again at the spectacle. He couldn't help but not.

None of them knew, as they jumped into the air and hugged, that the moment the horse revived itself before the home bend, the real wee English fella had spoken his first words in weeks.

Erin was proven wrong about the equation as well, something she was unaware of as her lips found their home on his. Algebra was relevant in real life.

X did equal two. Two victories for the wee English fella.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: Why?

They were still at the track when the news came through from the Hospital. Deirdre phoned the judge's office at the course and they somehow pulled Joe away from the jubilations to take the call. The rest of them were all waiting for him to return, dreading what the phone call could have been about, but there were tears of relief when he told them.

James had spoken.

Instead of returning to their homes, all of them barring Frankie and Paul who'd have to take the horse back to the stables, made their way to the Altnagelvin. He might not have said anything while they were there, but they were all there for Erin more than anything.

"He's fought like a true man". Joe spoke out loud to the crowded room. "I'm proud to have this lad in my family".

"I am proud to count him as a friend". Harriet spoke up too.

"I think we all are". Clare added.

They stayed there talking away around him. There was the vain hope that he might wake again and speak but they couldn't count on it. Dr Kennedy was also present when they arrived and explained that he might not wake again until the night or the next morning. His body was in intense pain from the multiple injuries that were healing, and his strength would be focused there and not into speaking. It didn't matter in many ways though, for Erin had spoke to him and with all the resolve he had, he professed his love for her. He remembered her. No one could ever take Erin away from him, no matter how hard they tried.

Eventually, they all began to filter out. Harriet, Jenny and Aisling were the first three to leave, the private car they'd arrived in courtesy of the English girl taking them back to Jenny's house. Mr Flanagan also went shortly after, promising to phone Sister Michael and inform her of the good news when he got home. There was no doubt she would be pleased too. Clare's parents turned up shortly after, getting a brief look at the wee English fella themselves before taking her home. Martin beat them all there from the track, sitting in with Erin and Deirdre whilst they waited, and he took his wife and Michelle away around seven o'clock leaving just Mary, Gerry, Joe, Sarah and Orla. It would be a late dinner that night, but they didn't care when James was back.

"What a day". Orla yawned.

"Tired love?". Sarah smiled at her daughter. "Really takes it out of ye the racing so it does".

"Ach Mammy, I know but I love it".

Orla hadn't changed out of her riding gear, covered with the mud kicked up by the other horses. Erin was delighted for her when they broke her news in return, Joe waiting until they got to the hospital rather than revealing it to Deirdre on the phone. Her cousin was doing so well with the racing and hearing she would be off out again the next day to ride was music to her ears. They wouldn't all be going with her this time, something that was understood and respected by Orla. Joe and Sarah would be the only ones to go with her along with Paul and Frankie. Another early start.

"We better be off soon". Joe said to others whilst putting a hand on Orla's shoulder. "Another early start for this one".

"Why can't they build a track here like". Sarah pondered. "Then we wouldn't have to get up so early".

"Local government are a bunch of wimps, so they are". Joe grumbled.

"I doubt that's the reason". Gerry unwisely interjected.

"Did we speak out of line Minister? I don't remember asking ye for yer opinion!"

"Granda!" Erin cautioned. "Can ye at least leave the argument till ye got home".

Softening upon hearing Erin's demands, he backed off Gerry but none of them had any doubts that it would be the end of the argument. Erin at least didn't have to hear it by sleeping at the hospital, and once the family went, she got herself ready earlier, sitting by James's bedside and reading a book with a blanket over her. He didn't wake again before lights out that night although it did nothing to alter Erin's positivity. Settling down for the night, she basked in the warmth of knowing he knew she was there for him and it almost felt like he was there too, with his arms around her.

Like how it should be.

Stood at a safe distance from the barracks, a mentor and his student watched the comings and goings of the soldiers. They were hidden from sight, but at range, with powerful binoculars, they could monitor everything that was going on. It was a fairly quiet night that Saturday, one or two vehicles coming and going every hour and the occasional bit of humour between soldiers on the gate. It was strangely relaxed for soldiers in a country that could very much turn against them within hours on the basis of one wrong decision or one correct hostile action. It was the latter that the Mentor hoped his students could achieve.

"They're almost off guard". The young Scanlon whispered.

"Perhaps". His mentor whispered back. "It's been a while since there was a proper incident here".

"What about-".

"The fella ye kicked the shit out of. Just a drop in the ocean that fella".

He was more of a drop in the ocean than his mentor would ever know, but he didn't ever need to know; it would only make him more suspicious.

"We're doin' this at night then?" The Scanlon asked.

"Either way works but a getaway is easier in the cover of darkness".

"What about the inside bit. Surely it might be harder at night, doors might be locked…".

"Don't panic Mr Scanlon. It'll work out just fine if ye stick to the plan".

The plan was ambitious but there was no doubting it's cunning tactical brilliance. To be able to get someone inside the barracks to plant the bomb under no suspicion whatsoever was dangerous but if they could get out undetected then it was perfect. The confusion for those that remained would be so great, they'd be dead before they had a chance to react.

"Even if it doesn't, it will all be worth it". The Scanlon huffed.

"Do ye ever listen to me!?" The man scowled. "Making yerself a martyr isn't the way we do things anymore".

"Feckin should be. It would be an honour to give my blood for Ireland".

His mentor's patience grew thin. It was not the first time the student fought back, and he wasn't the only one of them to do so, but it wouldn't be tolerated.

"Ye speak like a rebel of the old days boy".

"Maybe I do. If I die attacking the barracks, then Ireland will rise up as its beloved son is killed by the Brits. A sacrifice of blood for the greater cause ye know".

"Hah!" The mentor scoffed. "Ye talkin of ideals that we started with in this century… look where we are now. Many have died for the cause unnecessarily. Where has it got us?".

"I'd rather die for it than accept Brits here".

"For god's sake boy grow up! Yer not Patrick Pearse. Those ways didn't work then, and they won't work now. Stay alive, kill more brits and then when they're driven back over the sea, ye live to tell the tale to yer grandkids".

They stood silent for another few minutes as the two digested each other's thoughts. For the mentor, it was painful for him to have to spell the lesson out to his student again. Blood sacrifice was stooped in Ireland's history and one of the principles of the very uprising Patrick Pearse was known for. But the thoughts and ideas of those loyal to the cause eighty years earlier hadn't stopped them from being in the same position they were in that night. If you were given the chance to do something again, and you did the same thing, your failure was guaranteed.

For the young Scanlon, his mentor's lack of a belief in a noble death was disturbing. He may have taught them valuable lessons when it came to the military side of their fight against the Brits, but there were differences when they dug deeper into their ideological viewpoints. All of them, the other two included, wanted the Brits driven out but the three of them were more willing to get their hands dirty than their mentor. Dying in the knowledge that it had been for an Ireland that was free was the most honourable way to go yet the mentor didn't see it. That was where their views began to divide, and the mentor's main interest was always the military target. It made sense, eliminate the military and all British hopes would be lost. They wouldn't send soldiers over that they couldn't afford to lose, and the message would be clear with the bomb. But this was about more than the soldiers for the three of them. A Brit was a Brit. Whether they carried a gun or had the power to enforce the law upon you was irrelevant.

And there were easier targets than the soldiers.

One sprang to mind very quickly.

Erin woke to the sound of James talking away to himself. A beautiful harmony for the early morning in normal circumstances, but they were not in normal circumstances. Rubbing her eyes, she pulled herself off the bed and shuffled over to his side.

"Ceiling looks funny". He murmured.

"James?". Erin, not hearing him properly, tried to get him to speak again.

"The… ceiling… it looks funny".

She looked up at the ceiling and couldn't see anything wrong with it. It was no different to most ceilings, albeit they were without the admittedly extremely powerful light that was above him. It didn't constitute odd though.

"It's just a normal ceiling". She whispered, planting a kiss on his lips after.

"I liked that…". He croaked out.

"I bet you did".

She didn't need him to speak again to know what he wanted and kissed him again, feeling him smile underneath in the way he always did.

"I'll be back in fifteen minutes. Wait up for me?" She asked him.

"I'm tired…". He groaned. "… just wake me up".

Giggling at him and watching him giggle back, she gave him his third kiss before going out of the room, picking up a few things on the way out. She was off to go and shower and get dressed, freshen up for a bright new day with her wee English fella. She saw Deirdre on the way, who was working the Sunday shift and she went straight into James whilst Erin was out. He'd gone back to sleep again by the time Deirdre reached the room, less than a minute after Erin exited it, peacefully snoring away. He would need to get his rest after the horrific injuries.

When Erin returned, she came with cups of tea for both her and Deirdre, the two of them sitting together for ten minutes. Erin told her of how he'd spoken again and they both relaxed in the knowledge he was mending, even if it would only be short bursts of him speaking. Deirdre went back to work shortly after and Erin was back by his side, looking over him and stroking his arm gently. He kept sleeping and she refused to wake him up as he'd suggested, letting his body decide naturally when he wanted to rise.

It was about two hours later when he finally did.

"Erin". He coughed slightly as he spoke.

She was back at the table reading when he did, and the bookmark was in and the book down within half a second as she rushed to his side.

"What is it?"

"Can I… can I have some water?"

Nodding to his request, she fetched a cup from the table and poured water in from the jug she'd been using herself. Putting it on the side table, she got her hand underneath him and helped him shift up. For the first time James wasn't lying down flat, he was up, and he did so without wincing, gritting his teeth to ignore the pain in the rest of his body.

"Now you be steady". She commanded him, the cup coming up to his lips.

He sipped at it, revelling in the feeling of the cool water on his lips and then down the back of his throat. After having spent weeks of being fed and watered through tubes, it was pleasant to be able to drink properly.

"Thank you…". He smiled. "… darling".

If he wasn't lying in a hospital bed with bandages around both arms, she would have smacked him in either arm rather hard for calling her darling. She wasn't fond of him doing it and he'd been told about it more than once.

"James…". Erin said softly with her head next to his. "… do ye… do ye know what day it is?"

"Sunday". He hummed.

That was a surprise to Erin. After being comatose for so long, the fact he could remember what day of the week it was startled her. Unless…

"And the… date?" She tentatively put the question across to him.

"Third of March". He replied.

The reply she dreaded was uttered. James must have thought it was the next day, waking up that morning believing it to be the day after whatever had occurred, not registering weeks had gone by. It would be up to Erin to deliver the news to him and her stomach produced a raging sea of sickness and sadness, the contents attempting to force their way up her body.

"N-… No James. It…it… it's the twenty fourth of March".

She watched as he took in her reply, watching his face turn from a slight amusement to a despicable horror and panic. He didn't know whether to believe her or not and leaned forward ever so slightly, trying to search her for a clue but she only nodded to confirm her own words.

"Something happened James…". Erin's voice was cracking, her hand coming to rest on his cheek. "… do ye know what happened?"

"N…No".

Her eyes widened as she watched him trying to search his brain, attempting to remember what had happened to him but failing to do so. He looked terrified now and their eyes met, Erin shivering at the sight of… humiliation and… defeat in his.

"Why can't I remember Erin?" He whispered, the first tears escaping him.

"Why… Why…".

He broke into sobs and she wrapped herself around his head, finding him burying his head into her shoulder, a watery crater forming around her collarbone.

He'd fought off multiple injuries, survived when no one had given him a chance. He fought off injuries that could have changed him forever. But James Maguire was broken by three letters in the form a question. The only question that he needed answering.

Why?

James stayed crying into Erin's shoulder for thirty minutes before she realised that he'd gone to sleep in her arms. He was perfect in her arms, whether he was covered with injuries or not, and she knew just how lucky she was to have him. The English boy that walked into her life on an early school morning, nervously following Michelle along. Her very own knight in shining armour, the knight who conquered the only kingdom on Earth that an army could not. Her heart.

Holding his crying form, Erin could only feel the desperation of her wee English fella's situation. He didn't know what had happened, why he was where he was or why he was in so much pain. As beautiful as remembering her was, he couldn't remember why she was having to help him drink water. He just couldn't.

Deirdre returned ten minutes or so after he'd fallen asleep again and Erin broke down in her arms, explaining the situation to her. Deirdre too was upset. He'd battled and been through so much, yet he didn't even know why he'd had to fight. It was a harrowing experience. She rang Mary and Gerry soon after and they rushed to the hospital to be with their daughter.

"Mammy!".

Erin practically ran to her mother when she arrived, crying in her arms and Gerry wrapped his arms around them both. He held the tears back, as he had done since the moment Mary took the phone call from Deirdre, but he was breaking up just as much. Mary was the same, her heart went out for the poor fella who slept with a pained expression on his face.

"Oh love". Mary mumbled into Erin's shoulder.

"He… He… He just doesn't know why!" She cried back.

"Come on Erin… shusshhhhh… calm down".

Gerry tried to sooth her pain, running a hand up and down her back. He could feel her shivering from within his hug and held his grip much more firmly on them both in reaction to it.

"He's so scared". Erin whispered. "And I am too".

"There's nothing to be scared of love. Everything will work out fine". Gerry again tried his best to calm her.

They eventually sat down as a family by his bedside and were joined by Michelle and Clare not long after, the two of them also being summoned by Deirdre after she phoned home. They immediately went to Erin to hold her and comfort her as her best friends, coming together as a three to shield the upset blonde. It was particularly heart breaking for Michelle. As she'd been at the scene of whatever had happened soon after, an attack it was obvious but by who remained unanswered, she remembered finding him prone with her parents. She wanted to find out who had beaten her cousin so mercilessly and left him to die broken in a dark alleyway. And he couldn't remember any of it. Not a single moment from the attack. Erin relayed what she understood from him, having asked a further question of what his previous memory to before he woke up was. He could picture their conversation about the future by her door but that was the last thing prior to waking up and answering her Maths question.

"I've spoken to Dr Kennedy". Deirdre told them all. "He said like he'd said to us before, that the memory might take a while to come back but it might not come back at all".

"Jesus…". Gerry uttered.

"And...".

They looked up to Deirdre again, her face not hiding the anxious feelings she held inside.

"We've had to let the cops know that James has woken up. I… I've managed to delay them until tomorrow but they're comin'".

Erin burst into more tears at the news, Clare and Michelle instantly coming to cuddle her. Mary herself shuddered at the thought, Gerry squeezing her hand to give her the strength not to cry like Erin or take the anger away, so she didn't rant about the cops. The Englishman was barely awake, and they would be in at him for every detail and he didn't know a single thing about what had happened.

"They can't!" Erin protested.

"They have to love". Gerry was once more the calming influence. "It's their job".

"Well, they have no right! James can't just be… interrogated like he's a lowlife! He's just come out of a coma for feck's sake!" She retorted.

"Cop bastards". Michelle mumbled, receiving a glare from her mother in return.

They were powerless to do anything about it though. They had to inform the cops that James was awake and could communicate, and the cops had to do their job. The question remained to be seen whether James could take it.

It was Monday morning and for Erin it meant school. James was still asleep as she got ready to go but as she kissed him goodbye, he reached out for her hand in his sleep and it caused her heart to flutter. Even deep in slumber he would still find her there by his side, loving and caring for her whilst his eyes were closed. James still hadn't woken when Deirdre sat in with him for an hour after Erin left, but she brought fresh water in a jug with her just in case. It was only around quarter past nine when he finally stirred and there was someone else in with him by that time. Joe.

"Morning son". Joe addressed him as he slowly sat up.

"M… Morning Joe". He hazily responded.

"Here". Joe already had a drink ready for James, as well as something to eat. "I bet your thirsty as anything… hungry too".

Joe helped him through the breakfast, James unable to eat very quickly and not finishing it all but producing a good effort nonetheless. Deirdre had arranged it, Joe picking it up on his way through to the Englishman. Holding his head whilst James sipped at the water, Joe almost felt like a young father again in a way, feeling overly protective of the lad he thought of so highly.

"How do you feel son?" He asked a couple of minutes later.

"I…". James stuttered. "… I don't really know. I can see something serious has happened though and I'm in pain just about everywhere".

"Yer a brave boy ye know. The first night…". Joe had to stop, the memories of the night coming flooding back. "… the first night they thought you were gone for and even when ye made it through, ye still had the last rites the next mornin'".

James's eyes widened at Joe's closing remark. He'd been given the last rites of the dying man; things were worse than he thought. Sometime in the middle of the previous night he woke briefly, hearing someone else's breathing but focusing instead of what Erin had told him earlier. His first suspicion from the injuries he could feel was being hit by a car, but he still couldn't remember it to have happened.

"I…".

"It's alright James. Ye here now son and my Erin is happy again". Joe patted his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for her".

James only felt regret. He'd not been there to protect his Erin, hold her and kiss her like he wanted. Accepting his fate that he had lost three weeks of his life, his only thought was the pain Erin would have been in during that time and not one single injury on his body compared to the splintering agony of not being with her.

"But she was here for ye".

Joe held out his hand and moved, James shuffling up a bit more to see a strange pile of blankets and sheets on top of a mattress. Pillows were propped up at the head and he looked back to Joe with a frown.

"She's slept here every night since. We tried to get her to come home and sleep, but she wouldn't have it. She's watched over ye, like you do her".

He couldn't help but cry at what Erin had done for him. She cared for him so greatly that she wouldn't even leave his side at night, guarding him like a protective angel. The angel he knew her to be and the same one that he adored.

"I love her so much". He blubbered.

"I know ye do. Yer the best fella she could ask for James, I mean that".

Another affectionate squeeze on the shoulder from Joe made him chuckle through a sniff, but he was grateful for what Erin's Granda had said. He was a hard man to please, Gerry was still trying after twenty years, but they'd found a lasting respect with each other and James admired Joe in the same way Joe admired him.

"There's something ye need to know though son. The cops… they're comin' to ask ye a few questions".

That was the other thing James thought of during his brief moments awake in the night. He knew they would have to come and question him, given the nature of his injuries and how long he'd been out of it for. If it was a car hitting him like he thought, then they would need his side of the story as well as the driver's.

"I suspected as much". He sighed.

Right on cue, two detectives arrived in the room with Deirdre, who introduced them to both James and Joe.

"Mr Maguire, how are ye feeling?" The Detective Inspector asked.

"Erm… I… erm… I'm in pain but I'm told it's been worse".

"I was here the day after". The Detective Constable spoke up. "I have to say I never thought I'd see ye again apart from the funeral. Some miracle it has to be said".

"Thanks". James could only think to say thank you, lost for words at the man's statement.

"Am I allowed to stay with the boy?" Joe asked. "He's still not at his best ye know".

"Normally we'd interview him alone but given the circumstances, I'm willing to let that slide for today". The Inspector smiled.

Joe thanked him and they proceeded but James found himself unable to give them anything to work with from memory. They tried for several minutes, allowing him to search his brain. He'd remembered only one additional thing from that night; that he was walking home from the Quinn house after talking to Erin and he knew it was dark. It did little for the detectives, but they'd dealt with cases like this before and knew it could take time. All they could do was get every last bit of information they could from him. Whether he'd upset anyone or argued with anyone that could have attacked him, ruling out his thought that it could be a car crash by explaining how he was found. Finishing writing it off, the two detectives had no further questions, but the Inspector still had something to speak to them about.

"Now that yer awake and recovering, we need to discuss where ye go".

"What do you mean?" He asked the Constable.

"As we have very little information to go on at the moment, we don't know whether the person or persons who did this to ye might try again. We don't have the manpower to guard ye round the clock, so we need to send ye somewhere safe".

"He'll have me so he will". Joe stated defiantly. "No one will touch the boy".

"Whilst I don't disagree that you would look after him safely Mr McCool, the issue of James's safety goes beyond the boundaries of Derry". The Inspector interjected.

"I'm not going anywhere!" James protested.

The detectives sighed. Trying to convince him to leave Derry was never going to be easy. It never was.

"I understand you have people who care for you here James, but the threat to ye can only be quantified as high because we simply do not know who is behind this".

"Where will he go!?" Joe countered the Inspector.

"We would advise that James returned to live with his mother in London". The Constable confirmed.

James looked to Joe with a flash of anger in his eyes. He couldn't go and live with Kathy, not after everything that had happened… the letter. Joe seemed to soften but James was furious and despite his pain, he made sure the detectives knew it.

"Do you have any idea about my life!?" He shouted at them. "I'm never going back to my mum! Ever! My place is here, I don't care about the risk!"

"James, ye have to understand…".

"NO! I'm sorry but no, I don't have to understand anything! I can't leave my life here behind and I won't walk away like a coward either!"

"This isn't about cowar-".

"I think you RUC boys have had enough time today". Joe stood, gesturing for them to leave. "We need to discuss this as a family first".

The detectives thought better of trying again with James and accepted Joe's gesture for them to leave, telling the two they would return the following day to discuss his move to London then. When they'd gone, James charged headfirst into a powerful rant about his mother and their ineptitude about mentioning her and bringing back additional pain, mental rather than physical, that Kathy had left him with. Joe just listened but when the Englishman had finished spitting feathers, he squeezed his shoulder again.

"I need to tell ye somethin' about yer ma James".

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: Defiance 25th March 1996

"Settle down everyone!". Sister Michael called out to the students milling around for the assembly to begin.

It was another assembly where there was no singing. It would just be Sister Michael addressing the whole school. The four girls stood in their usual spot, Jenny and Aisling accompanying them as had become the norm in recent weeks.

"Good morning". Sister Michael spoke to them again.

"Good morning Sister Michael".

"Very good. The enthusiasm has drained compared to what it was, a good effort from you all".

Her comment bought a snigger out of Michelle, whilst the others all had smiles across their face at the humorous outburst from the headmistress.

"I begin this morning with news that I think we all hoped and prayed for. Our very own James Maguire has woken and is communicating".

Excited whispers ran through the ranks of the students, many turning their looks upon the gang and especially upon Erin. They were still smiling, Erin with a tear in her, and the Sister gazed upon them fondly as she'd done so many times before. James might not have been there in person but the effect of the girls from him waking up was very obvious.

"He is starting a long and painful recovery, but we hope to see him again within the corridors of Our Lady Immaculate before too long. I know this has been a difficult time for his close friends and I know that they will also join me in thanking all of you for your support".

The girls all nodded to the Sister, receiving the softened looks of all of the other students before the assembly continued. There were a few other notices but nothing that concerned them, and the rest of the assembly became quite boring. They were glad when it was over, none more so than Clare, who'd been wanting to ask Orla a question for ages.

"How are ye still standing Orla?" She asked as they walked to their first class.

"Ach don't worry yerself Clare, I'm cracker, so I am".

Orla's highs of Saturday and her winning ride on 'The Wee English Fella', were replaced by Sunday's lows of her ride at Dundalk. She'd got no further than the second fence as the older horse she rode suddenly tensed before jumping and went through the fence, leaving even a talented jockey like her absolutely no chance. Joe and Sarah were extremely concerned the moment they saw her go down, but she was up and laughing a second later. Paul later told them that her reaction was as he expected; she'd actually enjoyed falling off as much as she had winning.

"Still, it must have hurt!" Clare continued.

"Not really". Orla replied. "It was a bit scary for a wee second, but it was alright ye know. I wouldn't mind fallin' off again".

"Yeah, well not in a race Orla. You'll give Joe a fuckin' heart attack". Michelle added her thoughts.

"I'm glad yer not hurt". Erin interjected. "Can't have another of us in Hospital".

Hums of agreement rang out from around the group. The classroom was soon in view, at the end of the corridor that they were on, but they also noted the significant obstacle that was in their path. Moira O'Keefe. The moment their eyes found hers, her face turned to thunder and gathering her little group, they blocked the corridor.

"Look at this, it's the posse of pussies". Michelle sneered at her.

"Speak for yourself". Moira sneered back, arms folded. "Who the fuck do ye think ye are?".

"Now come on guys, there's no need for this". Clare attempted to mediate.

"Shut up little miss shit yer pants!" Moira shouted back at her.

"OI!" Michelle shouted. "Don't ye fuckin' talk to her like that!"

The two girls stepped forward, both having to be held back by their friends, Erin and Clare taking a firm grip on Michelle. Moira was doing her usual act of goading and giving her what she wanted was the wrong thing to do.

"So the English bastard speaks…". Moira suddenly turned on Erin. "… I bet yer wee heart is feeling a lot better…".

"It is thank ye Moira. Yer lucky it's not yer Danny in that Hospital bed".

"Is that a threat Quinn?"

"It will be if I see him again". Michelle came to her friend's aid.

"You's don't know what yer getting yerselves into. Ye mess with me, ye mess with all the Scanlon boys".

With her final warning, Moira pushed her way past the gang off to the lesson she was in, thankfully not with them. Michelle contemplated sticking a leg out to trip her up, but a look from Erin persuaded her not to. The last thing they needed was to have a full-blown punch up in the corridor and though she didn't doubt that Michelle would win, they could do without another hospitalisation if things got really ugly.

James didn't know what to think as Joe monologued about his mother. Hearing her coming back, breaking down over seeing him in the state he was… he struggled to find the right emotion to respond with. The letter hit him hard, but the feelings were stored away, his conscience dominated by only his love for Erin since. But the long-buried feelings rose again, and James could only lie-down in confusion.

Did she really care again?

Was it another act to get his help with the business?

Could he really go back to London with her?

Would she force him?

"Yer Aunt phoned her when ye woke up. Yer ma… she wasn't sure whether you'd want to see her, so she's stayed in London". Joe informed him.

Of course she had. Of course she wouldn't have sacrificed the business for him. But then, could he blame her? She didn't want to live in Derry or even really be in Derry and in many ways, he could sympathise with her. Even if it was his home now, judging by his own injuries, it was far from paradise.

"I… I see".

"She was genuine James. The woman was heartbroken, so she was".

"Really? After the letter… I…".

Joe let him sob for a minute or so, James letting out the emotional turmoil from the corners of his eyes. A firm hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he would be lying if he said he didn't turn his head slightly, so it rested on the hand.

"It's alright to be upset ye know". Joe spoke in a quiet voice, almost a whisper. "I remember that letter and what she said".

"How can she…". James couldn't stop the sobs.

"We all make mistakes James. Yer ma included".

"She disowned me… how am I meant to forgive her?"

A loud sigh emanated from Joe. He feared this would be James's reaction, question upon question. It reignited old emotions within him too, ones that were put aside years before and should never have been touched again. But when the Englishman sat crying into his hand, there was only one story that could be told that would help him.

"I fell out with my own mother too…". Joe sighed again, perching on the side of James's bed. "… when I was fourteen, we had a blazin' argument in the house. My da was at work, he always was ye see, and I was wantin' to start workin' too, leave school and start bringin' money in".

Joe stopped as the emotions took over. Looking at James, he saw a wish for him to continue the story to him, so after another minute he did.

"She wanted me to stay at school… I could have done, my grades were good, so they were. But I refused and put my foot down. We argued about it for hours one Saturday and in the end, she just… kicked me out and forced me to find my own way. My da didn't even try and stop it… the pair of them just left me".

He remembered the afternoon it happened and the immediate feelings of desolation and isolation when he settled down in an abandoned flat that night. He spent two years sleeping on an old mattress in a friend's shed until he had the money to be able to buy a place of his own. They were dark days in the life of Joe McCool, long before he met Marie and developed a reputation as a devilish card player.

"My da died not long after, when I was about twenty. I went to the funeral but ma… she wouldn't speak to me and I was too stubborn to speak to her. When it was her time to go too… I…". Joe, pausing, let out a breath. "… I never reconciled with her. By the time I convinced myself to do it, it was too late".

The day his mother died, he'd raced to get to her hospital bed and make peace with her before she made peace with the world. But he never made it in time. She passed away peacefully two minutes after he'd got to her side, watching on with Colm as their mother drifted away. She'd never been on bad terms with his brother and Joe could only envy him when they stood watching her being lowered into the grave.

"I'm sorry". James breathed out a reply, noticing the sorrow on Joe's face, an expression he'd never seen off the man in the time he'd known him.

"Don't be son. What I'm trying to tell ye, is that no matter what yer ma may have said or done… ye still family and family can forgive. Don't fall into the same trap I did and run out of time".

When a man like Joe McCool gave out free advice, James knew he should listen to it. Hearing of Joe's distress at never making amends with his own mother struck a chord within James. She might have disowned him, not wanted him in her life but when his life was on the line, she still came and cried for him. Truly she'd never let him go and he'd never let her go either.

"Thank you Joe". He put his hand on the one the older man left on his shoulder, and the two shared a smile. "In a couple of days… when I feel ready… I want to talk to her".

School was over for the day and the girls were walking into the hospital to see James, bus journey done and dusted. It was a warm late March afternoon, the sun peeking through the clouds and the girls comfortable without coats.

"Fuck me what a day". Michelle said as they started up the Hospital stairs.

"Why can't we take the lift?" Orla quizzed them, and not for the first time on the matter of the lift.

"For the fiftieth time Orla, Clare's scared of the lift". Erin frustratingly pointed out.

"It won't eat ye Clare".

"I know that Orla!" Clare hissed. "I just… what happens if we get stuck and then just… die in there".

Clare's dark thought ceased any attempt at conversation for a minute. It wasn't until they reached the door to the intensive care unit that they all started talking again.

"Moira was being more a dick than usual today". Michelle started.

"She's just a parasite Michelle". Erin added stubbornly. "As long as we don't stoop to her level then we'll be fine. Just ignore her".

"I'll knock her feckin' teeth out". Michelle grumbled.

"No! No ye won't Michelle, you'll get into trouble!" Clare fretted.

"I don't give a fuck Clare. She's always mouthin' about James and… ye know that fuckin' shithead Danny and her being together".

"You're always mouthin' about James!" The diminutive blonde retorted.

"Yeah well… I'm allowed, so I am. He's me cousin".

Clare didn't dignify Michelle with a verbal response, instead rolling her eyes in her direction. They really didn't need to kick up a fuss with Moira, especially in their current position of having support from most of the teachers. Those were bridges that didn't need to be burnt and causing fights around school would set fire to them very quickly.

It would be the first time that the girls, sans Erin, would be speaking to the wee English fella since the incident. They all held their own feelings about the situation. Orla, being the rock of the group, had only let go of her emotions properly the once, but she was elated just the same as they were. She wanted to tell James about her riding and about his horse, filling him in with everything he'd missed as well as Harriet's offer when it came to going to England to ride horses. Clare had never been good with emotions, certainly the negative ones, and being able to talk to James again fixed a part of her that broke weeks before. James was a caring friend to her, she remembered what he'd done for her at the talent show when the group were breaking apart. They could have all left her and moved on, and perhaps they would have done if James hadn't gone to sit and comfort her. Having him back again gave her a confidant to express her fears to, knowing she would not be judged or have them outed to the public when it came to James. For Michelle, as much as she'd missed teasing him, knowing that he would make a recovery and there would be no lasting damage had stopped her from having a breakdown. She'd hidden it well from the others, or as well as could be expected, but there were nights she'd wake up crying from nightmares. Nightmares about what would happen if he died and what would happen to the rest of them. They'd survived for years without James but whether they could survive without him now that he'd entrenched himself in their lives was the nightmare she often faced. But the dark clouds around her mind dissipated because she knew he would be alright.

"James!" Erin shouted and ran to him.

He was alone in the room for once. Mary and Geraldine were both unavailable to make the visit in the afternoon, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. After the morning's conversations with the cops and then Joe, James was knackered and went to sleep, only waking ten minutes before they arrived.

"My beautiful Erin". He chuckled to himself as she threw her lips onto his.

"Christ, weeks later and I still want to boke…". Michelle huffed.

They all laughed at her, James included, and she even broke into laughter herself at the comment. She would never properly admit it, but she didn't really mind it all anymore and in the weeks without him being there, she'd seen just how much Erin cared for him. It wasn't just a flash in the pan teenage romance, there was devotion from the two of them to each other. And they were perfect for each other too; they were both absolute eejits.

"I think you might have to move Erin. I don't think you're the only one who wants my attention today". James joked.

She chuckled and removed herself from his side for a minute. Clare was the next one who went forward, and she put her head on his shoulder as he put an arm, a still healing but rapidly so arm, around her.

"I've missed ye James". She sniffled.

"I've missed you too Clare. I'm sorry… I know I've probably worried you more than usual". He hummed.

"Is that even possible?" Michelle snorted, earning a glare from Erin.

"Yer alive and back, that's more important". Clare smiled as she pulled away.

As Clare moved away, Orla darted forward much quicker and dived onto the empty spot on James's bed, being shouted at by all of them except him. He would be lying if he said her jumping onto the bed didn't cause him to flare up in pain, but he hid the agony from his own delight of having Orla put her head on his chest.

"If it isn't Ireland's most talented jockey". He grinned.

"Ach James! I have SO much to tell ye!" She almost bellowed at him from his chest. "But more than anything it is absolutely cracker to speak to ye again!"

In the same way he'd put his arm around Clare, James wrapped the arm around Orla, stroking the back of her hair as she rested on him. He shared a smile with Erin, who managed not to be jealous of the scene but only because it was Orla. Joe had hinted to him that the group's strength rested in her and the way she stood up to be counted, maturing into the young woman they never thought she could be. Apart from James, who knew that would have been exactly how Orla would have acted.

"I look forward to hearing about it". He replied to her after a minute or so, though Joe had already told him about the racing.

Orla disentangled herself from him and went back to standing next to Clare, putting an arm around the little blonde. It was a touching scene, the two of them beaming wildly in James's direction, Clare wiping the errant tears that had dripped down her face. In doing so, he was caught out when Michelle sat down on the bed and occupied the same position as Orla, bursting into tears on his chest.

"This is… unexpected". James said softly.

"Wise up James…". Michelle replied through the sobs. "… it's been fucking horrible without ye".

He would not have ever considered Michelle making him cry in a way that didn't involve horrific abuse thrown at him, but a few stray tears made their way down James's face when she opened up. The vulnerable and caring sides of his cousin were rarely scene, being there only for glimpses when her guard went down. Having her crying on his chest about how bad life was without him gave him the rarest glimpse of all; both of the sides in operation at the same time. The real Michelle Mallon was cuddled into him at that moment and that was the Michelle he loved the most.

"I'm sorry I haven't been there for you Michelle". He told her honestly.

"It's me who should be sorry…". She flicked the tears away as her head lifted off his chest. "… ye were right about Danny. It was all a lie… he's been with Moira the whole time….".

James cast his mind back in time. He'd remembered Michelle not being in the house and having his chance to warn Deirdre and Martin. Only his own detective work led him to the Scanlon's address and then to the best place the two of them could wait when she'd come away heartbroken. Hearing the name Moira made him grimace slightly; he'd have rather it been Rosemary West with Danny. Moira was an evil girl and being in a relationship with one of the infamous Scanlon's sounded just about right for her.

"There's no need to be sorry Michelle".

He put his hand onto her shoulder, like Joe had put his hand onto James's shoulder earlier, and she smiled her thanks at him.

They stood together as a four next to his bedside. It was a scene he'd almost forgotten. The four girls stood there smiling at him, ready to take on the world together.

"The gang's back together". He announced quietly, smiling.

"Aye so it is". Erin laughed and looked along the line of friends.

Now they were all there though, he knew that the time was right to mention about the cops. He'd have to talk with them about it as much as he needed to discuss it with his mother. Kathy was for another day; the girls were here now and there was no shying away from the difficult conversation.

"I… I need to talk to you… to all of you".

The ghosts of a previous conversation came back to haunt the room. Unwittingly, James had used the same words he had done on the day of Bill Clinton's visit. He could see the fear in Erin's eyes immediately. Her whole existence had once hinged on those words, her heart would have shattered had he not returned that day. He couldn't do that to her…

"The Police…". He started, coming to a stop as the words caught at the back of his throat. "… they think I should leave…".

"Fuck no! Yer staying here!" Michelle immediately fired back up to her usual self.

"Aye, Derry's yer home James!" Clare pointed out mid cack attack.

He expected that reaction but that wasn't even the half of it. As the detectives told him, the problem existed outside of Derry's boundaries…

"Not just Derry… they want me to go back to London and live with mum".

They all knew of Kathy's return and her sincerity. Erin knew first-hand from her chat with James's mum that she did truly care for him. And that made her worry more. Kathy might have said that she wouldn't take James away from her, but now the cops were advising him to go back to her, would her view hold?

"Why?" Orla couldn't fathom it.

"They've said it's not safe for me here Orla… that whoever did…". He pointed to his legs and held his arms up. "… this… might attack me again".

"They fuckin' won't because they'll be floatin' down the fuckin' Foyle when I find them!" Michelle interjected.

"We'll protect ye James!" Orla stated.

"We aren't the cops Orla… we can't protect him!" Clare offered an opposing view, the others all coming to stare at her. "What!? I'm stating the obvious. If they're telling James to go, we can't stop them!"

Michelle looked about ready to throw Clare out of the window and was absolutely seething when she spoke to her.

"Since when do we do what the RUC want! James stays here, don't fuckin shite the tights because a couple of cop fucks with a badge think differently".

"Exactly". James spoke up in agreement, causing them to turn their stares on him. "That's why I'm not going anywhere".

Michelle flashed him a smile at his defiance of the cops, but the others looked at him confused. Erin, who'd started to cry whilst the others argued, stopped her tears and frowned. If James was in danger, then leaving would be the safest thing to do, but he didn't want to leave. Why wouldn't he want to be safe?...

"Do you really think I could leave you girls? Any of you?" He asked them.

They all started to grin at his words. He might have been in grave danger, but he wasn't going to let anything get in the way of their friendship. That was the mark of a true friend… and a reckless eejit.

"But what about yer safety?" Clare timidly responded.

"Clare, I would happily take ten more beatings if it meant waking up to find the four of you standing there". His chivalry brought a tear to the eye. "I will always be there for you all, no matter what. I can't just leave now… this is my home. And… I've also made a promise to some other people to protect one of you a little bit more…".

He turned his head to Erin, and she couldn't stop herself, and ran back towards him. Their lips were on each other's in an instant, retracing their previous connections and sharing the warmth they felt for each other. He still had his promises to her parents and Joe. He was going to be the one who looked after Erin, hopefully until his final breaths, and the rest of the world could try and stop him, but he would never give in.

The power of their love would always win against the power of hate.

When the detectives returned the following day, they did so in the afternoon, with all of the girls present. Mary and Deirdre were present too, Geraldine unavailable again, and the cops weren't prepared for the vast show of defiance they'd walked into.

"Mr Maguire…". The Inspector cautioned. "… I urge ye to rethink this".

They were incredulous. Expecting his raw emotion the day before, the cops believed he would have changed his mind after sleeping on the knowledge they'd instilled in the lad. Instead, James insisted that he stayed in Derry and didn't go back to London as they thought best for him.

"My decision is final. Derry is my home".

"As we explained yesterday, we do not have the manpower to keep ye protected. You are in a hostile environment and…". The Constable added before being interrupted.

"Hostile environment!?" Mary challenged them. "James is loved and cared for Constable… that boy is part of my family, I will not have ye describe it as a hostile environment!".

"Mrs Quinn…". The Inspector took over once more. "… we are not for one minute suggesting that yer own family is hostile…".

"Aye I would hope you weren't!" She interrupted again. "James is staying so he is, ye can't do nothin'".

The detectives both sighed. They wished they could force the move upon James, but it would be a futile and forlorn move. The amount of people present by his side in the room told them a lot more about James than they knew, but it told them all they needed to know. He wouldn't be leaving Derry, let alone Ireland, anytime soon.

"I appreciate you are concerned Inspector". James addressed the man. "But I can't leave Derry. These girls… they need me, and I need them".

He looked up to Erin, her little hand was in his and a look of love lingered between the pair. The other girls all shared in the looks, not with the same look as the lovers shared but one of a different love. The love between friends.

"I can see you have a strong family Mr Maguire, but we are talking about your life. Would you all not rather see him safe, away from trouble?" The Inspector asked them.

"Why don't you take yer baton and shove it up yer h-".

"Michelle!" Deirdre cautioned her daughter. "Sorry Inspector".

"That's quite alright Mrs Mallon". He replied. "Tensions are high, it's understandable".

"It doesn't mean that ye will never see James again". The Constable explained. "You can visit him in London and in the future, he might be able to return to Derry".

It might have been possible in the future and to the Constable it would be the most hopeful scenario for them, but he didn't understand that Derry was James's future. There might have been a future for him in London, back home with Kathy, but it wasn't the future he wanted. He couldn't accept a future without being given funny looks for being English and without Erin by his side.

"His future is with me Inspector". Erin proudly held her head high, James looking up to her adoringly. "Ye can't just send him off to London. I won't let ye".

The girls all held their heads high too and Mary and Deirdre raised their eyebrows in the detective's direction. They might have thought they could talk them all around, but coming up against a fired up member of the Quinn family, their chances in an argument were very slim.

"With all due respect Miss Quinn, ye don't know what could happen if he stays. Someone did this to James and there is no saying they won't do so again".

"We…". She paused to gently lift their hands. "… are not leaving each other. We know the risks, but we face them together as a couple... and as a family".

The detectives were beaten again. There were only so many times you could run into a brick wall. It would be stupid to try any further.

"Are ye absolutely sure about this Mr Maguire?" The Constable questioned for the final time.

"Yes… sir". He coughed slightly, prompting Erin to pick up his cup of water and help him drink it. "This is what I want".

Reaffirming their own stance before departing, the detectives left with their mission unaccomplished. They would continue the investigation for another couple of days, but with James unable to provide them with any leads as to who the perpetrators could be, it would remain unsolved.

The three attackers remained at large… but ever so close.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: The Call 27th March 1996

The bus was early on the Wednesday morning, so much so that the Hospital reception had to phone up to get Erin to come down. The driver told her he had to be for some reason or another, though she was far busier basking in the annoyance of being pulled away from James. They were halfway through what she thought was an extremely passionate kiss when a nurse burst in, red-faced upon seeing the two, and told her to get moving. It caught out most of the students too, for whatever reason the bus driver wasn't waiting that morning and only seven students boarded at the gang's usual spot. The other three girls were amongst the seven though… just. There were only four girls at the stop when the bus pulled up but Clare's shrieking from afar held the driver. Even the devil himself would bow to a shrieking Clare Devlin.

It meant that when they got to school, there was a lot of time to kill. Jenny and Aisling didn't join them that morning, they were in the library doing some homework that was due in on the Friday. Oddly for once, the girls had already done it.

"I'm still trying to work out why the bus was early". Clare pondered. "That excuse about the times changin'… there was no way our ma's wouldn't have known!"

"It was flimsy at best". Erin nodded her agreement.

"Aye, he was talkin' shite alright". Michelle held the same belief too.

"Probably just wanted to catch the worm". Orla added in her… very much Orla McCool way.

"What?" They replied in unison.

"Ye know, the early bird catches the worm".

Erin closed her eyes and huffed, Clare doing the same. Michelle was left shaking her head with Orla left believing them to be a bit rude.

"Anyway, we've got that new French teacher startin' s'afters. Wonder what she'll be like…".

Michelle spoke of the news they'd learned the day before. After weeks of having Mr Flanagan cover their French lessons following Sister Kathleen's arrest, Sister Michael had announced the new French teacher would be starting the next day. It was quite odd for a teacher to start on a Wednesday but Our Lady Immaculate was never a school that followed conventions.

"What was her name again. Mrs Demi-Moore or somethin'?"

"It's not Demi Moore, Michelle!" Erin scoffed.

"I know that ye dose! It was like that though…".

"Mrs Delacroix, Michelle". Clare corrected her.

"Ach that was it, Mrs ménage à trois".

Erin copied a very James like reaction, putting her thumb and middle finger of her right hand over an eyelid each, trying to forget she was there.

"What? That's what ye said, right Clare?" Michelle turned to her.

"No Michelle. De-La-Croix… say it after me. De-La-Croix".

"Delacroix!" Orla shouted before Michelle could answer.

"Is yer name Michelle, Orla?" An irritated Erin asked.

"No, my name's Orla not Michelle Orla!" Orla countered.

She would have given anything to be back at the Hospital with James at that moment, but Erin held her frustrations with her cousin. She should have expected it really…

"De-La-Croix". Michelle finally got it right.

"There we go". Clare offered her a beautiful smile.

Michelle felt oddly proud of herself. Being able to pronounce the name of their new French teacher would usually be something that wouldn't concern her, but it felt good to nail it pre-lesson. It would at least cut out any awkwardness.

"I'm surprised Sister Michael went for a French lady if I'm honest". Clare said to them.

"What do ye mean?" Erin replied to her, frowning.

"Don't ye remember… she hates the French!"

Clare's confident statement was correct when it came to Sister Michael's view, but it was just sod's law for Clare that Sister Michael had appeared behind her when she said it. She was the only one sat on the side of the table that the Sister was behind and the other three's eyes widened as she finished speaking. Eyeing them and mouthing a 'What', it soon dawned on her as to why they were doing it. The most almighty cack attack began, starting at Clare's facial expressions but soon spreading all around her so that her body was shaking.

"A very interesting comment Miss Devlin…". Sister Michael firmly spoke from behind her, Clare slowly turning to look at her over her shoulder. "… perhaps the four of you might like to discuss it further in my office".

After weeks of Sister Michael having their backs, looking after them in her own caring way, they were straight back down to earth. The tone from the head mistress was her normally dismissive one and that could only signify that they were in trouble.

"Well done Clare". Michelle whispered as they followed Sister Michael.

Poor Clare was properly cacking herself, sweating buckets and crying silently. Orla linked arms with her to try and calm her down, but she was far too upset to take note of it. She was in trouble.

James was finishing off the breakfast sent in by the nurses when Joe arrived. Joe was wearing his usual combination of a smart jumper and a hat and was smiling when he saw the Englishman. He carried the newspaper under his arm, having been out early to the bookies that morning to place some bets on the horses. He didn't want to burden James with the pressure of it so soon after coming back to them, but they would still sit and discuss it in the morning. Joe hadn't quite been so good without him but the day before he'd won with two horses at Newcastle, so the money still kept coming.

"Morning son". Joe said as he sat down.

"Morning Joe". He replied once he'd finished his mouthful.

"How ye feelin?"

"Funny you should ask…". James laughed. "… I woke up this morning and I didn't really know where I was".

Joe scrunched his nose on hearing the news, relaxing when he remembered the doctor had noted that James could experience some confusion for a few days.

"But then Erin appeared, and everything fell into place". He hummed.

An uncontrollable grin broke out across Joe's face. There was no doubting the sincerity of the feelings between the two and hearing that he was only contented when he could see her face warmed him.

"Ye remember after I took ye home after prom?" Joe questioned him, James nodding.

"How can I forget… and the morning after when I came and washed the car with Erin".

"Aye…". Joe broke out into a laugh himself. "… anyway, that night when I got home, I realised something about ye. I thought to myself that night, that I wouldn't mind you being in my family… and ye know with Erin…".

"Is that why you were happy to come to our agreement?" James smirked playfully.

"Partly, but I've never thought about that way with any fella that's come into the girls' lives. Apart from Gerry I suppose…".

James knew that there was no truly vicious hatred between Joe and Gerry. It would often be quite brutal when Joe was in a particular mood, but he could see he didn't truly despise Gerry like some thought.

"I won't tell him don't worry". James said after Joe trailed off. "He's a good man, I know you've got respect for him really".

"He is. He always has been, just needs keeping on his toes. But ye tell anyone I said that, and I'll be putting ye back in here with a freshly broken leg, ye hear?"

That was a threat James did take seriously, more seriously than whoever had attacked him in the first place. Joe's secret was very much safe with him, and he put his healing arms up as high as he could in a mock surrender.

"Good. Anyway, yer the best lad I could hope for my Erin, I think ye know that now".

"I do. And I think I might be the luckiest man in the world. I just… I still can't believe she slept here every night… watching over me".

Since Joe had told him of Erin's nightly vigils by his side, James couldn't stop thinking about it. She sacrificed all the comfort of her nice warm bed to sleep on an old Hospital mattress, covered from head to toe in blankets and duvets. He realised he would have done the same, but it still didn't make it anything less short of remarkable in his mind.

"There is something I need to tell ye as well James". Joe changed the subject, with a hint of mischief in his tone.

"Sure". James replied, shifting back from where the plate lay across the bed on a table.

Joe helped him put the table back away, also getting some water for him, which for once James held all by himself to drink. His hand was still unsteady and not fully back to normal, but he showed the strength within himself as he sipped at it, waiting for Joe to start his news.

"Well ye know I said the other day about that horse Frankie entered in the yer lot's Grand National on Saturday".

"Yeah…". James answered with a slight confusion.

"The owner's giving up, so he is. Not interested in running him over in England".

"That's a shame".

Frankie thought the horse would enjoy the trip around perhaps the most famous race in the world. Joe told James the same a couple of days before with the exact amount of enthusiasm and it was sad to hear that it probably wouldn't run.

"That's what I thought too". Joe replied to him. "So… well… I asked Frankie how much to keep him in the race ye know…".

"Okay. How much?"

"About… well about a grand".

It was an eye-watering amount of money, but it was hardly surprising. The English Grand National was the biggest horse race in the world, millions would have their eyes set on Aintree racecourse that Saturday afternoon. A one-thousand-pound entry fee seemed appropriate.

"I was… thinking… I've still got about five hundred left from the original winnings when our horse won at Enniskillen… and if you had ye know…".

"You want to own the horse?"

"That's right". Joe smiled.

James wanted to as well, but the money would be the sticking point. He had very different plans for the money, which he'd not seen since his attack, though Deirdre had told him that he wasn't robbed by whoever attacked him. The money was still in his coat pocket and was safely in his room back at home. But…

"I… I don't really have the money".

"Ah. Well it doesn't matter son, it was a nice though-".

"Wait". James cut off Joe's sigh. "I'll ask mum… for the money… she can even replace me as the owner".

Joe really hadn't meant that, he couldn't expect James to ask his mother. They hadn't even spoke yet… but James was indicating that he'd taken Joe's lesson about reconciliation onboard and that made him smile.

"I can't expect ye to do that son".

"No Joe, I want to". James put his hand on Joe's shoulder. "I want mum back in my life and if she truly wants the best for me like she's said then she will do this for me. I'm sure she'd like a horse too!"

"I hope she does!" Joe chuckled. "I… I went ahead already and told Frankie. He's already arranged for the girls to come with us… although Erin will stay here I reckon".

"That's pressure…". James teased him. "… but I suppose this may equal what I need from you".

Joe frowned at his statement. James was yet to be out of his Hospital bed, what could he possibly want from him other than perhaps a book…

"Go on". Joe continued to frown.

"Well, I have something to ask of you….".

Clare Devlin was practically combusting as they approached the door to Sister Michael's office. She never opened her mouth when it came to comments about the Sister, not with the possibility of her being present anyway, and then she got confident and put her foot in it. There was no wonder why she was famed for having cack attack after cack attack. It was hardly surprising when every time she tried to be confident, she would be thrown straight back down to earth.

However, when they walked into the office behind the head mistress, Clare realised that all the cacking wasn't worth it. Already in the office were Mr Flanagan and the jockey Paul. They could all understand Mr Flanagan's presence but the jockey being present was a strange one. He smiled at the girls as they walked in, though they were all deeply confused and didn't smile back, except for Orla.

"Now girls, I suspect you have questions?" The Sister said as she took a seat at her desk.

"Just a couple…". Michelle rolled her eyes in a quiet response.

"That's enough of that Michelle". The Sister replied with brows narrowed.

"Sister Michael… I… did nothing… we did nothing… we d-!"

"Stop panicking please Miss Devlin… yer consistent attempts to save yer own skin really do got on my nerves ye know".

The girls all hummed in agreement, Clare angrily raising her eyebrow and glaring at them, but they all stood firm in their belief. It was very annoying when she tried to save herself.

"There has been a change to your timetable for the rest of the week, I'll let Mr Flanagan explain".

The girls turned to their favourite teacher who was grinning wickedly. They certainly weren't in trouble but what was going on was a mystery. Whenever Sister Michael made them accompany her to her office in the manner that she did, it would always be her discovering something they'd done. But they hadn't misbehaved in school for ages, unless defending themselves against Moira's barbs counted, and the perplexed faces of the girls reflected their confusion.

"The rest of the week, I'm afraid you girls won't be having yer normal lessons. Unforeseen circumstances have meant that yer normal timetable would be… inappropriate for the rest of this week".

"What's that go to do with Paul?" Erin asked him.

"That's a good question Erin". Mr Flanagan responded, chortling to himself. "Yer lessons, should you all wish to go, will be taken from the Aintree racecourse in England".

Orla's face lit up as she was the first to realise what was going. They were going with Frankie and Paul to the English Grand National meeting. Her eyes travelled to Paul's and he couldn't hide the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips when she did. The others soon caught up with Orla's train of thought and flicked their eyes between Mr Flanagan and Sister Michael to try and see if they were being serious. They certainly were.

"Me and Frankie need someone to lead the horses up…". Paul informed them. "… and we can't just take Orla and not the rest of you's can we? Joe told me ye were… what was the phrase… 'pack animals'".

Michelle giggled at the description she'd first given them the year before at the doomed wedding celebration. Pack animals was the best way to describe them. They were the second coming of The Musketeers, Derry's very own Les Inséparables, with just an extra member to the group.

"I appreciate that this might not suit you Erin". Mr Flanagan turned his attention to her.

He was right. As much as Erin would have loved to have gone, and would have done at any other time, she couldn't spend the time away from James. There would be other trips to England to see Orla race, she was going to be a star on the big scene over there, but if anything were to happen to James while she was away, it would break her. She solemnly confirmed Mr Flanagan's suspicions.

"Then you spend the next couple of days with James. We won't be having ye missing out and it's not fair to expect ye to come to school alone".

Erin couldn't quite believe Mr Flanagan's words. They were going to let her skip two days of school just to be with James. She looked at Sister Michael, who simply stared back in return.

"You all deserve a break girls. You've been a true inspiration to us all over the last few weeks and a little trip away for the rest of you's and some time with James for yerself Erin… well it would do you good. But you will be back on Monday or there will be trouble, understood?"

Flipping back to the Sister Michael that normally prowled the corridors of Our Lady Immaculate, they all sincerely nodded at her one request. It was the first year they would ever work right up to Easter, finishing the Thursday after and then only having a week off, taking an extra week in the summer but restarting on a Friday rather than a Monday.

"Thank ye Sister". Erin replied for the group.

"And thank ye Paul!" Orla beamed him a smile.

The three adults all smiled upon the four girls before Sister Michael dismissed them from her office back out onto the corridors. Paul joined them, having offered to give the girls a lift back to their respective houses, Sister Michael also dropping on them that they wouldn't be required at school that day either.

"This is cracker!" Orla piped up.

"Sister Michael's been sniffin' glue". Michelle snorted. "Not that I'm complaining".

"God, I thought I was dead back there!" Clare managed to chuckle at her own prior apprehensions.

They got outside to Paul's car and he opened the boot so that they could throw their bags in. Orla took the front seat next to him, which not one of them decided to question, as they'd expected her to. She often sat in the front on journeys; it was the easiest way for the driver of the vehicle to keep an eye on what she might be doing.

"Paul, are we gunna need dresses for this?" An inquisitive Michelle asked.

"Orla won't for leading the horses, but you girls… aye ye will".

"Wh… What are we gunna do Michelle?!" Clare was back fretting again. "We haven't got the money for d-… oh wait yes… yes we do! I have me winnings from Orla's first win still".

"Then it's on you". Michelle sniggered.

They all laughed at Clare's expense, literally, as she put herself in the position of buying not only a dress for herself but one for Michelle too.

"By the way…". Michelle spoke up again. "… did you's hear some fucker broke into the Guildhall last night and stole all the plans to the major buildings in the city…".

Dr Kennedy came along a few minutes after James had asked his question to Joe. It was fair to say he'd stunned the older man with it but there were no hard feelings between the two at all. The Doctor's update on James's progress was glowing. He still couldn't find much of a medical explanation to account for James's remarkable recovery and for the first time, discharging him from the Hospital was mentioned. They needed to check his ability to move about first; having been out for a few weeks and with a broken leg it was bound to be somewhat stunted. Providing that he could move as freely as could be expected, they wouldn't be keeping him at the Hospital much longer and he'd be moved out of the Intensive Care Unit to a different ward until they did. The call to Kathy acted as the ideal starting point to test it. Deirdre had managed to get permission for him to use the staff room phone to make the call, the room located further down the corridor.

"We'll get ye up very slowly James". The Doctor told him.

Joe assisted the doctor, the two of them taking an arm of James's each to steady him, but yet again they were shocked by him. James didn't need either of them, able to raise himself up and get his legs over the side of the bed. Despite the pains in both arms and his broken leg, he gritted his teeth and got on with it. Dr Kennedy had brought crutches along with him, as well as a wheelchair just in case, and he retrieved them as Joe kept a cautious hand over James. The Englishman took a look out of the window from where he was perched on the edge of the bed, the clouds offering a bleak view over the countryside in the distance.

The crutches were soon ready in place. Taking a deep breath, James this time accepted Joe's help and he lifted the wee English fella up and into the crutches. It was the moment of truth for James, whether his arms, and to some extent his wrists, could take the pressure. Dr Kennedy had confided in Deirdre that he thought it could be a step too far, but yet again he was forced to concede to the will and determination of James Maguire. He was up and without instruction began to move forward on them.

"Well I can't believe it…". The Doctor's voice trailed off in amazement.

"It hurts a bit…". James confirmed. "…but I can manage".

Rushing off to hold the doors open, Dr Kennedy smiled to Deirdre, who'd appeared outside and there was a tear in her eye when she saw James able to get about. His courage was beyond imagination.

The three of them walked alongside him slowly as he made his way down the corridor. He did stop a couple of times to have a breather. It was taking it out of him, and he'd lied to them when he said it only hurt a bit. He was in excruciating pain, flaring up both of his arms, focusing on the weak points of the breaks that his attackers inflicted. Eventually, they got to the staff room, and Deirdre helped him inside. He stood up on his own on the crutches for a minute as she got two chairs for him. One for him to sit on and another to rest the broken leg on. After having helped him down onto the seat, positioning it next to the phone, Deirdre left him in peace and the rest of the staff were told to keep out for a while.

James looked at the number for Kathy's office on the piece of paper by the phone. He needed a few deep breaths to steady himself. He remembered the last phone call which he considered to be a turning point in his life, the call from Mary on the night of the prom. That call set him on the path to the future with Erin that his heart hid away whenever his head searched for it. Rescuing Erin from a night of misery stopped that hiding, even if it did take a few weeks for them to finally profess their feelings. Yet again it would be a phone call that would signal a huge moment in his life. This time being the path of reconciliation with his mother.

He picked up the phone and punched the numbers in slowly with his right hand, relaxing into the chair for the two rings it took for it to be answered.

"Kathy Maguire speaking". She answered in a professional tone.

Another deep breath came.

"Hello Mum".

James could only croak out the two words, but he could feel the impact down the line. Kathy's breath caught and for a moment there was a total silence, not even the sound of breathing could be heard. Just total silence…

"J… James". Kathy could barely hold it together. "Can you give me a minute".

James was famous for giving those he loved a minute to be themselves. He whispered an acceptance down the line, his voice box still not operating above a croak. Hearing the phone being placed down, he then listened out as Kathy's voice filled the background. He didn't catch every word of what she was saying but the general gist appeared to be that she didn't want to be disturbed and for things to continue as normal without her. Sounded about right…

"James". She said his name once the phone was back next to her ear.

"I… I love you mum".

They both broke apart upon him telling her. Reconciliation was the only option for James and though he'd been through agony when she'd wrote the letter to him, it didn't matter. There was always a second chance. Deirdre and Mary were willing to forgive and forget with Kathy… and he knew he shouldn't be any different to them. The tragedy of Joe's situation only acted as further confirmation that keeping her out of his life would be a decision he would later regret. They cried for at least a couple of minutes, the pent-up feelings escaping down rosy cheeks on different sides of the Irish Sea. It was Kathy that spoke first when her cries subsided slightly.

"I… I don't deserve it". She cried again.

"I… I forgive you mum". He sniffled. "I know you were upset with me… I understand".

"It gave me no right to do that to you son. You're my only child and I dis-".

James couldn't let her do this to herself and interrupting her, he added a steely resolve to his voice to combat the tears.

"For a while it hurt me mum… I want to be honest with you, have no lies between us…".

Kathy muttered her agreement before he continued.

"… but I knew it couldn't be the real you. We've not always been close, and you've often not been there for me… but you aren't vindictive and spiteful. There is a good woman in there and that's my mum and I'm proud of her".

Tears fell again when he revealed his pride in her. James was truly a gift from God, the son any mother would wish for and his soul was as benevolent as the good lord himself.

"And I'm so proud of ye too. I love you James". She told him what she wanted to… that she truly loved him.

"I know you do mum. You don't need to tell me… I know".

"If I… if I had another chance then I'd have never forced you to try to leave. When ye was… lying there… I could see for my own eyes the life you've built without me. I should have seen that in November… I can't just take ye away from all this".

"Mum stop". His tone was slightly amused, and Kathy slightly chuckled down the phone in response. "Things were… different then, it wasn't as visible as it is now. But as you've seen… I can't leave Derry. I have too much here to lose… even if the Police don't see it that way".

The cops rang Kathy themselves after speaking to James. Anticipating that he wouldn't want to leave, she'd told them that she didn't want him back either. Though she would happily accept him back of course, after her two brief visits back to her home city, it was clear he belonged there and not with her in London.

"I told them I couldn't have ye back… that yer life was in Derry with yer Erin".

"You… You told them that?"

"Of course James…". She sniffed. "… I know they've said ye might be at risk, but you can't let your life be defined by whoever did this. I guess you think the same way?"

"Like mother… like son". He hummed cheerfully in reply.

They were truly back to being mother and son. They were a team that rarely co-existed for long, but James's attack sparked a change for Kathy and this time she wouldn't let anything get in the way. She couldn't move back to Derry, but her door was always open for James and she would visit him as much as possible. Over the next couple of minutes, they confirmed that arrangement over the phone and for both it was perfect. Stupid and perfect.

"Joe told me about the horse James". Kathy softly said down the phone. "I have to say I'm proud. Winning all the money like that and investing it, I don't think I could ask for much more in ye son".

Kathy bringing up the subject of the horse did make it a lot easy for James when it came to the question he needed to ask. Despite that, he was still pleased that he'd pleased her when it came to 'The Wee English Fella'.

"About that…". He started before stopping abruptly.

"What is it James?"

"You know the Grand National is this Saturday?"

"You can't go James!" She cautioned him down the phone. "Yer not well enough yet".

"No, it's not that. The man who trains our horse… he has a horse entered in it and the owner is packing it in. I… well… Joe and I have about half the money to pay the entry fee he'll lose refunding the owner… and I was…".

"Taking advantage of me now James?" Kathy rather sternly questioned him.

"I…".

"Consider it done. How much?".

It took him a few seconds to recover from the shock of her agreeing. He thought she was about to remind him that their relationship worked both ways and he couldn't start leeching off her for things now they'd repaired it. His earlier comment to Joe proved true; she would quite like to own a horse as well.

"Five hundred pounds". He whispered.

"I'll sort it out with the bank and get the money over to Deirdre's account. But I have one condition?"

"Yes anything!" He shouted his hope into the phone.

"Think of a good name. I think this should be a syndicate of all of us… like a big family".

Neither him nor Joe had thought of it that way, but she'd made a brilliant suggestion. This horse was to represent the family and the brutal few weeks they'd been through. It wasn't just his and Joe's… it was theirs. Even Uncle Colm's!

Chatting away for another few minutes, James having something else to discuss with Kathy before she made the call to the bank, mother and son were one again.

The future looked bright to James.

Joe knocked on the staff room door after about twenty minutes, James calling out to tell him to come in. He found the Englishman, red-eyed from where tears had fell, but beaming and looking more like the James of before the attack.

"Everything alright son". He asked carefully, just in case all was not as it seemed.

"I've got two brilliant bits of news Joe!". He exclaimed with the beaming grin unmoved.

"Me and mum are putting the past behind us".

"That's great son. Thank ye… it means a lot to me that ye stayed away from the mistakes and regrets that I have".

"No… thank you Joe. It was the convincing that I needed to do it". He nodded in return.

"And the second piece?" Joe's eyebrow raised.

"We have a runner in the Grand National!"

Chapter Text

Chapter 19: Run Down

It was strange to know that whilst everyone else toiled away at school, they could just go shopping for dresses. Erin wasn't back with them, understandably going home to get changed and then heading to the Hospital. But Michelle, Clare and Orla were having great fun browsing the dresses. They were half expecting to be stopped by the cops and asked why they weren't at school, but the questions never came. Orla didn't really need to buy a dress, but at Michelle's urgings she got one anyway, on the basis that they would go for a fancy meal somewhere on one of the nights. Orla thought that to be very unlikely; she was expecting to be sleeping in a stable somewhere and she was quite looking forward to it. They couldn't afford to drag their feet too much though. Paul informed them on the journey back to their separate houses that the ferry over to Liverpool would be at half nine that night and they had to get over to Belfast first. Knowing Joe, who would be driving the girls, that would mean they would be leaving at about four.

"Dresses sorted". Michelle announced.

"Aye… thanks for the help Michelle… I really like my two". Clare grinned back at her.

"Ach, not to worry Clare, we're feckin' stunners so we are. Fellas won't be able to keep their eyes of me ye know".

Clare snorted at Michelle's confident statement.

"Ye know they're going to be mostly English fellas don't ye Michelle… ye know… actual English fellas?".

"No they're going to be fuckin' Spanish!" Michelle replied

"I'm not going if they're Spanish… I still don't like them". Orla remarked.

Clare and Michelle joined together in an eye roll at Orla's comment about the Spanish. The only saving grace for the young McCool was Erin not being around to point out how offensive she was being.

"I'm not going to ride any of them Clare… they can look but they can't touch". She almost melodically told her.

"Ye sound like a stripper Michelle!" Clare pointed out in return.

"Wise up Clare, I just like the attention, that's all".

"Aye don't we know it…".

"What was that?"

Michelle didn't hear Clare as she dropped to a whispered huff and she was never going to be told what was said either. It was best that way.

As Clare paid for the dresses, except Orla's, Michelle decided that she would buy them some lunch and they went off to the shop to get some sandwiches. On the way, the group became a four again as Sarah joined the girls. She would be going with them too and that also got Michelle out of paying as being the adult, Sarah naturally paid for their lunch. They ended up abandoning the plan to go to the shop for a sandwich and instead had some bacon sandwiches at a café.

"That was class". Michelle said as she rubbed her belly.

"I'm proper full like". Clare added.

Sarah smiled at their comments but was a little concerned when she looked at Orla's plate and only found half of the bacon sandwich eaten.

"What's up love? Ye not hungry?" She asked her daughter.

"No Mammy". She smiled, indicating there was nothing upsetting her at least. "I'm just trying to keep me weight down in case I have to ride".

Paul would be riding the horse, the horse which unbeknownst to them they now owned, and would be riding Frankie's other horse in the 'Amateurs Grand National', the Foxhunters Chase, on the Friday too. With only three races under her belt, Orla couldn't complain about not getting the ride herself when faced with the toughest circuit out there. It was dangerous too; many a jockey had broken a bone at the racecourse over the years.

"Yer not riding tho Orla, so polish it off!" Michelle dared her.

"No Michelle, I'm not going to let myself".

"Not even…". Michelle devilishly winked before reaching into her pocket. "… for a Wham bar?".

Offering Orla a Wham bar was basically bribery, Clare glaring at Michelle for her treachery. She wouldn't force her friend in the same way Michelle was, and it didn't sit well with her that the dark-haired girl was doing so.

"Come on Michelle, that's blackmail!"

"Aye it is". Orla agreed with Clare. "But I will not fall for it… I'm not finishing that bacon sandwich and I'm not eatin' that Wham bar".

"Christ… yer serious!" Michelle exclaimed.

The four of them sat for a short while, Michelle polishing off the half of Orla's bacon sandwich that was left because she couldn't stand the thought of it not being enjoyed. It did worry her that she might not fit into the dress she'd purchased though. Sarah informed them that Joe had rang her from the Hospital prior to her leaving the house and told her to get the rest of them ready for half past four to meet back there. Not quite the four o'clock estimate they'd made earlier on.

Erin carried a spring in her step walking into the Altnagelvin. Walking the whole way there from home, she'd seen her Granda Joe outside and he was absolutely buzzing with the news of the horse. Finding out that they now all owned it was special and though she wasn't as entertained as him, James or Orla, she was delighted with the knowledge she meant something in that world. She owned a racehorse, and it was cracker!

Going up to the Intensive Care Unit, and in the lift after the long walk, not having Clare to complain, she continued to smile and hummed along to the Take That song 'Back for Good' during the short trip in it. The nurses on the ward all beamed at her, which was quite unusual, although James's story was becoming a bit of legend around Derry, so in a way it also wasn't. The wee English fella that defied every expectation to recover rapidly. It was a legend that was completely true but the reason for his rapid return to full health was not known to those smiling. They were smiling at the reason the whole time. Erin was the only reason James made such incredible progress. He couldn't bear to be without her, and his body appeared to have been told that by his mind in no uncertain terms.

Opening the doors to his room, she went to call out a 'hello' to him but was startled by the empty bed. She only expected to find one bed empty… her makeshift one.

Where was he?

Why wasn't he resting?

Oh no…

Had he relapsed?... Was he dead?

She stepped back out of the doors with a look of horror on her face, her whole body trembling in total fear.

"Looking for me?"

James's majestic voice snapped her out of the panic, and she breathed a huge sigh of relief. If he wasn't all bandaged up, she'd be fetching the wooden spoon from back home and would be giving him a right going over. He was up and about, and, on his crutches, was making his way back down the corridor to her. Running off towards him would have been her usual reaction but she could see the grimaces on his face as he shuffled along, so she walked over instead.

"What are ye doin up!?" She demanded to know in much the same way her mother would.

"I've had some calls to make…". He stopped to grimace again as a vicious pain shot up his left arm. "… figured I might have a go at… well 'crutching'… I guess".

"Catch yourself on!" She scoffed at him, laughing. "Yer hardly John Hume, James!"

He did have to chuckle at her comment himself, stopping again at the doors as Erin held them open for him so he could hobble on through.

"I phoned Harriet actually". He told her.

"Ye phoned Harriet?" She gave him a look that told him she didn't believe a word he was saying. "Ya dose! She'll be at school".

"Which is why I rang her school".

Erin looked at her fella like he was from a different planet. Knowing the very privileged boarding school that Harriet attended, she couldn't believe he'd gone ahead and rang their main line just to talk to her.

"Ye rang there!? How the hell did ye get through to Harriet?"

James didn't answer straight away, instead asking for Erin's help to settle him down onto the bed. Once he was on it, she stood by his side, holding his hand and expecting an answer from him.

"I charmed the receptionist… she'd heard about what happened to me… and she thought I was gallant and br-".

"Ye did what!" Erin stomped her feet, her face red with fury.

"I told her she had a beautiful voice, and she went away to fetch Harriet. Don't be cross Erin, it worked, and no harm was done".

He absolutely knew what he was doing and enjoyed seeing the depths of her jealousy when it came to other women. Obviously, he wasn't going to show her his pleasure in it, instead remaining as straight faced as he could.

"Well, we will be talking about this when ye get better!". She put a firm finger on his chest, her face still showing the overbearing jealousy.

They didn't speak to each other for another few seconds, Erin turning away to hide her face from him even though he'd already seen how angry she was. It took James to clear the air.

"And I phoned mum as well".

Immediately, Erin internally chastised herself when he mentioned Kathy. Though he'd told her he would probably wait until the weekend to make the call, she was furious with herself for not thinking of it immediately. Embarrassed to turn around, a gentle tug on her hand from him gave her no choice and they locked eyes. But instead of finding an equally deserved fury in his irises, she only found the warmth that she craved.

"I… I forgot… I'm sorry". She whimpered.

"Hey…". He tugged at her hand again, eliciting a little smile from her. "… don't get upset Erin. I didn't tell you this morning, so you have nothing to apologise for".

"I know…". She sighed. "… how… how was she?"

James couldn't oppose the grin that took over his face and it was reciprocated by Erin when she saw how happy he was. She'd dreaded what Kathy might say, despite their chat, and relief already began to kick in.

"We've drawn a line under what has happened. She's going to be a part of my life now".

"What about the cops?"

"The cops?" James questioned her, receiving an amused frown before bursting out into laughter. "She told them where to go".

The pair of them were guffawing at Kathy's decision when it came to the Police. Deep down, they knew James's safety was no laughing matter, but they were young and carefree lovers who only wanted to be with each other. Outside influences didn't have any control over them. When they eventually settled down, Erin perched on the side of the bed, holding his hand and gazing over him adoringly.

"I saw Granda on the way out. He told me about the horse". Erin chirped along. "How did ye find the money?"

"Well, Mum's always wanted a racehorse secretly…".

Erin's eyes widened. Surely Kathy hadn't put in the money to get the horse… surely James hadn't gone and asked!

"We're renaming the owner's license as well. We're the Derry Girls Syndicate now".

With a look that spoke the words 'Catch yourself on', James replied to her with a nod, confirming that they were indeed now using that as the name on the license. It was an appropriate but hilarious name for the ownership, but if they were going to make it a proper syndicate, then there was no better name. James continued on to explain that Kathy would be joining the girls at the racecourse, another detail that they were not yet privy too. Erin was relieved that Orla wasn't the rider too. She'd seen that race once and the giant fences terrified her.

"By the way, we have some unfinished business… unless you've forgotten". The subject changed.

"Oh… and what's that". She purred, putting a hand on his chest.

"We were interrupted I seem to recall…".

Their lips were soon stuck together, and Erin was soon lying down almost on top of him, only propping herself up to avoid hurting the previously broken ribs. Their hands were soon beginning their own expeditions on the surfaces of their respective bodies.

"I don't think we'll be having that chat about the receptionist". He said as they resurfaced for air.

"Not when ye keep kissing me like that". She breathily replied.

Some taxi drivers in Derry were good.

Some were shite.

The four of them appeared to have got the second option that afternoon as they made their way to the hospital rendezvous. Michelle had her suspicions when she got in the taxi, as she happened to know a fair few of the taxi drivers, and the good ones at that, and he wasn't one of them. Instead of dropping them at the Hospital as they requested, they were dropped down the road. When Sarah and Michelle both argued that the driver hadn't fulfilled what was asked, in varying degrees of tone, he sent a barrage of abuse back at them, forcing them all out of the taxi with their luggage. Michelle bemoaned on the rest of the way there about Joe not taking them, seeing as he would be driving them to the ferry port anyway, but Joe had already told Sarah earlier that day he needed to sort out something to do with his pension so it would be a rush for him to even make it on time. Picking them up was out of the question.

Clare looked at her watch and it had just gone quarter to four. The Hospital was only a short walk away, though the stupid driver put them on the wrong side of the road, forcing them to cross. It was quite quiet considering one side of the road held the main Hospital in the area, only a few cars passing.

"Right then, let's get across this fucker!" Michelle announced.

It wasn't a crossing, but seeing only one car on the other side, Michelle decided to skip across anyway. Sarah rather sensibly led the other two up towards the crossing further up, not chancing their luck in the same way Michelle chanced hers.

"Where are you fuckers goin!". Michelle who'd stopped in the middle of the road shouted.

They all turned around to look at her, expecting to find her already across the road not in the middle. With her back turned, she couldn't see the car, previously in the distance, heading straight for her with no sign of stopping. The distance was closing quickly between the front of it and her.

"MICHELLE, LOOK OUT!" Claire screamed.

Having just enough time to drag herself and the suitcase out of the way, Michelle jumped, landing on the ground where she was attempting to cross to. The car kept moving and raced off down the road, not attempting to slow down or apologise. They all began to run to her, hoping that she wasn't hurt.

"Michelle! Michelle!" Clare started calling out.

"I'm fine!" She called back, picking herself up.

"Christ, are ye alright love?" Sarah asked, noting how Michelle rubbed her elbow.

"Probably a bit of grazing… but nothin' serious. I'll get me ma to have a look if I think it's going to be a bad un'".

Orla gave her a helping hand up, Clare retrieving the suitcase from where she'd tossed it aside in her successful attempt at avoiding the speeding car.

"That's shockin', so it is". Sarah commented. "They weren't stoppin' for ye!".

"Fuckers!" Michelle yelled.

"They… oh sweet Jesus they tried to run ye down!"

"I appreciate the cacking Clare". Michelle put a hand on her shoulder. "But I'm fine. It was probably just some drunk lads out on a joy ride".

Michelle's thought wasn't the most unreasonable one. There were lads of a couple of years above them who would often drive aggressively through the streets, not caring for who might be in their way. The only difference this time being the cops were not hot on their tail as was the norm.

"Did anyone catch the plates?" Sarah openly asked.

"I… I don't think it even had plates". Clare pictured it again in her head, trying to assess the mental image for details.

"That's a ragin' nightmare ye know…". Orla pointed out with a finger in the air. "… same thing happened after church a couple of years back".

"What are ye chatin' Orla?" Michelle huffed.

"After church one Sunday, they had to put the biscuits in a box because there weren't any plates. Shockin', so it was".

In Orla's head it was indeed the exact same situation, plate-based lightning very much striking twice. To the majority of Planet Earth, it really wasn't.

With the thought of the next few days ahead of them, none of them, not even Clare, stopped to think about the significance of a car with no number plates nearly running Michelle down.

Joe ended up being a lot quicker than he thought he would be sorting his pension out and he arrived, with Mary in tow, just as the other four were making their way towards the entrance. Seeing his car, Sarah halted the others and they waited for the two of them to catch up, Michelle's arms crossed and scowling at him.

"What's up with ye Michelle?" Mary quizzed her the moment they reached them.

"I nearly just got myself ran over and I could have had a lift!"

Joe went to tell her off about moaning, but Mary reached around and put a hand over his mouth to halt him.

"What do ye mean ye nearly got ran over?"

"Ach Mary it was scandalous, so it was". Sarah answered for Michelle. "The car wasn't stopping, and poor Michelle was right in the middle of the road… it nearly took her down ye know".

Mary went from being confused by Michelle, to actively concerned for her and rushed forward to check her arms for cuts.

"Get off Mary!" She wriggled away.

"Are ye hurt love?"

"No… and besides, we're outside a feckin' hospital… the same hospital me ma works at. Do ye not think I'd have already gone in if I was bleedin'?"

Mary had to concede that Michelle put across a fair point and she backed off. Joe, without a hand to silence him, told Michelle rather abruptly what he thought of her manners, but the young Mallon refused to apologise. Having to get involved in the same way she would between her da and Gerry when they would argue, Mary defused it before they went inside.

Deirdre joined the group on the way, her shift finished but wanting to say goodbye to her daughter ahead of the trip to England. Hearing from Joe that Kathy would be joining up with them was a blessing too, her sister spending more time with the big family was important.

Entering James's room, the seven of them came upon a peaceful scene. James was shifted over to the left side of the bed, snoring away with Erin curled up next to him the other side. Her head was on his shoulder and her right hand on his chest. She too was dozing away in splendid bliss and they both were smiling in their sleep. Deirdre and Mary looked at each other with little bits of their hearts melting at the cute display. With none of the others raising an objection, it was up to Michelle to put a stop to the boke inducing hell in front of her.

"OI!" She shouted.

They all turned to look at her as she woke James and Erin up with a start, Erin practically jumping off the bed when she realised just how many people were in the room.

"Do you's make it a mission to try and get me to boke every time we're in the same room!". She moaned. "And after the extra half sandwich I had at lunch, there would have been plenty of it ye know".

"Michelle!" Deirdre reprimanded her.

James laughed at the reprimand until Deirdre gave him a glare, noticing Michelle's smirk at his misfortune from over his aunt's shoulder.

"I hope ye weren't up to any funny business…". Mary sneered at Erin slightly.

"Mammy!" Erin blushed furiously.

"Come on Mary love, leave the wains alone…". Joe interjected. "… it was just a wee doze".

"There's no such thing as a wee doze Joe". Michelle added.

"Can we not discuss this!" Erin complained.

She was stopped from any further complaints by James's hand on her back and she sat back down to put her head on his shoulder as he sat up. He looked at the suitcases and realised that they must be giving the two of them a final goodbye before setting off.

"All packed up then?" He asked.

"I hope yer fellow English pricks understand the concept of beauty…". Michelle directed her jibe at him. "… they aren't gunna know what's hit em when I turn up".

"Pray for their immortal souls". Mary whispered under her breath, no one hearing the barb.

"I am buzzin'!" Orla roared. "Paul's got me leading the horses up, so he has, and I'll get myself on the tv and everything".

"You need to get a good look at those fences Orla…". James told her in a serious tone. "… you'll be jumping them next year".

Sarah gave the wee English fella a look that suggested she might break his good leg for encouraging it. There was little doubting that Orla would one day grace those fences with her presence, but it would not be without worries from her mother. She'd seen the race and just how scary the green obstacles were. The prospect of her own daughter jumping around them on horseback was daunting.

"I still can't believe we have a horse in it!" Erin exclaimed delightedly.

"I'm much the same love". Her Granda smiled at her. "James's ma's done you's proud".

"I'm sorry, we?" A confused Clare asked.

She looked to Joe for an explanation and then over at Erin and James, and it was the Englishman who took it upon himself to explain the situation.

"We... all of us… we all own the horse in the Grand National now".

"What!?" Orla was also confused.

"It was a favour for Frankie, the owner didn't want it anymore". Joe explained. "His loss was our gain and James's ma has put half the fees in… but told us we had to come up with a name for a syndicate that involved us all in return".

"That's brilliant!" Clare cheerfully spoke again, Orla's face lighting up next to her.

"Don't tell me… Dicko got to name it". Michelle rolled her eyes somewhat comedically.

James actually quite enjoyed receiving his previously go to insult. She'd yet to bestow the honour on him since he'd woken up, but the wait was finally over… and he was going to enjoy telling her the name he chose too.

"The Derry Girls Syndicate".

There were snorts and sniggers throughout the room, as well as Michelle saying 'Jesus Christ' under her breath. She couldn't complain too much about it though and it was her fault that he was describing them as that after she'd given him the creative license to use the term the previous autumn when she'd anointed him to the position.

A few more minutes of chatter ensued before Joe announced it was time for those of them bound for Liverpool, via Belfast, to go. The girls all got into a huddle around James and said their goodbyes to the Englishman and Erin. Mary read Joe the riot act about keeping the girls away from the fellas, Deirdre voicing a strong agreement of it as well. And when she meant the girls, she also meant Sarah too.

Their luggage was safely in the boot and Sarah took up her position in the front passenger seat with Joe at the wheel. With Orla sat in the middle of the back row, Michelle and Clare to her sides, they were ready for their great English adventure. All without a further word of Michelle nearly being ran down not even an hour earlier…

It had been a long and quite boring day for Mrs Scanlon. The shop floor was quiet, a rare day when there was little work about, and the phones weren't busy either. She was glad when it was home time, and she could get back to try to at least enjoy her Wednesday evening. Antony's car was on the drive when she got in and it was always a relief to find him at home and not out potentially causing trouble. She still wasn't quite sure if he was honest when he kept saying he was staying well clear of any bother. He just had that way of finding it.

Walking into the house, she could smell the pizza immediately. Antony must have been honing his culinary skills as she found him first in the kitchen, putting the final touches to the pizza's he'd done for his brothers.

"Evening Ma!" He said to her as she walked on through.

"Cookin' are ye love?". She smiled, giving him a peck on the cheek. "And what about my two other handsome boys?".

"Don't do that ma!" Danny retorted, Brian nodding in agreement.

She didn't mind embarrassing them, and their usual hatred of it only made her want to do it more.

"Good day at work Ant".

"Aye not bad ma… yerself?"

"Quiet. Boss reckons it'll pick up in the mornin' though". She plonked herself down at the dining table.

"What about you boys?"

She addressed the questions to Danny and Brian who were sat alongside her, and the two looked at each other to see who would answer, Antony casting a glance over at them.

"I didn't have any detentions today ma". Brian informed her.

"My God! That must be the first time in about a month… ye see ye can do it Brian!"

She got up and leant over, giving her youngest a big kiss that he tried desperately to fight off, but to no avail.

"And I got to finish early". Danny said from the seat alongside him.

It was very unlike the boy's school to let their students out before the usual half past three finish. She knew Our Lady Immaculate would sometimes allow it, but the school that the boys went to was far stricter on times.

"Really?" She was suspicious and didn't hide it.

"Don't worry ma". Antony called out from the kitchen. "Danny came straight to see me at work".

Antony's work not being far away from the school was at least a comfort for Mrs Scanlon. In a situation like the one Danny was describing, having Antony close by meant he could at least stay out of trouble until he got home. Danny, like his younger brother, had racked up the detentions in recent weeks, something she put down to him being out almost every night. She wasn't so keen on his girlfriend Moira either, preferring the poor Mallon girl he'd so ruthlessly tricked weeks before. That was the same night her cousin was attacked, making it even worse what Danny had done, not that he could have predicted what happened to the English fella of course.

"I let him have a practice with me car again ma". Antony informed her.

"Alone!?" She jumped to the correct conclusion in an instant.

"He's been doing fine with me after work ma…". Antony defended the decision. "… I've got to let him have the experience himself too ye know".

"I know Ant but yer not a qualified instructor… what if Danny got hurt?"

"I didn't go far ma. I was only gone about twenty minutes like". Danny also tried to defend the action.

"Well, I'm not impressed with the two of you's! I want no more of this, ye hear?"

Replying glumly to their mother, both Antony and Danny kept it shut for the rest of the evening. Mrs Scanlon had soon forgotten about it though, indulging in the beautiful pizza that Antony made for them. The car soon became a distant memory…

The boys just about got away with it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20: You'll never walk alone 28th March 1996

The car was rolling off the Ferry into the Birkenhead Port. Paul and Frankie, together with the local girls who helped them, had gone across with a horsebox and car separately on a freight voyage earlier on the Wednesday, so it was just Joe and the girls on the night ferry. It had been a pleasant voyage, a calm and tranquil sea taking them across. But for anyone in the passenger lounge that night it was anything but. Michelle's snoring would have rivalled the ship's foghorn if put to a decibel test and Joe went to the other side of the lounge from her in his efforts to sleep. It wasn't the most comfortable of nights, but when they'd rushed around to get a spot on the ferry, they could hardly complain if there was no cabin.

They were finally off into the city of Liverpool at around seven o'clock, Joe driving a short way out of the terminal before finding a side road to pull into and discuss the plans with the girls. They were staying a little way outside of the city, nearer to the racecourse, so it would be a fair drive to get there. The horses would already be out and galloping at where they were staying. The Grand National meeting as such started that day, but they wouldn't be visiting the track with Frankie having no runners.

"So…this is England". Michelle looked out of the window to the River Mersey.

It was sort of what Michelle was expecting; it wasn't raining, but it still looked very bleak and dismal. In reality, it looked no better than Derry and she wasn't going to pretend her hometown was in anyway a wonder of the world.

"I haven't seen anyone who looks like James yet". Orla noted.

"Thank fuck". Michelle replied, lighting up a cigarette.

"Language!" Joe reminded her, to receive an eye roll from the young Mallon in return.

"Ach Daddy, it's so big this Liverpool".

"Aye love". Joe replied to Sarah. "Full of thieving shites as well".

Like Orla had been the day before, Joe was lucky that Erin was back home in Derry, as she would have no doubt pulled him up about stereotyping the people of Liverpool as thieves.

"Language!" Michelle shouted at him this time.

"My car, my rules!". He turned to give her a stern look.

"I'm sure there are some lovely people here Mr McCool". Clare mediated.

Joe growled at her attempt at positivity, Clare immediately shrivelling and beginning to cack herself under his intense stare. He really did scare her at times.

"We can't stay parked up for long anyway… we'll be up on bricks".

Clare went to perform Erin's duty of calling out the offensive comments, but Michelle returned the favour when it came stopping an argument, leaning across Orla to smack her on the wrist.

"What are we up to then Daddy?" Sarah asked.

"I guess ye girls are hungry?"

He looked around again to find them all nodding, though Orla would no doubt be eating as little as possible with the slimmest chance she might be called into action. Michelle and Clare's bellies were growling, having last eaten just outside the ferry port back in Belfast ahead of boarding.

"In that case, we'll finding a proper parking space and get something to eat".

"Don't we need to see the horses?" Orla's brows furrowed in question.

"It's best to let Frankie sort that out love. Ye can see them later so ye can". Joe responded with a smile.

Starting off again, it was a short drive to a nearby car park, where Joe paid for an hour's parking so that they could go off and get something to eat. Walking through the streets of Liverpool, the girls didn't feel particularly out of place, although it was an odd feeling not to be recognised. Strolling through the streets of Derry was akin to the Paris catwalk; everyone knew who you were, and they were always looking at you. In Liverpool, the odd passer-by would look, but mostly then kept themselves to themselves. Apart from one young lad, of about their age, who's eyes only went to Michelle's chest, but were diverted when Joe caught him doing it. It didn't matter if it was Ireland, England or the Moon, Joe McCool hated pervs.

After breakfast was done, they were back in the car and heading off to the next designated stop. Whilst they were waiting for their food, Michelle waiting for the most expensive thing on the menu to Joe's annoyance, he'd told them that they would be off to the Liverpool Football Club's gift shop outside the legendary Anfield. Uncle Colm supported Liverpool and Joe wanted to bring back a shirt for his brother, much to the surprise of the others. Joe being kind to his brother was very… very… rarely seen.

"What's the name of the horse anyway?" Michelle questioned as they drove through the busy streets. "Ye haven't named it after dicko have ye?"

"No love. Ye can't rename the horse like that". Joe explained.

"What's it called then?"

"Bogside Warrior".

The name, thankfully with a connection to their home, did also have a connotation to it in Clare's opinion. The troubles in Ireland shared a long history with the Bogside area of Derry and the use of warrior appeared to suggest something about the nature of people in the area to her.

"Ye… Ye don't think it's not a bit too… risqué?" She looked to them all.

It was a pointless question to Orla and Sarah, who had absolutely no idea what risqué meant and Joe only huffed from her question. It was up to Michelle to put her right.

"Jesus Clare! I hardly think the Brits are gunna start gunnin' us down because of the horse's name".

"They've shot people for less…". She pointed out.

"Yeah, and it's wrong… but we'd be fuckin' unlucky to get shot for the name of a horse".

"LANGUAGE!" Joe reprimanded her with a shout this time.

The mood returned to a very tense one, with Sarah reading the newspaper Joe stopped to buy on their way back from breakfast. Clare was reading a book as Michelle smoked away and Orla waved at random people on the street, some waving back and others resorting to other gestures.

"Here!" Sarah suddenly remarked with a shout. "There's something about the horse in the paper".

She read it out:

At the bottom of the weights, still holding an entry is Bogside Warrior. Trained by Frank Flanagan in Ireland, amateur jockey Mr Paul O'Meara looks set to take his debut ride in the race, though there are rumours of a change in ownership ahead of Saturday.

"Rumours… I thought it was done Daddy?"

"The press won't have picked it up yet… Christ the racing authorities only got it last night!". He replied, chuckling.

"Paul was dead buzzin' yesterday". Orla noted.

"He would be, this is the race for those boys love". Joe replied to his granddaughter. "He might not get another chance to ride in it again".

"I'd never want to do it". Clare gave her say on the matter.

"Yeah well Clare". Michelle took her cigarette away from her lips for a moment. "Would be a miracle to see ye jump a garden fence, let alone get on a horse and jump one of those".

They all agreed, even Clare, at the statement. Another few minutes went by until Anfield Stadium loomed into view. There were Liverpool Football Club flags outside many houses and shops along the street, creating a sea of red. Michelle thought it remarkable they'd actually made it there without getting lost, Sarah providing oddly adept with the map of the city Joe brought with him from home. Getting out of the car, they all kept their jackets on as it was yet warm up. There were quite a few people about on the street, but no one was going into the gift shop like them and they found it empty when they walked in. Joe courteously nodded to the lady behind the counter as they began to browse. Michelle's eye seemed to wander to the changing rooms, Clare only rolling her eyes as she anticipated she'd gone to look for any young male shop assistants to pounce on. She never believed one word of the 'not riding an English' commitment Michelle made the day before.

"Do ye know who his favourite player is Granda?" Orla enquired

"He met John Barnes once ye know… bored the socks off Colm, so he did".

Orla accepted the story without hesitation, but Clare happened to overhear it and couldn't believe it humanely possible that Colm could be bored by someone. He was the most boring man in the world in her opinion and surely a professional footballer would be far more interesting than Derry's cure to insomnia.

Sarah was wandering around the various racks, not buying anything but enjoying the bright red colours of the various kits that were for sale. She made her way over to her father when she noticed he'd picked out a shirt for Colm.

"That the one da?"

"Aye".

He turned it round to reveal the number 10 and Barnes on the back, the shirt being in the right size for Colm too. There was no doubt he'd appreciate the gift from Joe, though it would probably take him most of the year to say thank you if he started recounting games he'd watched over the years. Clare joined them and Joe noticed that Michelle was nowhere to be seen, but before he could say anything about it, Sarah started talking.

"Do you's think it's hot in here?"

Orla nodded, though not that she could be judged to be telling the truth, but Clare did as well. Taking that as gospel, Sarah unzipped her jacket and Joe's heart nearly jumped out of his chest, flipped him the bird and ran off down the street.

She was in the Liverpool Football Club Shop.

Wearing an Everton shirt.

"What the hell are ye doin?" He whispered a hiss, to Orla and Clare's confusion.

"Ach Dennis sold me it yesterday… said it would fit well in Liverpool ye know". She whispered back, stretching the shirt slightly with her hands.

Joe positioned himself so that the lady behind the counter couldn't see the crime his daughter was committing, trying not to get them kicked out until he'd at least got Colm's shirt.

"That's an Everton shirt! Liverpool's rivals… ye'll get us killed!"

"Oh Christ!" Clare fretted quietly.

As much as Sarah wearing an Everton shirt would have inevitably ensured they would be barred from the shop, Michelle took it upon herself to be the one to strike the first blow. They knew the moment they heard the shout that it was her causing the trouble.

"GET OFF MY HUSBAND!"

The lady behind the counter must have gone into the back whilst Joe was faced away from her and she then came across the scene of her husband playing a game of tongue table tennis with Michelle. The riot act that was read to Joe by Mary prior to leaving had gone out of the window and the young Mallon nearly suffered the same fate, only just avoiding the woman's grasp. Darting out from the changing area, she locked eyes with the others.

"RUN!" She roared.

Joe dropped the shirt down and complied with the request. He was not a coward, but this woman could have half of the city on them in an instant and they were in big trouble then. The woman was chasing Michelle, but suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, disgusted by Sarah's choice of shirt.

"YOU PADDY FUCKERS!" The angered woman bellowed.

She continued in a forlorn pursuit of the five of them down the street but stood little chance of catching them. A man, clearly a Liverpool fan judging by his shirt, hurled abuse at Sarah's choice of top but they were too busy legging it to care to reply.

"What the hell Michelle!" Clare shouted at her.

"What!?"

"Oh I don't know… not ridin' any English fellas!"

"He was Greek!" Michelle scowled at her as they ran.

"I don't care if he was the Last King of Scotland, ye were told to behave!" Joe rounded on Michelle.

They reached the car and the girls practically dived into it, Clare ending up diving onto Orla's lap in desperation. Michelle went to make a comment about it, but she'd already pushed Joe's buttons far enough and didn't want to run the risk of being left to find her own way back to Derry. Scrambling open the map, Sarah called out the instructions as Joe took hold of a loose grasp of the speed limits on Liverpool's back streets.

"Was he really Greek?" Orla said to Michelle a couple of minutes later.

"Aye". She nodded. "Papagoodrideathos was the last name".

Michelle was daring enough to snort the comment, but Joe was far too busy on trying to get as far away from the Liverpool FC shop as he could. Sarah, her Everton shirt covered over with a jacket again, relaxed into directing him to their accommodation. For the rest of the way, Michelle and Clare continued to bicker about the former's conduct with the husband back at the shop. Orla remained confused.

"It's all Greek to me…".

It was early Thursday evening at the Altnagelvin. In the afternoon, James Maguire finally said goodbye to the private room in the Intensive Care Unit and found his new spot on a recovery ward right on the top floor. He didn't really have anything to take with him, other than Erin, and she carried her own belongings, which were plentiful. He'd also managed to get a private room on the recovery ward, or rather Deirdre had done, and they'd made their new little home there for the following days. Dr Kennedy, who handed James over to a different doctor for his recovery, believed he'd be out within ten days, just in time for Easter.

Gerry picked Erin up to go home and have something to eat, leaving James on his own for a while in the new surroundings. Thankfully, Gerry left him with a newspaper to read and he scanned down it to see any comments about his new horse. Despite it being an English race, there was significant Irish interest and the Derry Journal always did pieces about the race on the run up to it. Frankie must have said nothing to them though, as the news about the change in ownership was yet to reach the paper.

FLANAGAN ENTRY STANDS IN GRAND NATIONAL

Local trainer Frank Flanagan's bid to win the English Grand National Steeplechase remains intact, with Bogside Warrior remaining in the field two days ahead of the race. The eight year old horse, who was fifth in our own Grand National at Fairyhouse last year, is the lowest weighted in the race of those who remains. Paul O'Meara, long associated with the Flanagan stables and a native of Derry, will travel over to ride in the race on Saturday, with a couple of days of heavy dieting ahead for him to make the weight. Early odds for the race suggest Bogside Warrior to be a 200-1 chance, one of the outsiders of those that remain. The pair will also team up for the Foxhunters Chase tomorrow, the Grand National for amateur jockey's, with QuartzontheFoyle, one of the favourites for that race. A result from either would continue an impressive year for the trainer, already saddling eight winners, including two victories with the talented young Orla McCool in the saddle.

It was a small piece alongside the main article in the paper, but it was enough to make James feel very proud of himself. Orla's talents getting a mention made him smile too. Another year, it would be her that would be taking the ride, but she had plenty of time on her side for that. The odds were against their new horse, but James had seen him working on one of the visits up to the stables weeks before and he'd looked good then. His past results indicating an ability to be able to stay the marathon distance of the Aintree race at least. He just needed to jump round first. Something easier said than done.

Around seven o'clock, Erin returned to his side with an unexpected visitor. Mary and Gerry were in attendance too, but this time baby Anna was with them. It was the first time that James had seen Erin's little sister and when he saw her in Erin's arms as they walked in, he thought it beautiful. Erin was very caring when it came to her sister and James held his own soft spot for the baby, who very oddly behaved for him a lot better than anyone else, apart from Colm. For whatever reason, the two of them could get her to settle incredibly easily and James enjoyed when Anna would curl into his shoulder.

"Look who's here". Erin said to Anna, with her head pointing to James.

The baby's face lit up on seeing the Englishman and she immediately tried to wriggle out of Erin's grasp to see him. Chuckling at the scene, Erin stepped forward, leaning down to place Anna in James's arms as he sat up on the bed.

"Hello Anna". He cooed.

She was immediately resting on his shoulder and went straight to sleep. Erin was melting inside. She'd seen the scene before, though this time was not blinkered by the feelings of jealousy she'd harboured in the past, but it never got less cute. James just had a way with her little sister and there was a hope from her quarters that it would extend to all children. One day….

The four of them all chatted away whilst Anna slept on James's shoulder, none of them offering to take her away and in truth, James didn't want them to do so either. The conversation began at his recovery. Mary was delighted that he might be able to return to his home by Easter and that would also mean Erin returning home permanently. She'd missed her daughter's presence, the atmosphere never quite being the same with her large personality absent most of the time. Her bedroom was virtually untouched. She'd only been in there after being in the shower or picking out the clothes she wanted to wear over the weekend at the Hospital.

Talk eventually moved onto the horse that all of them now owned and how people were looking at them differently in the street. Mary was the first to notice, having been to the shops earlier in the day and as the news about them now owning a horse in the English Grand National filtered through, their social standing seemed to rise. Strangely, one lady held a door open for her like she was the Queen of England and not just Mary Quinn. Maureen Malarkey didn't argue with her or give her a funny look when they ended up in the same queue. She smiled instead. They were going up in the world…

Anna roused after about thirty minutes, by which time Mary decided that James's shoulder had done enough for the evening, taking her youngest back from him. Her and Erin left the room to have a little walk with Anna, which left Gerry to talk to the Englishman. A scenario James had wanted to create from the start.

"I do need to ask ye something James" Gerry said a couple of moments after the other three departed.

"That's good… I need to ask you a question too". He nervously replied.

Gerry smiled and the two shared a brief moment of silence, a respect flowing between them. Holding both the friendship of Gerry and Joe was a remarkable achievement in his eyes, and James greatly admired the former's resilience to the latter. They were both great men.

"I know ye want to stay here and be with our Erin but… are ye sure yer not better off moving away for a bit?"

Part of him wanted to be hurt by the thought, but if anyone was going to present a fair and logical argument to his decision, that was not putting their own personal interests at heart, it was going to be Gerry. He was a sensible man with sensible goals and ideas. And absolutely everything about James's decision to stay in Derry screamed of a lack of sensibility. It told of heartfelt choices rather than thought out ones… of foundations unwilling to be moved even in clear signs of danger.

"W… I…". James struggled to find the right words. "… why should I, Gerry? I can't give in and let whoever did this decide my life for me".

"But what happens if they come back son? They might still make that decision".

James sighed. Gerry had a point…

"And if they don't?" He refused to give in to the logic though. "I'm not letting whoever it was stop me from being the person I want to be".

"They might stop ye breathin!" Gerry argued.

James, concerned that it could spiral into an argument, chose not to respond. His face wore an expression of frustration and he looked away from Gerry and out of the window. The problem was that Gerry was right. Until whoever put him in the position he was in was found, there was no guarantee that a follow up attack wouldn't happen. The bravado in front of the Police was one thing; they didn't know him or what he had to lose like Gerry did. Everyone else may have supported his decision, but could he go through with it without the man's approval? A family might not always see eye to eye, but it was a matter of life and death and not what to pick off the takeaway menu.

"Look James, I will support ye no matter… but yer far too important to my Erin and… to me… to let anything happen to ye. Yer a great young man, who deserves a long… rewarding life. I won't have ye seeing it cut short because ye were being stubborn".

A desperate attempt to fight the breakdown became a slightly pathetic effort and James began to cry. Regretting his choice of words, Gerry quickly pulled the young lad in for a hug. As Anna had done on James's shoulder, James found his spot on Gerry's, but unlike the baby, he wept into it.

"I… I just want a normal life Gerry". He sobbed.

"I know ye do son… I know".

"Why can't people just let me live it!"

"This is Derry son. Normality is redefined when ye cross into the city".

Coughing up a laugh, James moved out from Gerry's shoulder, nodding his silent thanks in return. It did make James's question slightly more awkward in his head though…

"Did ye see the paper James?" Gerry moved onto the racing, acknowledging the need to do so.

"Yes. I think… touch wood…". He stopped to touch his own head. "… we've got a chance of finishing in the first three".

"First three?" Gerry's brows raised. "That would be brilliant son".

"It would… but we could easily be out of it at the first fence too".

The two chuckled, James picking up the newspaper again to point something out to Gerry about the race, the two of them talking racing for another five minutes. There was no sign of Mary, Erin and Anna yet. Though James's window was narrowing…

"Ah…". Gerry's head suddenly flicked over to an important detail. "What was it that ye wanted to ask me?"

Following the close run-in with some of Liverpool's finest earlier in the day, Joe ensured that any further trouble would be avoided for the remainder of it. They'd gotten to the cottage that they would be staying in for the following two nights and remained there. Sarah and Orla took a walk to the nearest shop in the middle of the afternoon to get some things in for the evening, but Joe refused to allow Michelle to go given what happened in the last shop they'd been in. Clare was assigned as her guard and could have been mistaken for a secret service officer, her eyes on Michelle at all times. Michelle herself didn't protest, still concerned that Joe might make her find her own way home, and instead went to watch the horses working in the fields. She wasn't really that bothered about them, her excitement from the trip coming from what she might get up to with the lads, but found it relaxing to stand and watch them galloping.

After a peaceful night's sleep, they were up early the next morning. Orla was out at half past five to help Paul with their runner for the day, riding out across the fields with him on a horse of Paul's friend's. They were all out and about for nine, at the confusion of all of them except Joe. Orla travelled with the others to the course so that she could be counted as a member of the stable staff, leaving him with Sarah, Michelle and Clare.

"Why are we getting there so early Joe?" Michelle asked. "I could have slept another hour instead of this".

"I have another surprise for ye". He smiled into the rear-view mirror.

The notion that a surprise was about to be revealed perked Michelle up, and Sarah's eyes widened in anticipation of what her father's surprise might be.

"We're meetin' Kathy at the course… early like".

"My aunt Kathy?" Michelle questioned, though to Clare it was obvious.

"Aye that's right love. She's used her connections to get us our own box in the grandstand. We'll be watchin' in style so we will".

A box in the grandstand at a racecourse was not exactly something you could just turn up and ask for. You had to know people to get your own box in the grandstand, they were usually reserved for Lords and Ladies. Kathy must have known someone of that ilk to be able to get them a box of their own. Having felt more than adequately glammed up in their dresses, Michelle and Clare both suddenly felt very under dressed.

When they arrived at the racecourse, it was fairly quiet. In only a couple of hours, that would all change and tens of thousands of people would flood in for the afternoon's racing. Parking up in the private car park, Joe turned down the offer of a valet service by the main entrance of the grandstand. He wouldn't trust anyone with his car, let alone anyone in Liverpool…

"This place is fuckin' grand!" Michelle said to Clare as they led the group in.

"It is called a grandstand Michelle… it's meant to be grand ye know".

"Yeah…". Michelle scoffed. "Obviously…".

A hostess greeted them at the reception, Joe informing them of who they were and who they were going to see. She led them up a staircase and up a few floors, opening a set of double doors that went out onto a corridor. A couple of doors down on the corridor, she opened a door and it opened into a large function room. There was a mini bar in one corner of the room, with sofa's and chairs arranged out on the other. A large television sat in the same area, bigger than any that they'd ever seen. The whole room was plusher than anything beyond their wildest dreams and Sarah's face summed up their thoughts. Wow!

"Jesus…". Michelle uttered.

"This is…". Joe was lost for words.

While he tried to find the right words to describe the scene, Kathy walked in from the balcony outside. If they thought in the car that they would be underdressed, the feeling only grew when she appeared. She was stunning in a bright blue dress, her hair done up like a film star and make up absolutely perfect. There hadn't been many times in Michelle's life when she found herself jealous of another woman's beauty, but when she saw her aunt strolling in with the early morning sun behind her, she added a new entry to the list.

"Christ Kathy, ye lookin' well". Michelle remarked.

"You're looking very beautiful yourself Michelle". She smiled at her niece. "I'm glad you could all make it. How long did you manage to hide it for Joe?"

"Nearly all the way here love". He grinned in return.

Giggling at his statement, Kathy gestured with her head for them to follow her back outside. When they did, they were granted a blissful panoramic view of the Aintree racecourse. They could see for miles out into the country, to the houses in the distances and the fences down the back straight. The legendary course that Joe had always dreamed of going to, now revealed all of its beauty to him and he loved it.

"That's some view that da". Sarah said to him.

"I agree Miss McCool". Clare, formal as ever, hummed in chipper agreement.

As they waxed lyrical about the views around the stunning countryside, a young man walked out onto the balcony with glasses of champagne for each of them.

"Champagne for you Sir". He addressed Joe first.

Michelle and Clare looked to the adults for permission, but both Sarah and Kathy looked at Joe to make the final decision.

"One". He told them, watching them then rush forward in delight to secure a glass.

"And son…". He addressed the waiter, who smiled. "If I find you've let them have any more than one… well it's long way down to that turf down there isn't it?"

Swallowing hard at Joe's threat, the young man soon went back inside to man the mini bar in their function room. Joe started up a conversation with Kathy and Sarah, leaving Clare and Michelle to the other end of their balcony.

"What a ride…". Michelle mused.

"Huh?" The bemused Clare replied.

"That waiter…". She looked over her shoulder towards the lad behind the bar. "… he's welcome in my box anytime…".

"Christ!" Clare moaned. "I'm gunna boke!"

Michelle sniggered at Clare's wish to bring back the contents of their breakfast, but she was deadly serious about the waiter. He was a massive ride… even though he was English…

Ten minutes or so later, Joe looked down to the winning post to see Orla finishing up her walk around the course with Paul. The two of them were beaming with delight, laughing away to each other, though stopping their amusement to pay respects to the late great Red Rum, who was buried by the winning post.

"Orla!" Joe called out from their box.

"Granda!" She shouted back, eyes full of wonder.

"Enjoying yourself love?!"

"Aye! But I got a wee bit confused though!"

In the split second before asking about the confusion, Joe's heart went out to Paul, who would have dealt with the likely bizarre questions alone.

"Why's that!"

"There's a fence called The Chair, so there is! But not even big Robbie who works down the scrapyard could sit on it, it's huge!"

The Chair was a notoriously tough fence on the Aintree circuit, often claiming a number of victims each year despite only being jumped once in the big race itself. Orla had of course believed it would be a seat and it took Paul longer than he would have ever envisaged to explain why the fence was named how it was.

"Mammy!" She called up to her mother.

"Yes love!" Sarah called down in return.

"Is there any water up there… I'm parched, so I am".

Michelle went back inside on Sarah's behalf, though accompanied by Clare after her previous comment, and the waiter gave them a bottle of water. Anyone else would have walked down the stairs and out to the rails to hand it over, but Michelle Mallon wasn't just anyone else.

"Here!"

Launching the bottle off of the balcony, Orla followed the flight of it to the ground and somehow, perfectly caught it in her hands. Raising it in a toast to Michelle, she grinned up to her friends and family and they grinned back.

"Your eyebrows are looking well Sarah".

"Ach, yer too kind Kathy".

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: The Other Option 29th March 1996

Racing began at two o'clock that afternoon, which left them with hours to relax and talk. Michelle and Clare went down to see Orla at one point, though not all the way to the stables as to not get their heels mucky. Orla was in a different world; they'd never seen her happier. Step Aerobics was long gone… she was practically living, breathing and eating the world of racing. Happy for her, they retreated back to their box as people began to pile into the venue, the stands soon filled ahead of the opener.

"I've never seen so many people". Sarah looked down beneath them at the hordes.

"Should start throwing peanuts at em". Michelle snickered as she tucked into the complimentary food.

Joe gave her a glare, worried she might actually do it, but she refrained from the childish behaviour and continued to eat. They'd brought chairs out onto the balcony, Clare being asleep in one after her lunch and likely feeling the effects of the one glass of champagne. She was the lightest of lightweights after all. The first couple of races went by without too much interest from Sarah, Michelle or Clare but Joe and Kathy were having bets, to little success. They considered phoning the Hospital after the second race, to see if James could give them a better tip for the third but decided against it in the end.

As the third race came to a close, there was just over half an hour until Paul would contest the amateur's Grand National. Orla was getting ready to lead the horse around the parade ring ahead of the race. For someone who wasn't even riding in the race, she probably held more nerves than any of the jockeys. There were so many people at the course, more people than she'd ever seen in her life, far from the occasionally busy shopping centre back home. There were twenty-six other horses in the race, which equally made the stables quite busy. The two girls from the village got the horse ready with Orla, herself getting the honour of saddling him up. The buzz and noise around the stable boxes filled her ears and she felt at home surrounded by the seasoned jockeys, trainers and owners. The decision to go to England in the winter was already settled in her own mind, though a final acceptance from Sarah was still required. It was home.

As the time came, she led QuartzontheFoyle out into the parade ring. He was the third favourite for the race, trading as a 7-1 chance, Ireland's second best behind the 5-1 shot Kerry Orchid, though that was a Southern horse. Or the equine equivalent of Gerry, as Joe helpfully explained to the girls. The favourite for the race was an English horse with a fearsome reputation, having won some of the biggest races for young horses at the start of its career. Despite being thirteen years of age, Rolling Ball, was set to go off favourite. There was plenty of attention for Orla's horse though as she walked around the swollen parade ring, packed ten deep in places just to get a glimpse of the horses.

After a short wait, Paul arrived into the ring from the weighing room, talking to some of the other jockeys as he did. He would go off to Frankie and the owners first, a trick he would be repeating the following day but with Joe and the girls stood in the ring. Orla had briefly met the owners of QuartzontheFoyle one of the days she was riding out back at the stables, and they were nice enough people. She caught a glimpse of the group talking tactics, but having to keep a hold of the horse, she was unable to listen in like she would have done normally. Some of the other jockeys began to mount up and when she came by the group again, Paul was waiting to mount up himself. Taking a firm grip of the horse's reins, she held him in place whilst Paul got his leg up and over and settled on top.

"How ye findin' it Orla?" He asked her as they started off again.

"Ach, there's a lot of people, so there is". She replied, raising her voice to be heard over the crowds.

"Ye'll have to get used to it ye know".

"Aye I know. It's cracker though, everyone's interested in the horses and when I go past people, the craic's usually ace".

Paul chuckled quite loudly at her comment about the crowd. He knew from experience that in passing, the conversations between racegoers could sometimes be highly amusing, especially if it concerned the horse he was riding. He remembered one day at Kelso racecourse in Scotland, when he was scoffed at as having no chance and ended up winning by twenty lengths. The horse he was riding that day was the same horse he was onboard now, but there wouldn't be an underestimation of his mount's talents ever again.

A few minutes later and it was time for the start, Orla leading him to the rails where she would let go of the reins and Paul would gallop him down to the start.

"Are ye confident Paul?" She asked him.

"As confident as ye can be when yer goin' up against these fences!" He jested. "But I reckon we've got a fair chance".

"Take care… don't fall or anythin'". She said in a slightly quieter tone.

"Don't worry…". He put his hand on her shoulder. "… I'll be fine".

He knew that wasn't the smartest comment that a jockey could ever make before the start of race, but he'd never fallen off this horse and it was a safe jumper. Orla herself moved over to the centre of the track once she'd released the reins, ducking under the inside rail and walking up to the landing side of the first fence. The first fence of the race would be the second last in the big race the following day, and she got a good sight of the fence that would often contribute to the drama of the spectacle.

As the tape went up, the twenty-seven runners bolted off to the first fence. It was quite a scene, though the short run up at the start of this race was nothing compared to that of the Grand National itself. As the leaders scrambled over the first, Orla watched in awe as the beautiful beasts leapt over the monstrous obstacle. However, the awe soon wore off.

There was an almighty pile up on the landing side. One of the leading horses nosedived and pretty much anything in behind it got wiped out without any chance of recovery. It was a chaotic scene, reminiscent of the one Orla managed to avoid on her debut at Enniskillen, and there were horses and jockeys everywhere. Looking into the melee, she saw the familiar colours of Paul's jacket as he sat up from behind his horse. Unfortunately for him, he was sat directly behind the first horse that fell. It was a fall that would leave a lesser man whining about the pain he was in, but a jockey like Paul was made of tough stuff and would just ignore the pain. Relieved that he looked to be okay, Orla ducked back under the rail and around the other fallen horses to grab hold of the reins on QuartzontheFoyle, to stop him charging off. Luckily, he showed no signs of any injury and was nowhere near as stiff as his jockey.

"Ye alright Paul?" She asked him.

"Just a bit bruised Orla. Nothing I can't handle".

They walked back in together, with Paul carrying a limp which she first noticed as they were walking around to the stables. He still insisted he was alright, but Frankie caught Orla's eye and she could see the concern he had for the jockey too.

It was not the start they were looking for.

"Well… that went fuckin' well". Michelle whispered to Clare as they watched Orla leading the horse away.

"Aye". She agreed.

The two of them were back in their own corner of the balcony area, sitting down again once Paul's race was over due to a lack of interest in it otherwise. Michelle's attentions were diverted to the poor waiter, who'd she eyed up most of the day without making her move. Clare was still watching her closely… though Clare Devlin was not a stupid girl by any stretch of the imagination. Michelle was going to snare this lad one way or the other and there was nothing she could do to prevent it when she did.

"He's so fuckin' hot…". Michelle daydreamed as she stared at him.

"Ye know, staring is considered rude Michelle!" Clare angrily whispered back.

"It's rude that God makes a lad so good lookin' but gives him an English accent. I'm ragin'!"

Sometimes she wished she could just slap the sense into Michelle, repeatedly, until she stopped talking about a lad's looks or criticising the country of their birth. A sensitive soul though, Clare could only attempt to use words to steer her friend on the right path, but she was no wordsmith like Erin. And Erin wasn't in a permanent state of cack attack either…

"Why don't ye just… talk to him… nicely!"

"Really? Talk? When have ye known me to just talk?"

Clare didn't need words or violence to tell Michelle how much shite she'd just uttered, the raising of her eyebrows doing the job.

"Alright… fair enough". Michelle surrendered. "I'll talk to him".

Getting up from her seat on the balcony, whilst the crowds oooo'd at every fence being jumped in the race in the distance, she strolled over to the bar, where the young lad was cleaning a couple of glasses. They exchanged pleasant smiles as she approached.

"Can I get you something?"

"Erm…". Michelle oddly hesitated as she spoke. "… just a… water… please".

Smiling, the young man fetched a glass and poured water out of a glass bottle into it, filling it right up before handing it over to Michelle, who still beamed at him.

"I'm Michelle by the way".

"Tom". He replied. "It's nice to meet you".

His accent wasn't a local one, it was more of a refined accent like James's, though not as posh and sophisticated as Harriet's. She nervously sipped at the water, still standing at the little bar, creating an awkward atmosphere in the corner of the room.

"Can… Can I ask ye a question?"

"Of course…". He replied, shifting slightly awkwardly himself.

"What do…". Fucking hell Michelle keep it together! "… what do ye think?".

She ran a hand down in front of herself to indicate what she meant, and he was slightly taken aback by the question.

"I…". He went to answer, nervously scratching the back of his head.

Berating herself inside for being so foolish, Michelle tried to find the words herself to apologise to the lad, but when she looked at his red face again, her mind made a different decision. She fled back out onto the balcony to the curious eye of Clare, who didn't raise a question to her friend at all. They watched the rest of the racing together, Michelle throwing her attention at it and trying to understand certain things about it from Joe. Her aunt Kathy also started up a conversation with her about the stick-… self-adhesive labels business and she did absolutely everything to take her mind off what had happened inside. It stayed that way for the rest of the evening too, not making eye contact with the waiter as they left the box at the end of the racing for the day, and not bringing the subject up with any of the others. Clare was wise enough to back off. She'd not said anything, but she'd witnessed the tense scene between her friend and the waiter and knew Michelle wasn't just out for attention this time. This wasn't a case of just snogging some poor woman's husband or attracting wondering eyes to her body… she really quite liked this waiter.

Michelle couldn't quite understand it. The same thing that she'd given Erin grief for was happening to her. She was falling for an Englishman too… albeit a far better looking one than James.

For poor Tom the waiter, he stood behind the bar after the guests left, wondering what the hell the stunning young Irish girl wanted him to say. But he couldn't deny that she was beautiful or that he was looking forward to seeing her again the next day.

The Derry night was cold, back to the weather of a month prior. At two o'clock on a Saturday morning, the city was a very desolate place. The odd person might be stumbling drunk in the streets, but that would be about it. It was the perfect time for three particular people to stand outside the Altnagelvin Hospital and survey all the entry points they could. There were plenty of places to make an entry, but silence and speed would be the key for their plan. It wasn't going to be a complicated one; it really didn't need to be because the objective was so clear.

"We could just walk in through the front". The one with the bike said to the other two.

"Catch yourself on!" The smallest one said. "It has to be so that we aren't seen".

"How about the back entrance?" The tallest one put to the other two.

"Aye". Their compatriot agreed.

"If we do…". The small one began. "…We'll have to find a hidin' spot for a bit inside. You's better not fuckin' give us away either".

The point of entry was settled. They would wait until the perfect moment to sneak into the quiet rear entrance of the building and would then commence their operation.

"When's our moment?" The one on the bike asked.

"The moment it gets real quiet". The tall one replied to them.

"Yeah…". The small one, who appeared to be in charge, responded. "… we make our way out into the corridors and find 'im".

"How do we get about the corridors without being seen?" The taller one fairly pointed out.

"You two's will have mops and buckets… ye'll look like cleaners. And we'll put aprons on to make it look right".

Three cleaners, not saying anything to anyone, wouldn't look completely out of place in the Hospital at any time of day. It wasn't quite genius, but it wasn't exactly stupid either.

"When we get there… how we doin it?" It was the turn of the one on the bike, who rested their hands on the handlebars.

"Shoot him… point blank". The small one answered.

"What about the noise of the guns?" The taller one challenged.

Anticipating it to be a problem, the smaller one reached into their backpack and revealed the presence of pistol and rifle silencers. They were top of the range items and would fit perfectly onto the weapons they'd already acquired for usage. Though not for this usage…

"Erin Quinn remains our only problem…". The small one began. "… she sleeps in his room every night and could easily try to stop us".

"Will she?" The taller one questioned their logic.

"No… because if she does, we kill her too".

"But…". The one on the bike tried to argue.

"She's a traitor to the flag. If she wants to fuck a Brit, she takes her life into her own hands and we're simply takin' it away… to teach her about betrayal".

The small one saw Erin Quinn as the ultimate traitor to Ireland's cause. A young girl with a powerful brain, who could be out there putting it to use to drive the Brits away, was instead curled up by the bed of one. It was disgusting and her death would hopefully cease such relationships across Ireland, acting as a message for those who decided to sleep with the enemy.

"When we doin it then?" The taller one asked the most important question.

"Well… we can't this weekend obviously". The one on the bike shivered slightly when stating their point.

"Monday night". The small ringleader announced.

"Monday night is the night we kill James Maguire".

Saturday morning.

Grand National morning.

James woke up full of energy, ready for a day where a racehorse that he owned would run in the most prestigious race in the world. He'd slept well the night before, drifting off to sleep with his head turned to the right watching Erin. She slept in a similar spot in their new room, and she went to sleep on her left side, the two falling asleep watching each other. Even despite the difficulties in moving about with the broken leg, he never wanted to move his attentions anywhere. His Erin was so gorgeous as her eyes began to close and she whistled away into slumber…

She wasn't quite as spritely as he was that morning, so James took it upon himself to wake his girlfriend up. To do so, he got up and into his crutches, and manoeuvring his way over to her, gave her a nudge with the right one.

"Erin". He whispered.

"Erin".

"Wh…What". She mumbled, eyes still closed.

"It's time to get up".

"No… tired".

He rolled his eyes at her groan and in the brief second he did so, she went to sleep again. Luck was on his side however, as Deirdre walked in carrying some breakfast for them, the sound of the doors jolting Erin awake.

"Ach sorry love". Deirdre said to her, noticing the sudden movement. "I thought you's would be awake already".

Erin muttered something which neither James nor Deirdre heard, the two of them instead sorting out the breakfast. She'd gone for a bit of a treat, bringing them both a big greasy bacon sandwich from the café as well as coffee instead of tea. They very rarely drank coffee, despite James vastly preferring it to tea, which he in turn didn't dare to mention to anyone with the social expectation that he'd love tea because he was a Brit.

"I've got the paper for ye as well James. For the racing ye know".

James gave his Aunt a hug, making her chuckle whilst she reciprocated, with a groggy Erin wrapping her arms round the pair of them. Deirdre deemed that a little too much and backed away, though not without a grin on her face. She soon left the pair of them to their breakfast and without a word to each other, moments later they were under James's covers, chomping away merrily. Being the gentleman that he was, he let Erin read the paper first, watching her cast her eye over all of the news articles. Once they'd both finished eating and drinking their coffee, she'd finished with the newspaper and slid it to her left so that James could eagerly get to the racing section.

"Here we go". He opened the page to the double page pull out.

The pull out listed all of the horses that would go to post in the Grand National that year. There were only twenty-eight runners instead of the usual forty, but the drop in quantity hadn't decreased the quality. There was a former winner in the race, Party Politics, and Rough Quest had finished second in National Hunt racing's highest quality race, the Cheltenham Gold Cup, just two weeks before. Looking down to number twenty eight, James took note of the so-called expert's opinion of their horse's chance. Expecting it to be biased, with the paper being the Derry Journal and the horse being trained locally, he was surprised by the review.

28. Bogside Warrior
Trainer: Frank Flanagan
Jockey: Paul O'Meara
Owner(s): Derry Girls Syndicate
Rating: 1/5
Price: 200/1

The bottom weight, trained and owned locally, and ridden by local amateur jockey Paul O'Meara, goes over to Aintree with little chance. Though his stamina is assured, his jumping has often proved problematic in the past and O'Meara will be looking to just steer him round safely.

After the positive comments of the usual sports reporter in the prior day's edition of the paper, he was slightly frustrated with the expert. They weren't wrong about his jumping problems, Joe was very clear when it came to the horse's history, but the falls were as a novice. He'd not fallen for two years and from what he could gleam from Joe, Frankie was confident about the horse's ability to get round.

"They aren't giving him much chance". James moaned to Erin.

"Well…". She spoke harmoniously back to him and put her hand in his. "… a lot of people didn't give us a chance. And look at us now".

The lopsided grin chose its moment to appear and Erin's brain immediately diverted all resources to the lips as they passionately met. It was a short but sweet kiss, complete with giggles as they pulled away. His arm went around her, and her head rested on his right shoulder, sitting there under the sheets of his Hospital bed as the devoted couple that they were.

Everything was so peaceful…

Bogside Warrior was woken early that morning ahead of the big race. Paul, still sore from the fall in the amateur's grand national, got aboard and Orla again mounted up on the friend's horse to work alongside their main horse. They had a crowd for the early morning workout too, with all of them up well before the crack of dawn to prepare for the day. Joe and Sarah watched Orla fondly from the cottage window as she laughed and joked with Paul. The two of them were quite relaxed, a stark contrast to Joe, who was awash with nerves ahead of the big race. He was an owner, and with James back home in the Altnagelvin, the main owner, of an entrant in National Hunt racing's greatest event. It was incredible.

Orla left with the horse first. It was a short drive to the track, but Frankie insisted on getting the horse in and settled, explaining that on occasions in the past he'd got flustered pre-race, which he believed to be the contributing factor to the falls earlier in his career. Joe drove the girls to the track at around the same time as the previous day, with the difference being they beat Kathy there. She was staying in a hotel in the city and arrived just as they were about to enter the grandstand and head up to their box. There were more staff around than the previous day, rushing about to the kitchens and preparing the boxes. The hostess that greeted them the day before was present again, but she didn't lead them straight to the box this time. Knowing they were owners of a horse in the National, she pointed out a reporter from the BBC and he'd noted their presence and made his way over.

"Good morning". The reporter introduced himself cheerfully. "Are you owners?"

"Aye that's right". Joe confirmed pleasantly in return.

"Which horse is yours might I ask?"

"Bogside Warrior. Frank Flanagan's horse".

"Oh yes… the bottom weight". He smiled. "Can I just take all of your names for…".

"Ye want the girls name? Are ye a perv?" Joe flipped from kind to investigatory in a flash.

Taking a typically British approach to the confrontation, the reporter shrivelled up and went red in the face, profusely apologising a second later.

"Oh No! No! It… it… well it doesn't matter, Mr?"

"McCool, Joe McCool".

"Joe… McCool…". The man mumbled as he jotted it down on his notepad. "... what do you think of your chances then Mr McCool?"

"I think we've got half a chance, so we have. We're bein' treated unfairly at two hundred to one, he's a lot better than that".

The reporter made the notes, but as he went to ask his second question, he saw the five of them strolling off up the stairs to their box. He didn't know him like a lot of the citizens of Derry did and he didn't need to know it either; the reporter wouldn't be following Joe to ask him the question.

"Ye like speaking to the press don't ye Joe?" Michelle joked.

"As much as I enjoy being around you…". He grumbled in return, irritating her.

"I'm surprised he wasn't askin' about our eyebrows Kathy". Sarah pointed out to her.

"A lot of men in England wouldn't know a good pair of brows if they were punched in the face by them Sarah".

There was a hum of agreement from her at Kathy's statement as they approached the door to their box. Walking behind them, Michelle started to feel the butterflies in her stomach. Having forcibly ignored the thought of Tom the waiter since their awkward conversation the previous afternoon, he was on her mind again. She couldn't like him… though he was a fantastic ride…

Shit!

She'd always realised she would turn a few heads on the eastern side of the Irish sea, but there was no allocation in the plan when it came to falling for an English fella. Anglo-Irish relations were James and Erin's responsibility within their group and not hers. Thankfully, Tom wasn't in the function room when they walked in and Michelle quickly found a spot on the sofa and nodded off. Going to sleep was a far more sensible idea. She could only fall for him in her head then and not actually in front of him again.

Time ticked by and when Michelle woke up again, it was well after one o'clock in the afternoon. The rest of them left her there to sleep, assuming she'd not had a very good night's sleep and not that she was just trying to avoid the waiter. Michelle herself couldn't quite believe the time when Clare told her, and she scrambled off of the sofa and out onto the balcony.

"If it isn't Miss Sleepy". Joe jested.

"Jesus… sorry about that".

"There's no need to apologise Michelle…". Kathy warmly smiled at her niece. "… you can't help being tired".

Laughing and joking away for the next few minutes, they were joined in the box by Orla. She was given a short break, what was supposed to constitute a lunch break though she didn't eat and wanted to spend it with the family instead. Tom the waiter followed her in, and Michelle got her first glimpse of him from behind Orla's shoulder. He was beautiful and so feckin' smart in his tux… the emotions it stirred within Michelle being vastly different to the way she felt about any other fella. Feck's sake…

Orla stayed out on the balcony for the first race of the day, which held interest for them as Paul was riding for another trainer in it. It was an ideal warm up for him to shake off the sore feeling in his left leg from the fall just under twenty four hours earlier. A shorter race, of only about two miles, he was taking the ride on one of the unfancied horses in the contest, much like he would be in the Grand National later on. The field set off at a frenzied pace to the first fence, with a lot of front running horses in the field though Paul's wasn't one of them. He was settled in last place at the stretched group and after about three fences, his horse already appeared to be outpaced. The furious speed continued as the field went past the stands with a circuit to go, Orla noticing how he was having to cajole the horse with his hands to keep it in contact with the others. Remarkably, the horse began to move up after the first couple of fences down the far side of the course.

But disaster struck at the final fence on that side.

Asking for a simple enough jump, the horse hesitated and virtually walked through the fence, summersaulting Paul into the air and down to ground. Orla winced as she witnessed it through the binoculars and her worries intensified when, having kept them trained on Paul, he stayed down. Medics jumped out of an ambulance to go and attend to him, but with less than two hours to go until the big race, a catastrophe loomed.

"He's proper hurt Granda". She swallowed hard as she finished speaking.

"Ach Christ…". Joe's voice trailed off in frustration.

"What do ye do Daddy?" Sarah asked him. "What happens if he can't ride like?"

"I… feck's sake! Come on Orla love, we need to find Frankie".

Joe and Orla set off at the speed of light in their attempt to find the trainer, rushing off out of the grandstand and towards the stables. Sarah decided it was all getting a bit too much, and she wanted to have a cigarette out the front instead of from the balcony. Checking that the girls would be alright for a few minutes on their own, Kathy joined her. It left Clare and Michelle alone with the waiter. A situation the latter of the two girls attempted to ignore when it came to comfortability.

"I need the loo". Clare suddenly announced.

"And I needed to know because?" Michelle snorted.

Her emotions were playing havoc with her and it wasn't until she dropped the usual Michelle Mallon mask, that she realised why Clare needed her to know. She was now the only one left up there. Whilst she might have been out on the Balcony, with the shouts of the crowd filling her ears as they watched the opening race unfold, she was still trapped. There was no way out and no way she couldn't face having to see the waiter again. But fate decided to play its cruel hand against her a lot quicker than she would have liked. If Muhammad wouldn't go to the mountain, the mountain would go to Muhammad…

"Michelle".

Tom's voice was the only one she could hear above the shouts of the crowd as the runners entered the home straight in the first race. It was a voice that she would usually loath, mainly due to the accent belonging to James as well, but there was no comment levelled at the waiter about being an English prick.

"I… ehm…. I…".

Clare would have been proud of the cack attack Michelle was having as the waiter gazed into her eyes, causing her to blush and stumble over her own words.

"I wanted to apologise". Tom stated firmly. "I didn't cover myself in glory yesterday when I failed to understand and answer your question".

He was fiddling with his hands too and the scene became just as nervous as it was before. Neither wanted to say the next word, but Michelle didn't want to flee this time either. She was going to stand her ground.

"I think you looked beautiful. And do again today".

Her head shot up when he confirmed that she looked as good as she thought, and her heart jumped for joy in her chest at it. Not thinking, she grabbed him and pulled him down for a long kiss, practically pulling him onto the chair on the balcony. It was sloppy, far worse than anything that even James and Erin had produced, but in that moment as the horses crossed the line at the end of the first race, she didn't care.

She was kissing an Englishman and she damn well liked it!

The search for Frankie lasted a lot longer than either of them had envisaged when they set off from the box. The trainer was already out down to the fence that Paul fell at, hitching a lift with one of the race officials. It meant Joe and Orla waited with the village girls for fifteen minutes whilst Paul was being seen to by the medics. When the ambulance came by the stables, but didn't take the exit, there was a slight relief as it least signalled that Paul didn't need to be hospitalised. But when only Frankie returned to the stables, it appeared that it wasn't much better.

"How is he Frankie?" Joe asked.

Frankie was not the most emotional man, but he'd taken Paul in at a young age and cared for him for years, so any time he picked up an injury, it was a lot more painful than most trainer and jockey partnerships. Taking his cap off, he bowed his head and start to scratch at the back of his neck.

"He's not broken anything…". He breathed out in relief, though kept the strained look on his face, which ensured Orla's concern remained. "… but the doctor has stood him down for the day. He was a bit… disorientated".

Orla, crestfallen upon hearing of Paul not being able to ride their horse, pouted sadly and sighed. She was looking forward to talking to him about what the race was like and how she should ride it when she would eventually have a go. But the bad news didn't end there. Frankie was still fidgeting and Joe, having known him for years, took it as a sign that there was something even worse than Paul being stood down for the day that needed to be said.

"Out with it Frankie, come on". He coaxed his friend.

Frankie's sigh was oppressively loud and that only worried Joe more.

"Well he can't ride can he…".

"Aye. But ye find another jockey… right? That's what ye do when this happens isn't it?"

Joe had watched plenty of racing over the years and when jockeys were stood down for the day due to injury, the trainers or owners would go into the weighing room and find another one to ride. It was a fairly simple process, and the stewards didn't object to it.

"That… that's the problem Joe". Frankie mumbled in a melancholic tone.

"What do ye mean, problem?"

"I went into the weighing room and tried to get one… but…".

Surely not? This close to the race, at the basic eleventh hour, after a crazy few days of sorting the ownership out, they were going to miss out because they couldn't get a jockey. Joe's blood began to boil…

"No one wants the ride Joe…". Frankie finally picked his head up to look him dead in the eye. "… he's the bottom weight… two hundred to one and he's fell a few times. None of the boys want to sweat down to that weight to find themselves on their arse at the first".

"He won't fall!" Joe protested.

"I know that!". Frankie countered. "But it's another thing convincin' those boys that!"

Joe threw his arms in their air and walked out of the stables for a second. He couldn't quite come to terms with the fact that he wouldn't get the dream runner in the world's biggest race. He was angry for James too, because he knew how much this would mean to the wee English fella and in truth, this was all for him after the month or so of turmoil he'd endured. It was all going to end because a few jockeys who thought they knew best didn't want to be brave and get on their horse. Frankie joined him outside and Joe snapped out of his angered trance to find a slight smile tugging at the corner of the trainer's lips.

"We do have one other option though Joe…".

Mary and Gerry had arrived at the Altnagelvin at lunchtime, bringing with them a spread of food which Deirdre helped them carry in. They were making a real day of it for James, and the looks on both his and Erin's face when they arrived with the food, were adorable. Uncle Colm was back on babysitting duties with Anna, and they'd left the two of them happy as anything back at home. The five of them, Deirdre not working that afternoon, had been watching the BBC coverage from the moment it started and were all deeply concerned for Paul as they watched him summersault over the fence in the first race.

"I hope he's okay". A nervous Erin spoke up a few minutes after the cameras followed him to the course doctor's room, James giving her a kiss to calm her a second later.

"It was a nasty one". Deirdre commented. "He's got a concussion I reckon".

"He's probably scaring poor Orla". Gerry added. "I think she may have a wee soft spot for him ye know".

Mary glared at Gerry, angered that he would make such a comment when the poor fella was hurt. As far as Mary was concerned, Orla had little interest in love or romance, and would see the jockey as her friend and nothing else. And when the poor man was limping in injured at the racetrack, it was hardly the place for Gerry to begin such speculation.

"He won't ride again today if he has got one". Deirdre continued on her line of medical advice.

"Don't worry, I'm sure they'll find another jockey if they need to". James tried to reassure them all.

The next race, the ten past two, went by and there was still no news about Paul. James considered asking whether Mary could try and phone the track, knowing that they had their own private box and that they wouldn't be in the parade ring yet. But Joe and Orla would be the only two worth asking, and the likelihood was that they would be with Paul.

But minutes later, the news did come.

Sue Barker, the former tennis player, was part of the BBC coverage and one of the other broadcasters cut over to her as reports of a jockey change in the Grand National had reached her.

"Ach, here we go". Mary happily said to them all.

It was over to Sue.

"Now then, you'll remember from our first race that the amateur jockey, Mr Paul O'Meara, took a hefty fall at the final fence on the far side of the Mildmay course. We saw that he didn't need to go off to Hospital, however the racecourse doctor has since taken the decision to stand Paul down for the day. He was due to be riding the bottom weight, Bogside Warrior, in the big one and has of course sadly been forced to relinquish his ride.".

She paused, and the five of them strained their necks leaning in to hear who would ride their horse.

"Well, we may have a real fairy tale story on our hands here. Sixteen year old fellow amateur jockey, Miss Orla McCool, will take the ride on Bogside Warrior in the National".

The Hospital room was stunned into silence.

A fairy tale story it was indeed.

Erin didn't know if she'd said, 'Catch yourself on', aloud, but that was what she was thinking. Her cousin was… no it couldn't be.

A girl who believed the children of Chernobyl would glow in the dark because of radiation poisoning, was about to ride in the World's greatest horse race.

The saying 'Stranger things have happened', would be changed forever.

Chapter Text

Chapter 22: Thirty Green Monsters 30th March 1996

Orla McCool was suddenly on the world stage and her family just couldn't believe it. There was silence for minutes at the Altnagelvin, as not one of them believed they were awake. It must have been some sort of cruel dream that they were sharing…

"How…". Erin tried to find the words. "… how… why… why has Granda allowed her?"

"I am going to phone that racecourse right now!" Mary seethed, but found a hand on her shoulder from Gerry as she went to get up.

"Do ye really think anything will stop her?"

Gerry raised a fair point, even if his wife and daughter didn't see it that way. Orla's talent was undeniably superior to that of most, and her passion and dedication could never be questioned. There was no way she wouldn't take the ride, be it the first choice or the last resort.

It was who she was.

Orla McCool, who always stood up when she was needed… and if that meant riding the horse they owned in the biggest race in the world then so be it.

"She might get hurt!" Erin protested.

"Aye!" Mary strongly agreed. "We've already got James here in Hospital, we don't want to be takin' up a bed for Orla now, do we?"

"She's a very brave girl I have to say". Deirdre added her thoughts.

"She doesn't understand! It's hardly like Orla's a genius is it?" Erin continued her protests.

"She is easily lead…".

Gerry and James stayed silent as the ladies argued the points between themselves. The two of them exchanged a knowing look about the situation and were secretly a lot more pleased with the bet James insisted Gerry on making that morning. The rest of them were unaware of it, with Gerry using a trip to the shop as a distraction to race to the bookies. As good a jockey as Paul was, knowing it was Orla doing the steering gave them both an additional boost of confidence in their horse's chances.

"She'll win".

James wasn't asked for his opinion, but it nonetheless silenced the room again. His confidence in his friend outweighed the more than fair notions that she could be hurt. He knew she would do just fine, even if they did not.

"That's a bit premature son". Gerry chuckled, despite deep down being in agreement.

"Don't be sayin' things like that James!" Deirdre scolded him.

Erin simply looked at him with her eyes a mix of concern, understandably so for Orla's safety… but also excitement. She wouldn't dare say it with her mother in the room, but she was really buzzing to watch her cousin get the chance to ride.

Whilst some of the family might have been elated for Orla, Sarah was about ready to throw her father off the balcony of their box. When Joe returned from the stables area, Sarah and Kathy were just walking back in after their cigarette break and he broke the news to them on the stairs when she asked about how her daughter was doing. It took her a couple of minutes to properly register the news, and the shouting began on her part the moment he opened the door to the function room.

"I'm not letting her da!"

"Ye can't stop her now love! She's already in the weighing room!".

The one advantage of being at a premier track was Orla being able to have a changing room and not having to get changed in the car or behind the stables. There was a separate changing room for female riders and with no other women riding at Aintree that day, she had it all to herself.

"I don't care if she's already on the course, I won't let her do it da!"

Clare walked in at that moment, returning from her trip to the loo… which was a disaster. Kathy eyed the slightly ruffled dress, though Clare wouldn't be telling her of why it was in that state. It would just be her luck that the cubicle she chose would have a faulty lock, locking her inside with no way out… at least no way out that didn't involve crawling. She had no other feasible options, if she stood on the loo and tried to climb over the top, she wasn't tall enough to reach the top of the partitions on either side. In the style of a special forces commando, though without their elegance and precision, she'd crawled under the gap between the cubicles and left via the neighbouring one. It was a risky manoeuvre, especially when she realised that she'd forgot to check if there was anyone in the neighbouring cubicle. Luckily for her, there was not.

Allowing Joe and Sarah to continue their blazing argument, Clare quickly picking up the details regarding Orla, she accompanied Kathy out onto the balcony to see Michelle. The waiter not being present when she came back gave her some hope and that hope was soon a very vivid picture to both herself and Kathy.

Michelle was absolutely eating the face off of the waiter. They'd moved off of the chairs and she'd pinned him against the glass, covered inside by a curtain. Being so caught up in their kissing, they hadn't heard the commotion from inside and she jumped back with a such a start upon being seen, that had she been any closer to the balcony railing, she'd have gone over it.

"Having fun Michelle". Her Aunt Kathy smiled.

Poor Tom was red in the face. He'd heard tales of fearsome Irish women in the past and was concerned that he was about to be on the end of a verbal lashing from one of them. Good fortune brought him Kathy Maguire though. If it had been Mary Quinn, he would have been sent down into the crowds without a moment's hesitation. Showing exterior embarrassment, despite the inner feeling of joy from snogging Michelle, Tom retreated back to the bar, picking up on the argument inside. For the first time, without the Englishman's lips sending her body to a place where emotional control was lost, Michelle too was hearing the argument.

"What's going on?"

"Paul got injured and…". Clare started.

"Is he dead? Shit!"

"No he's not dead love". Kathy confirmed with a smile. "But I have a feeling Joe might be in a minute…".

"Orla's taken the ride in the race".

Michelle was the latest member of the family to have her eyes widen at the news and before she had a chance to question the validity, the course tannoy confirmed it. Orla McCool was now partnering Bogside Warrior in the Grand National. It came as little surprise to her that the argument inside was furious.

"I best go inside and calm things down". Kathy said to the girls.

It was good that she had, as Michelle needed to say something very important to Clare and already having the opportunity to do so, she seized it.

"Thank ye".

"For what?" Clare smiled, though knowing exactly what for.

"Ach come on!" Michelle laughed. "For telling Tom about how I felt. I didn't even know ye realised that I was actually… ye know… and not just bein' a mouth".

"I've been yer friend long enough to know Michelle. I'm happy for ye, so I am".

Michelle pulled her in for a hug out on the balcony, and the friends embraced. Whilst Michelle was sleeping earlier in the day, Clare walked over to the bar and quietly informed Tom of just how strongly Michelle was attracted to him. It was clear that the attraction was reciprocated and her visit to the loo, though genuine and ultimately one she wanted to forget, was her signal to him to go and talk to her about it. It was what a friend would do.

"I'm worried about Orla". Clare stated frankly to Michelle after they had pulled apart.

"Catch yourself on!". Michelle replied. "The most batshit race in the world and the most batshit person in the world… it's a match made in heaven, so it is".

Despite the strengths of her protests, Sarah was unable to stop her daughter. She was always concerned before any of Orla's races, but this was more than a three mile hack around a farmer's field. This was an elite track, with the toughest fences going and some of the greatest horses and jockeys out there. But Joe helped her to realise that Orla's place was amongst them and the inevitability that she would one day ride in the race had already dawned on Sarah's mind… she couldn't prevent it forever. So she reluctantly ceased the protests and stood in the parade ring with the rest of them ahead of the race. Michelle and Clare were both giddy with glee, Kathy being equally excitable too. Having only been reintegrated into the life of James and his friends over the past few weeks, she felt right at home stood with them.

One of the village girls was leading Bogside Warrior around, and they all, barring Joe, got their first chance to see the horse. He was a strong and muscular type, darker than 'The Wee English Fella' and sporting a glistening white face. Any worries about him getting worked up in the preparations were unfounded; he was strolling around like he owned the place. In fact, there was only one cooler customer around the whole course.

Orla.

She was in her element. Weighing out, the cameras were glued to her, millions of people around the world watching her every move.

Back at home at the Altnagelvin she was being watched by Erin and James, with Mary, Gerry and Deirdre crowded round the television too. Martin was watching back at the Mallon house, the Devlin house television getting a rare run out for sport as well and Uncle Colm settling in with baby Anna on his lap to watch at the Quinn house too. Mr Flanagan, not there to help his brother or watch his student, supported from home too as well as Sister Michael, who was already willing her on. Albeit that was because of the rather large bet she'd placed on the horse that morning…

The Grand National had a history with tales of courage and heroism, fairy tales and dreams that came true, and as Orla walked out with some of the other jockeys to their mounts, the crowd were beginning to dream for another. All the talk was about her. There were some of the best distance horses in the world lining up with some of the greatest riders to have ever graced the saddle, yet all the talk was about a sixteen year old from Derry who'd suddenly been vaulted into the race. The BBC were already waiting for her as she crossed into the middle, spotting her friends and family in the distance but unable to get there before the television crew got to her. It was to be Sue Barker again that would lead the news on the fairy tale.

"Now this is the girl we have been waiting for. Orla?"

"Ach hello Miss Barker, what's the craic?" Orla replied in her typically cheerful manner, masking the annoyance of being stopped before she could speak to her Granda.

If England believed itself prepared to challenge anything Ireland could muster from a racing perspective, Clare's cack attacks or Michelle's lust, then it had another thing coming when it came to Orla McCool. On national television, Sue was lost for words for a few seconds…

"I can tell you're very excited and I've been hearing that you actually part own the horse, is that right?"

"Aye that's right Sue, so it is. Me Granda got us the horse earlier in the week like and all our friends and family are involved ye know".

"And one of your co-owners is James Maguire, who was the young man who viewers at home will remember was attacked in Derry last month".

"Aye that's right… James is one of my best friends. He's me cousin Erin's boyfriend".

Back in Derry, Erin's colour turned to scarlet as Orla decided to reveal to her relationship with James to millions of people. Reading her diary and taking it to school to do a book report was small fry in comparison.

"And he's doin' a lot better. Love ye James!" She added.

"That's wonderful to hear!" Sue responded. "Now, we haven't got long, so tell us a bit about yourself".

"Right… well… my name's Orla McCool, I'm from Derry and I'm sixteen years old…".

"And how many races have you done since taking out your license?"

"Just the three Sue".

The world was stunned. She was about to ride in the Grand National, having only ridden in three races, even neglecting to leave out she'd only debuted earlier that month…

"Three?!"

"I have won two of them ye know and then I had a wee fall at Dundalk last Sunday but that was sooo cracker too!".

"I imagine you won't be wanting to repeat that fall today?"

"I won't be falling. I'll be winning!".

Orla's enthusiasm boiled over and in a defiant expression of her ambitions, she launched her whip into the air, finding itself a resting place a few feet away. Laughing, she went and picked it up, the camera following her the whole time.

"You'd best be careful… you'll be needing that!". The broadcaster joked to her.

"What this?" Orla held up the whip, Sue nodding. "Ach no Sue, I won't need to use it to win".

"Are you that confident of Bogside Warrior's chances".

"I am Sue… I am. Anyway, I best be off like".

Cutting off her interview midway through, the cameras watched as she hurried over to Frankie's spot in the parade ring. Joe, Sarah, Kathy, Michelle and Clare were all stood around him and Michelle gave the cameraman a cheeky wave from afar, which prompted him to turn back away from them. Prick…

"Ye nervous Orla?" Clare posed the first question.

"No! I'm buzzin! I've never been so excited!"

"Don't overdo it now Orla". Frankie warned. "Now, as far as the race goes… I'm not going to tell ye how to ride him. I think we both know ye don't need me to".

Frankie's point was half valid. Though she might have had only the three rides under her belt, he could trust Orla to get the best out the horse no matter what. The other half of his point, which he did not mention, was not wanting to put any additional pressure on her with a detailed set of instructions. He just wanted her to get round safely and enjoy herself. If they finished last, so be it.

"Come here love". Sarah demanded a hug from her daughter.

Orla followed that instruction and found her mother almost squeezing the life out of her, Sarah was holding on that tightly. Her worry for her daughter was evident, but seeing Orla decked out in their horse's colours, with a smile on her face, even Sarah couldn't deny she looked right at home. Pulling away from each other, Orla was soon swallowed up by her Granda Joe, with Kathy placing a hand on her shoulder as well.

"Take care Orla. Ye be a good girl out there ye hear?"

"Aye Granda, I will".

Michelle and Clare were soon round her too, but despite their own fears, they were laughing away with Orla. It was absurd and insane… the perfect mix for Orla.

"Kick some feckin' arse eh!" Michelle shouted at her.

"Don't fall! Whatever ye do, don't fall!" Clare did the fretting on her behalf.

"Ach it'll be grand. Don't you's all worry about me".

They would of course be worrying about her, though to Orla, it was unnecessary. She was going to be absolutely fine. She knew everyone was supporting her, whether they were at the track or not. Harriet, who couldn't attend due to other plans, was able to convince her parents to allow her to watch the race and now Orla was riding in it, her whole family was crowded around the television at the German ambassador's residence.

Frankie informed her that the time had come to mount up and Sarah gave her daughter once last hug before seeing her off. But before she could go, Orla was stopped by Paul limping his way over to them. It was abundantly clear that he was in no position to ride, the doctor taking the sensible decision in standing him down, with his laboured walk painful to watch. He had to speak to Orla though.

"Paul!" She shouted to him in delight, racing over to him.

Normally, she would dive on him and pull him in for a hug, but she recognised that wouldn't be the case this time and stood in front of him instead.

"Orla!" He replied just as delightfully. "Couldn't let ye go out without wishing ye good luck, could I?"

"Are ye alright?"

"Don't ye worry about me, I've had worse".

She would worry about him, because he was her friend, and they spent a lot of time together. Orla would definitely worry about him.

"Look…". He started. "… I know ye've got to get mounted up, but I have one last bit of advice for ye".

Wanting to hear it, she nodded.

"No matter what happens, don't look back. Look forwards… look to ye sides if ye must… but don't ever look back. Yer race is in front of ye here, not behind".

"Thank ye Paul".

She leant forward and gave him a peck on the cheek, before darting off to find Bogside Warrior. He limped his way over to the family, shaking off Frankie's concerns that he should be sat having a rest. There was no way he would be sat in the corner of the doctor's room, watching the race on the television. His place was out there with the family.

At the start, there was always a parade in front of the crowds and being the bottom weight, Orla lined up at the back. Unlike some of her previous experiences, the jockeys were all very kind to her at Aintree. When they'd found out a sixteen year old girl was going to be riding, they all found themselves with a duty of care to make sure she would be safe. A young rider, be it male or female, who was tackling the fences for the first time, would often charge off to the first and find themselves injured on the landing side. Some of the older jockeys were already passing on the knowledge of a few tricks to get her round safely and she listened to them intently. It was the right thing to do; after all, they were giving her the tips to go out and beat them.

Joe led the family back up to the box where they would be viewing the race. None of them questioned Tom when he came out to join them on the balcony, holding Michelle's hand without raising suspicion. They waited patiently as the course announcer ran through the list of runners and riders as they each made a pass of the stands. All of them received cheers after their names were read out, but the loudest cheer of all was reserved until last. The crowd were certainly jumping on the fairy tale bandwagon. Though the loudest cheer in the house belonged to Joe. There was a tear in his eye as Orla galloped away down to the official start, calmly leading Bogside Warrior around as the twenty eight runners waited for the starter to mount his rostrum. Even then, it wasn't a done deal that they would start on time, the National being famed for false starts.

The starter called them after a couple of minutes, and they began to line up in front of the tape. He wouldn't let them go if there were any noses on the tape, which at first there were. Orla kept Bogside Warrior slightly detached from the main bunch, sitting him in behind where there was room to manoeuvre on her flanks. Some of the other horses began to get fidgety and required a turn before having another go at the start, though Orla was as cool as anything behind them as they did. She sat thinking to herself. The refusals to eat massive meals, despite the pressure from Michelle, paid off. She made the weight, and she was sat at the start of only the fourth race in her career and it was the most prestigious one possible. For the next ten minutes or so, millions of eyes around the world would be tuned on twenty eight horses and their efforts to get round the thirty fences of the Grand National course.

The Thirty Green Monsters

And she was one of the twenty eight being watched…

Orla snapped out of her thinking, because as the final horse got into line on the outside, the starter let the tape go up.

The Grand National of 1996 began.

Sarah couldn't watch as the runners bolted off towards the first fence. She'd entertained how exciting it would be in the couple of days before the race, but now that Orla was riding in it, she was fighting her own fears too. It was only the comforting words of her father and Kathy's arm around her shoulders, that stopped her from breaking.

"She's settled at the back". Joe announced, watching through the binoculars. "Nice and sensible like, we've got nothing to fear love".

Daring to open her eyes, Sarah breathed a sigh of relief at her father's news. He stayed out on the balcony with the binoculars, whilst the rest of them went back inside to follow the race on the television, until they would ride back in front of the stands at the end of the first circuit.

At the Altnagelvin, Erin was clinging onto James for dear life, unable to watch in the same way Sarah was too. James's influence had calmed the rest of them though and the adults in the room watched with dreamy eyes as the runners approached the first fence. Going over the Melling Road, the field began to split out a little, and Orla was barely in the picture as they rose at the first…

Orla settled Bogside Warrior into a steady rhythm, ignoring the charging motions of those out in front as they began to clamber over fence number one. She'd never ridden the horse before, so it would take her time to bond with him and a pleasant, if incomplete, early understanding was the key to the success in her mind.

"OH MY… GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD". Orla shouted as she was high up in the air jumping the first fence.

A horse just in front of her, Bavard Dieu, had unseated its rider and they only just missed landing straight on top of the stricken jockey. But she'd made it over the first fence. She hadn't fallen and wasn't lying on the ground waiting for an ambulance. Orla McCool was riding in the Grand National and she was bloody enjoying it!

"THIS IS CRACKER!" She roared, to the bemusement of the couple of jockeys at the back who heard her.

Watching on from beneath the binoculars, Joe let out a breath of relief. He wasn't the only one either, everyone in the family who was watching let them out. Erin stopped clinging to James and sat up, though refused to allow his hand to escape her grasp and she took a glimpse at his smiling face. His confidence in Orla was astounding.

She was last but one as they approached the second fence, the pace still being a heavy one out in front. It was a shorter run up between the fences compared to the first, the fences along this stretch coming one after the other. Rising up over it, all of the horses in front of her were over safely, and Orla safely negotiated the second fence, Bogside Warrior just clipping the top of it without having any impact on the jump.

Two down, twenty eight to go.

Sarah forced herself to watch the jump at the second, slightly aided by the cameras only just keeping Orla in shot as she was so far back in the strung-out field. The horse that was behind her on the approach to the second, got away slightly quicker than her afterwards, relegating Orla to last, albeit still well in the race. Frankie and Paul were watching from down by the rails, stood on the hurdle's course that finished directly in front of the stands. They were listening to the course commentary and hearing her safely mentioned over the second fence was a relief.

"She's doing a great job!" Frankie hummed happily.

"Aye that she is… ye know Frankie, if she can keep him in touch…".

"He'll stay… aye we both know he'll stay".

Their belief in the horse's ability to last the distance was well founded. He'd won over four miles with plenty left in the tank before and the National was only around a half a mile longer than that.

He just had to jump.

The third fence was an open ditch, one of the few open ditches on the course. The open ditch was different to a normal fence, having a very shallow ditch on the take-off side which prevented a horse getting in too close. All of the jockeys would have to ask their mounts for a big leap and any recalcitrant horses would often refuse or even throw their riders over the fence at that point. The two early leaders were Sure Metal and Three Brownies, and they led the rest of them over the open ditch at the third. There were a few mistakes from the others, still travelling at a vicious pace, and none more so than previous winner Party Politics, who gave his jockey absolutely no chance when falling. And that wasn't the end of it. He was sat towards the back of the field and as she took off from last spot on a big stride, Orla was set for a collision with the now riderless horse.

"Oh shit…". Joe mumbled as he watched from afar.

For some Jockeys, probably quite a lot of the others in the race, it would be game over, but they were not Orla. Reacting to the danger, she managed to veer her mount slightly to the right, putting him out of the path of Party Politics. Despite the move no doubt saving her a fall, she'd conceded a couple of lengths on the rest of the field. Giving Bogside Warrior a gentle slap down the neck, she encouraged him forward and managed to catch up to the tail of the horse in front fairly quickly. The speed at the front only slowed slightly as the jockeys began to settle in for the rest of the circuit. The jockey of the horse in front looked round to see Orla still in there pitching, and as she drew up alongside, he took the opportunity to check in on her.

"Are you okay?" He was one of the English lads, his accent distinguishable over the sound of the hooves.

"Grand thanks!" She replied.

They didn't get any time for further conversation as the fourth fence presented itself and Orla regained her position from him over it. Bogside Warrior jumped the plain fence perfectly, fully clearing the obstacle without brushing through it like a lot of the others and without losing any speed in the air either. In the distance, she got her view of the first of the demons that awaited her at fence number six, but she had to get over fence five first, so her mind focused on that task. On the run between the fourth and fifth, which was slightly longer than the last couple of runs between fences, she positioned him slightly wider on the course, though not as wide as some of the horses further up. The racecourse commentator noted the move as he quickly scanned back through the field and there was a smile on Paul's face. He would have done the same.

"She's flyin!" Mary almost screeched in the Hospital room.

"She's got nerves of steel that girl". Deirdre concluded.

James and Erin shared a quick glance, and he gave her a kiss on the head. There were no words between them as they both returned to concentrating on the race, though there were no words required to describe how they were feeling. No matter what the outcome, four fences in and Orla was already doing them all incredibly proud.

"This beats making stickers doesn't it Aunt Kathy?" Michelle bumped shoulders with her Aunt from in front of the television in the function room.

"Aye! It does!" Kathy chuckled.

Orla made another place as one of the horse's in the field appeared to be slowing to a stop on the approach to fifth. She had one behind her on the inside, not that she'd looked back to check, though she did glance to her right to spot a horse on the outside that she was almost level with. Not focusing on it for long, she prepared Bogside Warrior for his jump at the fifth. There were no fallers in front of her and with a clear landing, she didn't ask him for much of an effort when it came to getting over.

It nearly proved fatal.

Making his first mistake, he seemed to tighten up and hit the fence, sending her up and nearly all of the way over his neck. Holding the reins firmly, she avoided being thrown to the turf and to his credit, the horse corrected himself to land safely.

Her family nearly all had heart attacks. Joe shivered through the binoculars at the juddering error and found himself breathing a huge sigh of relief once more when she stayed in the saddle. Erin nearly re-broke James's hand squeezing it when they saw Orla being jolted forwards, but he wasn't worried one bit. Orla was far too skilful to be launched to the turf from that position. Sarah required a steadying hand from Kathy to remain on her feet, her knees weakening at the error.

Fear was not the emotion instilled within Orla though. She was raging!

"Don't ye do that to me again boy, ye hear?!". She ranted at her mount.

She would have to hope Bogside Warrior took the information in, as the sixth fence was perhaps the hardest of them all.

Becher's Brook

Whenever the name was mentioned, jockeys and racegoers alike would shiver at the thought. The drop on the landing side of the fence was huge and the horses would be in the air for quite some time before making it to the other side. In many a National, a horse that had jumped the first five fences perfectly, would then come to grief at Becher's. Horses often perished at the fence too, making it a contentious issue, especially when animal rights activists got involved.

"Now boy, ye take it easy here". She whispered to her horse on the run between the fences.

When she'd walked the course with Paul the day before, he'd gone into detail about how to get over Becher's brook safely. Telling her to pick her line and not think about what anyone else was doing, he thought it better to get a little wider, though not too far, in order to make it over in one piece. Going down the inside was a fool's game in his opinion as the track began to curve left after the fence and from experience, he knew not to be on that side. When he'd ridden in the amateur's Grand National two years earlier, he'd been trapped on the inside and lost ground after the fence.

With Paul's words of wisdom fresh in her mind, Orla eyed up the fence and asked Bogside Warrior for a big leap.

What happened next surprised everyone who decided to keep an eye on Bogside Warrior towards the rear of the field. He took off a lot further away from the fence than any of the other horses, and at that distance away, he ran a high risk of going through the fence with his back legs and tipping up. But instead of doing that, the horse produced a masterful leap and landed running, moving them up a couple of places. Nobody had fallen, a surprise for the viewing public, and Orla suddenly found herself in amongst the other Jockeys, who were just as shocked as she was.

"Still here Orla!" One of them, who she didn't even know, treated her as if she'd been there for years.

"Aye!"

"Yer doing brilliant!" One of the others, an Irishman, shouted.

Back in the function room of their private box, hearts were in mouths when Orla rose at the fence, with its infamous reputation. When her and the horse soared over it however, there were cheers and smiles.

"Those boys are fuckin' shittin' it I reckon". Michelle commented.

"She's a superstar!" Kathy grinned.

They might have been elated but Orla's mother was not.

"I'm still so worried, I am". Sarah chewed on her nails as they watched on.

Becher's Brook began a run of famous fences on that side of the course. The next up was a very easy fence in theory, but one that was named after the most calamitous pile up in the history of the race. The Foinavon fence, named after the winner of the race and one of the only two horses to make it over safely on their first attempt back in 1967. This time around there were no dramatic falls and Orla cleared it safely back in the field. With one faller, two riders unseating their respective jockey's and one having already pulled up, she found herself in twentieth of the twenty four that were still going as they raced on towards the next famous fence.

The Canal Turn

The fence on the turn started the journey back to the stands, and immediately after jumping it, they would hit the ninety degree bend. A lot of races had ended prematurely at this fence in the past, with a jockey suddenly finding himself thrown out the side door by the sudden movement after landing. It was very hard on the first circuit to pick a route into the fence, as most of the field were usually still going, something Paul explained to her the day before. She would just have to angle Bogside Warrior in with the rest of the pack.

"Keep it steady… steady…". Paul spoke the instructions from back by the rails as if he were sat right next to her.

The talent she possessed was soon becoming clear to the professional jockeys. As they all piled over the fence, Orla began out wide, but instead of trying to cut right in down the inner, she followed the less travelled route slightly wider. Whilst most would lose ground opting with that route, Bogside Warrior cleared the fence cleverly, landing with significant momentum, already having done most of the work turning in the air. She stole a march on a couple of those in front that went down the inner, moving into eighteenth ahead of the last of the legendary fences on that part of the course.

Valentine's Brook.

Orla was certainly in love with the race as they galloped towards it, back up on the outside of the field having moved out after the turn. Like Becher's, there was a drop to a brook the other side, and though it wasn't quite as steep as that one, it still required a good jump. A good jump wasn't in doubt as Bogside Warrior once again skipped over the fence like it was barely there, only clipping the top of the birch with its hind legs.

"She's cruising". James mused loudly in his Hospital room. "Absolutely bloody cruising!"

"She's probably wailing her head off out there!" Gerry snorted, James chuckling with him.

Mary and Deirdre found it amusing too, though Erin still hadn't quite reached the stage where she could relax. They watched her closely over the tenth fence, a plain one which was negotiated with ease and on the run up to the eleventh, Orla moved up another place on the outside. The next two fences were the other two open ditches on the course and would once again require longer leaps to be able to reach the other side safely. She found herself sat directly in behind the favourite, Rough Quest, a very good position to be in at the stage of the race she was in. Though it wasn't on her mind, one third of the fences were already cleared successfully.

The reason for why it wasn't on her mind quickly became clear. Such thoughts would bring about complacency, and such complacency would have certainly cost her at the eleventh. Bogside Warrior squirmed in the air whilst taking off, and she lost her left hand from the reins briefly, throwing it out behind her in the manner of which the French jockeys would often jump. Paul explained their method to her one morning back at the stables at home and if there was one tip she'd learnt from Sister Michael over the years, it was to never trust anything the French did.

Sarah almost screamed as the horse belted the fence, fully expecting Orla to be thrown to the turf in a heap seconds later. Quite how she didn't fall was a mystery to them, but the explanation was far simpler. Whilst the horse did make it difficult for her, he didn't make it difficult for himself, straightening up without pecking his nose on the turf. Orla was quickly able to regather the reins, and despite losing a couple of places because of the error, the momentum was not completely dissolved.

"What did I tell ye boy?!" She verbally accosted her mount once more. "One more jump like that and I'm takin' ye to school Monday to listen to Jenny Joyce singing!"

That threat indicated Orla's potential as not only a jockey, but a horse whisperer, as Bogside Warrior picked up stoutly to regain the positions he'd lost before they got to the twelfth. Seeing as it was another open ditch, he got the chance to redeem himself to her and took it, soaring up so nicely that he went past the favourite on the outside. Not wanting to rush forward too soon though, she took a hard hold of him to ease him off, but not with giving him a pat down the neck to indicate her pleasure with his efforts. There was a long run to the thirteenth and she would then be in view from the Grandstand, where Joe beckoned the others out to the balcony to watch.

"She's travellin' well Joe". Michelle commented as they got out there.

"Aye she's doin us all proud. If my Marie could see this…".

Joe showed a rare moment of vulnerability as he choked up and without a word, Michelle led the others, sans Tom who remained inside, into wrapping him into a hug. Orla's grandmother would have been as equally scared as Sarah, yet Joe knew she'd be cheering the loudest of any of them. That was his Marie.

The next two fences went by fairly quickly for Orla. After the varying jumps at the open ditches, Bogside Warrior settled into a lovely rhythm again on the flat, bowling along handsomely in behind Rough Quest. She was slightly further out on the course than the favourite but was by no means making a mistake in doing so. Having spent nearly a circuit of the course with him, she'd understood how he liked to gallop and jump. The key to getting him to settle and travel smoothly was space. He needed the space to be able execute the right leap and letting him have a clear sight of what was in front of him on the flat enabled the horse to be calm and hold his position. Once Orla made a connection with a horse, it was going to take a lot to stop them. And the thirteenth and fourteenth fences of the Grand National failed to do so. As Rough Quest moved up in front of her between the fences, she followed, picking off a couple of horses that were hugging the inside rail. It would be an understatement to say the jockeys were alarmed to see her sitting comfortably in the pack after nearly a circuit.

"Going well Orla!" One of the Irish lads shouted.

"Still here?!" Another one couldn't believe it.

She didn't respond to them, trying to concentrate as she delved deeper into the race, but was pleased with herself that she'd earned their respect so quickly. None of them would be trying to force her out of the race, not with the world watching anyway, and they were looking out for her like an older brother would look out for his younger sister. It appeared they were all already aware that she would be a permanent fixture in the weighing rooms around the country in the years to come.

After the fourteenth, Bogside Warrior was disputing fourteenth place with one of the horses down his inside. She was about to pass right in front of her watching family and friends, and they were going to make sure she knew it.

"GO ON ORLA!"

Clare, Sarah, Kathy and Joe all shared the same shout, with only Michelle opting for something different to make herself heard. And she did just that.

"SHE'S GUNNA WIN MOTHERFUCKERSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

Not only did Orla hear her, the rest of the racecourse and most likely the whole of Merseyside, heard her roar. With the commentators only a couple of floors above them, the rest of the world who were watching also heard her, including her embarrassed mother. Back at the Altnagelvin, four sets of eyes flickered away from the race and to Deirdre, who was struggling to not be apoplectic with rage.

"I will be having words with her!" She seethed.

Mary simply chuckled at her comment, her eyes moving back to the race as Orla headed to the only two fences on the course that would be jumped once. They were both well-known too. First up was a fence that Joe and the rest of the family could get a good look at from their position.

The Chair.

The almighty fence didn't quite have the attrition rate of Becher's Brook or the Canal Turn, but many a race had been ended by the big ditch in front of the crowds. Orla stayed in her slightly wider position to take it, though she could have sat in the middle and been perfectly fine as there were no fallers from those who took it in front of her. Taking off from a distance, Bogside Warrior made it to the other side without a scratch, generating such height that not even his hind legs clipped the top of the birch. It was a rare feat for a horse to completely clear The Chair in that manner. One other pulled up before the thirteenth, but that still left twenty three of them heading to the sixteenth, which was the Water Jump. It wasn't a stiff fence like some of the others, but it harboured its own difficulty should a horse land short on the landing side and plant its feet in the water.

She was up and over the water without a problem, Bogside Warrior holding his fourteenth spot in the field after landing. The pace was somewhat steadier as they prepared to head out for second circuit, with Three Brownies, Sure Metal and the top weight Young Hustler controlling the front of the race. From their position on the rails, Frankie and Paul cheered her on as she went by, secretly glad that she didn't turn to look to them. It proved that she was concentrating on only herself, a lesson which Paul constantly drummed into her back home.

"Forgive me Lord…". Frankie rather dramatically stated. "… but she's certainly going to get round".

Paul snorted his amusement with Frankie's sentiment. His own hopes were better than that though, and he was ready to call on the almighty to not curse their chances. He could see that the horse he was supposed to be on at that moment was absolutely motoring on the outside and it was only a case of whether he could produce fourteen further jumps as he tired on the second circuit. Paul knew the horse well enough to know it was doable.

And as Orla headed out to face those fourteen green monsters, Paul dared to dream.

Chapter Text

Chapter 23: Glass Ceiling

Erin's nervous system was totally shot. Watching her cousin ride in the world's most prestigious jump race brought together a deadly concoction of fear and exhilaration, a mix her body struggled to handle. She was lucky for the long flat run before the seventeenth fence, as it finally gave her a chance to regulate her breathing.

"Hey". James smiled at her. "She's alright".

She wanted to believe him, and the evidence from the first circuit did overwhelmingly suggest her fella was right, but Erin still wasn't content. It was a dangerous race and just because Orla got round safely the once, didn't guarantee she would do so a second time. James took matters into his own hands to calm her, smothering her lips with his, even with her parents and his aunt in the same room.

"OI!" Mary shouted at them a second later. "Stop yer canoodlin' and keep yer eyes on the race!"

Grinning like the eejits they were, the two broke away and went back to watching the race as the horses crossed the Melling Road again. Both Rough Quest and Bogside Warrior were making places as they crossed over it, moving past a couple of horses who were beginning to tire. They were sat roughly in ninth and tenth on the approach to what was the opening fence of the contest the circuit before. Her concentration remained laser-like, not allowing for any distractions. She could hear all of the jockey's talking away to each other on her inside, some of them mentioning her, but she never once engaged. Her race was in front of her and she was only going to be looking to the sides when it was necessary.

Rising at the seventeenth, Bogside Warrior cleared it well, though not as well as the favourite. Rough Quest jumped so boldly that he was up with the two leaders, and his jockey Mick Fitzgerald had to hold him back from going on into the lead so soon. Occupying the spot that he'd vacated, Orla found herself as far forward as joint seventh with a couple of horses down the inner. The fact that she'd jumped the same fence one circuit earlier in twenty eighth and last place, showed the considerable progress she'd made throughout.

"She's so good!" Clare squealed with delight.

"My girl… my beautiful girl…".

The race wasn't even over and there were tears in Sarah's eyes. After her uncertainties from the start of the race, she was finally winning the battle to calm down in her own mind. She even briefly entertained the idea that Orla might get round and complete the course, which would be an incredible achievement.

Back at her own home in Derry, Sister Michael's whisky bottle was taking a hammering from disbelief. Her secondary concern, behind that of Orla's safety, was how she was going to deal with inevitable media frenzy at the school gates on Monday morning. The French press would probably be there too, and her professionalism would be tested to the hilt if she had to speak to them. Mr Flanagan was worked up too, but only from the joy of seeing how well the girl from his History class, who treated Oliver Cromwell as a Saint, was doing. His brother knew a good jockey when he saw one, but what he had with Orla was an outstanding horsewoman. They were a lot harder to come by.

The eighteenth fence did little to change the order of things, though Orla allowed Bogside Warrior to first move up to, and then overtake Rough Quest in the first strides after the fence. She still was sitting in around seventh place, moving slightly further out again after she'd got round the favourite. She enabled her horse to have plenty of breathing room on the outer, with Life of a Lord sat just inside her, but no one sat on the outside. The position was held on the short run down to the nineteenth, the first of the open ditches on the circuit. She'd had to think quickly the last time round at the fence, after the fall of Party Politics ahead of her, but the second time around there was no one to avoid. Taking off from afar, she landed perfectly well on the other side, so instead of holding Bogside Warrior back like she had done at other points, she allowed him to reap the benefits of the momentum. Wide out, she was up in joint third, battling away with Life of a Lord, Riverside Boy and Sir Peter Lely to cement it.

"Frankie…". Paul said quietly to the trainer.

"I know… I said he'll stay". He replied without looking the injured jockey in the eye.

"He's going well… really well…".

Frankie didn't want to tempt their fate any more than he had already, but Paul was spot on in his analysis as usual. Bogside Warrior was travelling as good as Frankie had ever seen him at home or in a race. Orla, never having ridden him before and with just the three races under her belt, was coaxing him like a seasoned professional. Perhaps a top six finish was on the cards…

The twentieth fence signalled that two thirds of the jumping was complete, and Bogside Warrior gave Orla and the crowd a huge thrill as he took off like a fighter jet on the outside, jumping level with the leaders Young Hustler and Three Brownies. Third place was cemented with that jump and with the race solely in front of her, Orla could only see two targets for the taking as she realigned her mount. Opting to move inside Young Hustler before the twenty first, she skilfully avoided clipping the heels of the leader, giving plenty of room to Riverside Boy who was sat behind too. The BBC commentator for that part of the course, Jim McGrath, commented on the sudden progress of Bogside Warrior, which was music to the ears of James back in Derry.

"I said she was going to win". He beamed to the others in the room.

"Wise up James!" Deirdre snapped back. "She's not won yet".

"He's right though Deirdre…". Gerry came to the Englishman's aid. "…She will".

Their confidence matched Orla's, and she was ready for the plain twenty-first fence, the last fence before tackling Becher's Brook for the second time. Taking it between Young Hustler and Three Brownies, the latter made a mistake on the inside, which left her upsides the leader. She veered inside slightly more as they came away from the fence, using the space vacated by Three Brownies to her advantage. Though not travelling quite so closely to the rail as that horse had done, there was a bigger gap left between Bogside Warrior and Young Hustler as they contested the lead.

Becher's Brook then loomed up in front of her. Allowing herself a glance to the right to check the progress of the top weight, Orla made a decision on the spot that would either prove effective or costly. Kicking him on for a couple of strides, she sent Bogside Warrior into the lead of the National ahead of the infamous fence. She'd been known to silence a room at home in Derry, but this time Orla McCool silenced the whole world, except for the course announcer and the BBC Commentator McGrath, whose job it was to describe the unbelievable scene.

"And as they come towards Becher's the second time, it's Bogside Warrior who comes through to take it up under Orla McCool, from Young Hustler on the outside… they've got a couple of lengths on Three Brownies, who's disputing third with Sir Peter Lely. Rising at Becher's…it's a fantastic jump from Bogside Warrior!... with Young Hustler unable to match in second… and the leader's kicking on now, taking a couple of lengths as the rest of the field stream over it…"

Orla's plan paid off. It didn't prove costly like it could have done, as Bogside Warrior jumped Becher's as well as he'd jumped at any of the other fences. Paul's advice was clear, her race was in front of her, but the equine rivals no longer were. Her race was now the eight fences between Bogside Warrior and the winning post, each one having to be cleared just as well as they'd clear Becher's Brook.

"Come on boy… yaaaa!".

She kicked on again after Becher's and opened up a few lengths immediately. Chris Maude, on board the top weighted Young Hustler, knowing he couldn't follow from that far out or he'd never get home, eased up. If a jockey was making their move as early as Becher's the second time around, then they had to be sure their mount held enough in the tank to make it home. The other jockeys, even those on horses with lower weight, followed Maude's approach. Orla was an amateur after all, and she could be forgiven for kicking on too early, learning a valuable lesson for future attempts at the race.

"It's too soon". Joe huffed as he pulled the binoculars away for a second.

"Why Joe?" Michelle asked him, having joined him out on the balcony rather than returning to the television inside.

"She'll never make it at that pace… not from there. Christ she'll be lucky if she can finish!"

"Yer being a wee bit dramatic there Joe". She scoffed. "I know this is Orla and… ye know… she says some fuckin' stupid shite… but she's class at this horse racing like. She knows what she's doin'".

He wished it could have been someone else stood with him, and not the mouthy gobshite that was Michelle Mallon, but her confidence in Orla did at least warm Joe's heart. For him though, it was already time to start thinking of how to deal with a disappointed Orla in the following days. She was never going to make it from there…

Bogside Warrior popped over the Foinavon fence the second time around and the commentator estimated her gap to have opened to seven lengths over Young Hustler, a huge amount of ground to have made up on what was a short run between fences. She was still barely moving on her horse though; only when kicking him on after Becher's had she got low in the saddle. Her hold on the reins was firm, to prevent him running off too freely, though loose enough to indicate the horse wasn't making plans to bolt off towards the Canal Turn anytime soon.

Normally the jockeys would ease right up as they measured the approach to the turn, certainly the second time around where they could pick their line better. However, with a bold rush of confidence, Orla threw the conventional approach right out of the window. Kicking the horse on, she gallantly approached the canal turn at pace from wider out, aiming for the inside to cut the corner. With no one in her way, she couldn't hinder anyone, the only potential hinderance would be to herself if she misjudged it.

"She's not…". Joe trailed off in disbelief as he witnessed her decision unfold from his binoculars.

Taking off, Bogside Warrior brushed through the top of the fence, but at no cost to his momentum or his shape. He landed running, receiving an appreciative slap down the neck from Orla as she looked ahead to the four fences that were waiting her down the stretch that took her back towards the stands. She couldn't hear anything other than the panting of her horse… everything else being drowned out by her concentration of what was in front of her. Another jockey might have been tempted to check back to see where their rivals were after jumping the Canal Turn, but another jockey didn't have Paul's advice to take with them. She would listen to him over anyone.

The essence of the tranquil barrier she'd created around her allowed Orla to talk to her horse and guide him over the next fences. They were down the inside rail now, saving as much energy as possible by taking the shortest route. It was just the two of them against four green monsters, but she'd very quickly thought of a way to make it seem less daunting for them. Each fence represented a friend, and it was easier to think of the fences as friends than monsters… because a friend was there to help them and not stop them.

"Valentine's first boy… a lover at heart but with a fearsome side… ach this is James, so it is…".

Throwing the horse at it again, her idea worked, as Bogside Warrior was as good as gold, clearing the fence without failure. Though she couldn't hear it, the crowd were thunderous in their cheers already as she made her way down the side of the course.

The 'James' fence was done with and the second of the four down the straight was the plain fence that she'd negotiated without failure previously.

"Hmm… well boy…". She started as they raced on down to it. "… this one can cause ye to panic if ye get it wrong… say hello to Clare…".

To the girl being described as a fence, every single one of the green monsters would cause her to panic, so the description could have been applied to all of them. There would be no need for Orla to panic though, Bogside Warrior brushing through the top of it in their splendid isolation. All they could keep doing was following Paul's advice. The race was in front of them… focus on what was ahead…

The following fence required a ghost to be put to rest. The third down that side nearly put them out of the race on the first circuit, and made Orla look like a young French jockey and not a young Irish one. The first of two open ditches, it was not a forgiving fence, but after a circuit away, it would always welcome a second chance at perfection for those who didn't meet its standards the first time around and lived to tell the tale.

"This one… this one is Michelle".

If Michelle knew she was being compared to a fence then she would slap Orla back over the Irish Sea, all the way to Dennis's wee shop. Michelle the fence didn't need to show a forgiving side though, as Bogside Warrior breezed over the top without mishap, landing full of running. She didn't try to think about it too much, but if Orla was being honest, her mount was going faster than he had done for the whole race. There was not a jot of tiredness in the animal with three obstacles remaining before the run in up the elbow.

The final open ditch seemed equally unforgiving, but it was often talking a bigger game than it could muster when it came to claiming casualties.

"Ach, well this one has to be Erin… doesn't it boy?".

The rhetorical question was aimed at the horse, who showed his agreement with his rider when he threw himself over it, catching the top of it but without any incident. Orla viewing the fences as her friends had certainly helped the pair, as their partnership was still intact with only the long run to the last two fences, the obstacles themselves, and the elbow left to go in the marathon contest.

Crossing the Melling Road for the final time, she was still motionless on the dark horse, his white face gleaming in the sunlight of the Mersey afternoon. Her arms were rigid on the reins, still without an overly firm hold, but not having to move them an inch. Bogside Warrior was enjoying his afternoon and his petrol gauge didn't appear to be waning. She didn't know what the others had left in their respective engines, though she was expecting to be joined at any moment. But the race was in front of her still, she didn't need to worry about that…

If she broke her concentration and looked up, she would have seen the crowds in the distance and if her ears were not fixed on Bogside Warrior's breathing, she'd have heard them too. Rounding the bend with the second last firmly in her sight, she remembered another one of Paul's lessons.

Come off the rail before the finish… ye don't wanna be on it with the elbow ahead of ye…

Moving off of it, waiting to see whoever would have to switch further out to make their challenge, Orla plotted the route to the finish for Bogside Warrior. Pulling her goggles down, she took her first view of the fences without them, picking the exact spots where she wanted her mount to jump at each one. The noise of the crowd still hadn't reached her; in her own little world Orla was having the time of her life on the 200-1 shot. And yet from behind, they still didn't come…

She would have never heard them coming anyway, with her ears solely trained on her horse, but taking off at two out, there was no sign of a challenger on either side yet. They were biding their time well…

And they were very close to getting away without a battle.

Despite asking for a safe jump, Bogside Warrior committed an act of rebellion and launched himself at it like he had done at the previous few fences. She didn't want that this time around and he went right down onto his nose on the landing side, Orla holding on with everything to make sure she didn't end up over his head. Yanking the reins back, she got him back to a normal pattern of strides, nonetheless leaving her Jack the ripping with him a second later.

"Fine, we'll have it yer way… but yer getting Jenny Joyce on Monday so ye are!"

Sometimes after a shuddering mistake, a horse would be returned to reality, and would never pick up again, but Bogside Warrior was not going to be one of those horses. He was soon flying along, and as they got up to the final fence of the 1996 Grand National, still none of the others came to challenge Orla's lead. They were running out of race to do so…

Instead of asking him for the simple jump she'd asked for at the second last, confidently, but dangerously, Orla allowed Bogside Warrior to pick what he wanted to do. He again chose to throw himself at it, only this time she kept full control and they cleared the final fence to head on up the running. The crowds were in front of them, like the race was, so she could see them, but still chose not to focus on them. Their race was ahead of them as Paul told her… she wasn't going to focus on anything that could distract them, and she most certainly wasn't going to look back.

On the top floor of the Altnagelvin Hospital, in a private recovery room, two male voices shouted at the little television set in the corner.

"COME ON ORLA! COME ON!" James's shouts were more joyful cries.

"GO ON LOVE… YOU'VE GOT IT!" Gerry was equally choked up.

Erin, Mary and Deirdre were all blubbering messes, their usually hardened exteriors melting away at the scene of Orla clearing the final fence. The impossible dream…

Mr Flanagan sat in his living room with tears of joy streaking down his face. If anyone in the world deserved it, it was Orla. She'd been such a rock to her group of friends after the attack on James and the good lord was repaying her strength. The free-spirited young McCool, with a heart of gold… the heart of a champion…

Sister Michael's whisky bottle was more terrified than Sarah had been at the start of the race. Orla's safety was no longer a concern after the final fence, and there wouldn't be a press frenzy at the gates… they would be in the school wanting to interview the group… and as their headmistress they would want to interview her! The girl who needed to wise up… wising up too far, too soon…

"Dear Lord, please take pity on me!" She was shaking as she poured a further glass of it.

Baby Anna wouldn't understand what was going on when her Uncle Colm started roaring at the television, but she knew enough not to cry either. Her brilliant cousin…

At the racecourse itself, before the last was even negotiated, Joe led the others running off to get down to the finish. Michelle and Clare, in their elegant dresses, snapped at his heals with grins as wide as the mouth of the Foyle slapped across their faces, and tears in their eyes. The tears already escaped Sarah and Kathy as they ran with the kids behind him, Sarah weeping with joy as her daughter came home. The free-spirited wonder girl…

It was up to Peter O'Sullevan, the legendary British broadcaster who'd covered the Grand National every year since the end of the Second World War via radio or television, to call them in.

"A fairy tale dream is coming true as Bogside Warrior is clear as he starts on up the elbow!... This sixteen year old jockey Orla McCool… she was only supposed to be leading the horse up!... and now she's leading him to the line! There isn't a dry eye in the crowd at Liverpool!… Bogside Warrior gets up to win the National!"

He had a habit of calling the winner a little way from the line, and though Orla couldn't hear him, a voice in her head told her to have a look round just before the post. She was back on the rail, forcing anyone who might have challenged to have to travel wider to do so. In the end, it didn't matter… not one bit. She finally broke Paul's rule about looking back and knew straight away he wouldn't have minded.

Not one of the other horses had started the elbow yet, Rough Quest and Encore Un Peu the next two just coming up to it.

Orla and Bogside Warrior hadn't just won the National.

They'd annihilated it.

Standing up in the stirrups, with her typically unused whip in her hand, the noise of the crowd finally broke through her defences. And it was deafening. Which meant her shout had to be equally so.

"YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

Pandemonium.

Complete and utter pandemonium.

Mary, Gerry and Deirdre were all on their feet, tears streaming from their faces, hugging like they'd never hugged before or ever would again.

Ignoring his healing injuries, Erin flung herself at James, and the two of them were hugging and kissing wildly in his hospital bed. The tears were flooding out from them too.

Their Orla had just won the Grand National. And they were all winning owners too.

The scenes at Mr Flanagan's house and Sister's Michael's may have contrasted, the tears of the History teacher against the Whisky-driven worries of the headmistress… but they shared one feature. They were both immensely proud of their student. Uncle Colm, a man of so many unnecessary words, couldn't find a single one to bore Anna with, far too overjoyed to contemplate it. With her parents at German ambassador's residence in London, Harriet was leaping for joy at one of her best friend's great triumph. She knew a Grand National winning jockey… who wanted to take her camping. A fairy tale indeed.

But the most chaotic scenes of celebration of all were reserved for those who were at the course themselves.

Frankie, joined by the girls from the village who'd made the trip and a little way behind them Paul, sprinted out from under the rails to greet his winning horse and rider. The little-known Irish trainer with only a few horses at his stables back home, crossed the Irish Sea to produce the first Irish trained winner of the race in over twenty years. He was sobbing like a wain, the girls and Paul were too, and the cameras quickly picked up the scenes of them congratulating Orla and Bogside Warrior. Orla herself was about the only one not crying.

"Orla… ye…". Paul could barely speak.

"I know… I WON! I WON!"

Her giggled shouts brought joy to those around her, Paul beaming back at her. A part of him should have been annoyed that she'd stolen his moment, but he didn't think honestly think he held the grit and determination to give the horse the gutsy ride Orla had. He couldn't be angry.

As the other jockeys that got round came in, they all shouted their congratulations to her or steered their slowing mounts alongside to high five her. Whenever they'd raced against women in the past, it was considered embarrassing to lose to one, the element of male pride taking over. None of them were embarrassed by Orla. On the day, they were simply destroyed by a sixteen year old girl who had more balls than the lot of them put together. There was nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to foolishly stir their pride.

They were still trundling in when Joe and the girls reached them, the stewards very wisely getting out of his way instead of trying to stop him like they probably should have done.

"GRANDA! MAMMY!" She shouted to them.

Bending down to receive the hugs and kisses of her mother, Sarah nearly pulled her out of the saddle, with only Joe steadying the pair of them preventing a disaster. Michelle and Clare's grins were still plastered across their faces, with the accompanying rivers of tears. They were soon reaching up to hug and kiss her on the cheek, Orla accepting all of the attention merrily. The crowd cheered throughout and thousands upon thousands could say they had the honour of witnessing perhaps the greatest National of them all in the flesh.

Orla's National.

Slowly but surely, they made their way back to the winner's enclosure. The police and stewards were having a very hard time in controlling the crowds, who were all trying to get a glimpse of the heroic horse and rider. She patted the horse down the neck repeatedly and Bogside Warrior really was a warrior; he was walking in so calmly and effortlessly, people would have been forgiven for not realising he'd just won the Grand National. He could probably go round again if she asked him too.

The cameras followed her all of the way to the winner's enclosure, waving to the crowds as she went past them. There was not a single slander against her for who she was and what she'd done; a very different experience than when she went out for her very first race earlier that month. It didn't matter if she'd won a three mile race around Enniskillen or the Grand National though, every time she came back in she garnered more respect. Now she held the respect of the world. An instant celebrity, the tag of Grand National winning jockey would stay with her to the grave, no matter how soon her death would come.

Dismounting to a rapturous round of applause, she was pulled in for a group hug with the family, which was captured beautifully by the cameras. The front-page pictures of most major newspapers for the next couple of days was sealed. They stayed with her on the television as she went to weigh in after her ride, with the weighing judge confirming no discrepancies. Whilst she was weighing in, many of the jockeys came over to hug her and whilst she was talking to the judges afterwards, the whole weighing room filtered outside to give her the greatest gift of all. Lining the way back to her mount in the winner's enclosure, they formed a guard of honour for Orla, cheering as raucously as the crowd and her family were. They were incredibly powerful scenes, especially for the family watching back home, moving Erin to further tears as she cuddled up in James's arms.

Media duty was unavoidable as a race winner, and after giving her race report to the still emotional Frankie, she walked over to where Sue Barker stood waiting. It was round two with Sue.

"Orla… Orla… Orla… I think the noise of the crowd tells us everything!".

Orla couldn't get a word in as they roared for her again, with pictures on television screens around the world showing the red eyes of many men and women in the crowd.

"I can't imagine how you must feel now!" The broadcaster commented to her as the crowds died down. Sue's eyes betrayed tears too.

"I am famished, so I am Sue. I've not had a Wham bar in days!".

"Haha!" She broke out into laughter at Orla's comment. "I was speaking to your grandfather Joe off air a moment ago and he was saying you'd dieted all week as if you knew you would be riding. Did it come to you in a dream?"

"No but ye just never know do ye? I'm sad for Paul like, he would have probably done a better job than me ye know!"

Orla's modesty was beautiful, highlighting to the world the person who she was and how she looked after and cared for her friends.

"That was… well that was an outstanding ride!" Sue exclaimed. "Talk us through how you approached the race…".

Orla took a moment to think about it, smiling as she did and taking a breather. The first signs of just how exhausting the ride had been, hit her.

"I… I realised after the first that I was having a cracker of a time like… and ye know I just… went round and followed the others for a bit and then… won. Not much to tell really".

She was never going to change for the cameras, giving the same answer she would have given whether it had been Sue Barker or Sue who worked at the bakery on Pump Street who'd asked the question. Though the former stood very little chance of schooling her laughter when it came to Orla. To Sue Barker and the viewing public, she was absolutely adorable and hilarious.

"But!" Orla stopped the next question before it could be asked. "I have to say, Paul's advice got me round ye know. He told me not to look back and I didn't the whole way until the line".

"As you alluded to earlier, it was incredibly sad for Paul to miss the ride. How much influence has he had on your riding career?"

"Ach Paul's a class fella, so he is Sue. He's one of me best friends and he's always lookin' out for me ye know. I couldn't have done it today without him, and I'm not spoofin' or nothin'".

"And just before I let you go back to your family and friends, we touched earlier on James, the co-owner of Bogside Warrior who is recovering from the attack on him earlier this month. I imagine he's going to be very proud watching on, is there anything you want to say to him?"

"I do… I do!" She jumped up in joy. "James, this one's for you and Erin, so it is. Love ya… the both of you's".

With her final message of love to her friend and her cousin, Orla made her way back to her friends and family. Frank swapped over and went to do his piece with the cameras, praising Orla to the heavens as he did. They were stood talking for ages, watching Bogside Warrior eventually being led back to the stables to be cooled down properly ahead of loading him back onto the horsebox.

"I can't fuckin' believe it!". Michelle was still crying.

"Orla… yer… incredible". Clare too, and she couldn't stop hugging her friend.

"It wasn't so bad to be honest like… I was expectin' it to be a bit more challenging".

Only Orla McCool could win a Grand National and come back into the winner's enclosure to complain that it wasn't hard enough. It was no word of a lie on her part though. Except the three times that her horse decided to not do his job at the fences, it was somewhat smooth sailing for her. She didn't even consider her incredibly quick reaction to Party Politics falling in front of her as anything out of the normal. It was just part of the job…

Normally, the BBC would show a re-run of the race before the trophy presentation, but they were that desperate to have Orla review her race live with them, that they arranged with the racecourse to have the presentation earlier. Peter O'Sullevan, blown away by a performance that he'd not seen at the National in fifty years of covering it, was quickly drafted in to present the trophies to the owners, the trainer and the winning jockey.

"We're about to be live to the world…". Kathy laughed at the thought. "… I'm just… I'm so glad that I put my money into this horse".

"Yer a class lady Kathy". Joe told her. "I can say we're all proud to have ye back in James's life and into ours".

Kathy broke into tears and hugged Joe as they waited to be called up. For a woman who not even half a year earlier had wrote a letter disowning her own son, now found herself as a Grand National winning owner. There was no doubt that it was her place to be there with them, not needing to be at all times, but there when they needed her the most. She'd found her place in the world once again. Just like Orla… except Orla was right on top of it. On top of the world…

"Now…". O'Sullevan's voice drowned out the crowd over the microphone. "… we begin with the winning owners of Bogside Warrior… please show your appreciation for the Derry Girls Syndicate".

Joe led them up onto the stage, holding Sarah's hand as she walked alongside him. Kathy stood between Michelle and Clare, holding both of their hands as if they were wains, but instead of doing it for their safety, she was holding their hands to feel the warmth of loving energy pass between their palms. The trophy for the winning owners was handed to Joe, pausing for a photo with O'Sullevan as it was handed over to them.

"And now for the winning trainer. A round of applause if you please, for Frank Flanagan".

The crowd did as they were told, and the now much calmer Frankie made his way up to the stage to receive his trophy. It left Orla, still in her silks though now without her helmet, standing with Paul, and as Frankie was interviewed again, she struck up a conversation with him.

"Yer comin' with me ye know". She smiled, Paul looking at her and then shaking his head in return.

"I can't Orla. I didn't win… you did".

"The win is as much as yer's as it is mine. I want ye with me".

Paul found himself submitting to her request. Like many people, he just couldn't say no to a pleading Orla McCool.

"Finally, the winning jockey". O'Sullevan cut in to interrupt them. "She deserves the largest cheer of them all, please give it up, for Orla McCool!"

Walking up onto the stage, with Paul limping away in his suit by her side, she collected the trophy, and instructed Paul to put his hand on it too. On a count of three from Joe, she raised the trophy into the air with a cheer and another picture worthy of the front pages was created. The Grand National trophy, being held aloft by Paul O'Meara, the jockey who should have won it, and Orla McCool, the jockey who did.

When she reviewed the race with the BBC a few minutes later, Orla got the chance to see just how well she'd done for herself. She was more than happy to relive her emotions alongside former jockeys Richard Pitman, Peter Scudamore and Bill Smith. They were incredibly interested in how she'd avoided Party Politics at the third fence, claiming it to be a brilliant piece of riding, but she brushed them off. It was nothing in her eyes. Her own interest was in what happened behind after she'd taken the lead. She had a fair idea of all the goings on up and until the second time round at Becher's Brook, but as she never looked back, she had no idea what else may have occurred.

The picture that was painted was quite startling.

From the moment Young Hustler's jockey chose not to follow her, all Bogside Warrior ever did was put more space between himself and the field. The landing side of the Canal Turn already saw them over ten lengths clear and going down the side of the course was where she won the race. She'd noted how fast she felt she was going at the time, but upon review, Bogside Warrior moved more like a champion sprinter on the flat than a marathon distance Grand National winner. He charged down the fences she pretended were her friends, and the gap just kept growing and growing… the others were incapable of following Bogside Warrior's turn of foot. The second last was also a lot closer run thing than she first thought; she was tantalisingly close to capsizing. It made her feel a lot better about taking her winning horse to school to listen to Jenny Joyce singing on Monday at least.

After she'd finished with her media duties, they had to get going straightaway in order to catch the night ferry back to Belfast. The horse and the rest of them had already gone for the ferry that they were catching, so once she'd changed, she found herself back where they'd started Wednesday afternoon. Sat between Michelle and Clare in Granda Joe's car. Except they were a few hundred thousand pounds richer than when they'd start. The money was brilliant, but it was secondary to the incredible achievement Orla had ridden to.

"What a fuckin' couple of days". Michelle concluded as Joe started the car in the owner's car park.

"OI!" Joe reprimanded her. "I've been good to ye today… don't test me!".

"Fine…". She huffed. "…Ye got a light Sarah?"

Michelle, cigarette in mouth, leaned forward a moment later to receive the light from Orla's ma, who in turn held a cigarette in her own mouth. Clare rolled her eyes at the smoking; she wasn't a fan of it.

"I just… I can't believe ye won still!" Clare exclaimed once more to Orla.

"Me neither love…". Sarah agreed. "… god I was so nervous like Orla… ye should have seen me".

"Ach Mammy, ye shouldn't. I was fine".

"Gave Clare a run for her money in the shite the tights race there Sarah". Michelle snickered.

Joe listened in without saying anything as he reversed out of their bay. They'd already waved Kathy goodbye as she headed off back to London, though not without receiving her word that she would be visiting Derry for Easter, agreeing to pick the girls up from school on the Thursday afternoon. Joe also wished for one last bit of fun to be poked the way of Michelle before they left, who'd been quite the pest for the last few days.

"So what are ye up to with the waiter fella then Michelle?" He cheekily asked.

Michelle going bright red was a source of amusement for Clare and Orla, and Sarah always loved a bit of gossip, so she was interested too. Joe knew what he was doing.

"I… well… he… he gave me his… his telephone number…". Michelle was stuttering like an Anti-Aircraft battery. "… and I gave him our phone number".

"You and Erin both like wee English fellas". Orla correctly pointed out.

"Aye, it's cute so it is". Clare chuckled, receiving an icy glare from Michelle.

"Yer Aunt Deirdre will love him so she will". Sarah noted.

"Why's that?"

"He's a waiter… he can carry the plates to the dinner table for you's".

Michelle was glowing red again as she'd not considered the thought of inviting Tom to Ireland to meet the family. It could be a disaster. Her parents would try and embarrass her, and fate would probably see to Tom and James becoming great friends. It would be tragic…

"Yeah well… enough about me. We've got Derry's record breaking, Grand National winning Jockey in the car, and you's are interested in who I'm seein'… wise up!"

It wasn't until the live slow-motion review she'd conducted with the BBC that Orla found out just how many records she'd broken that afternoon.

The previous largest priced winner was 100-1… she'd steered Bogside Warrior in at 200-1

Furthest winning distance… they'd equalled the official 'a distance' mark, but almost certainly had won by the furthest distance ever had they counted it.

Mr Frisk's 1990 winning time of eight minutes and forty seven seconds… they'd done it in eight minutes and forty five….

Bruce Hobbs's 1938 win on Battleship at aged seventeen… she'd done it at sixteen…

The first female to win the Grand National… that was her record.

The glass ceiling of expectation of female jockeys in racing was only meant to be dangled over her head. She could run her hand along it at best, nobody would expect her to do anymore because no one ever had.

Instead, she punched a hole in it and threw the glass back at them.

As they headed out onto the main road outside the Aintree racecourse, the sun remained shining, with a solitary cloud appearing in an otherwise clear sky.

It was a dark cloud.

And it was looming.

Chapter Text

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…

Chapter Text

Chapter 25: April Fools 1st April 1996

The first rays of light crept into James's Hospital room on the top floor of the Altnagelvin. It was not quite fully light yet, the sun not rising completely to shine into the room, but the streaked rays shone on his beautiful Erin. Her head still lay on his chest, where it had done so most of the night, their hands still locked together as firmly as they were when they went to sleep. There were many places in the world where he could have woken up to a stunning landscape or a breath-taking horizon, but none were close to being as gorgeous as Erin Quinn. She was beginning to stir too, and their eyes locked on each other in the early morning haze.

"Good morning Miss Quinn". He spoke breathily.

"Good morning Mr Maguire". She replied just as dramatically.

He leant down to give her a peck on the lips, giggling as they often would at the slightest hint of anything that could be deemed romantic. They were just each other's lovely eejit; any notions of being fully invested romantics would be scoffed at.

"You know…". He merrily whispered into her ear. "… you are so beautiful".

She kissed his chest at the comment, revelling in his touch as he wrapped his arm around her a little tighter. The things he could do to her with just a few simple words were incredible.

"And you are so dashing". She purred back at him.

They began to giggle again at their own foolishness, enjoying the familiar warmth of being joined at the lips once more. Reluctantly, Erin forced herself to escape from his grasp five minutes later, needing to get ready to go to school. They'd found on this floor that nothing would change in terms of getting access to staff facilities and he went back to dozing as the sun finally rose over the rolling landscape out into the country, waiting for her to return.

Coming back from the shower, fully dressed into the school uniform she'd taken with her, Erin spotted Deirdre up ahead on the phone. When James's aunt turned to see her, she flagged Erin down, indicating that the call was for her to take herself.

"It's yer ma". Deirdre told her as she accepted the phone.

"Morning ma".

"Morning Erin love. Sleep well?"

"I did… very much so".

She felt herself blush a little at the end of reply, deciding not to fully divulge just how brilliant the night's sleep had been on James's chest.

"Good. Listen, I'm sorry to put this on ye, but Orla and yer Granda went up to the stables at some godforsaken hour this mornin' so I couldn't speak to her… I need ye to look after Anna tonight".

"Here? Ma, this is a Hospital, not a nursery". She joked.

"Don't ye take that tone with me Erin!" Mary put her right back in her place. "Deirdre's said it shouldn't be a problem to have her there. And ye can have Orla too".

"Oh Grand, two children to babysit!"

"OI! She's a celebrity, ye should treat her like one".

Erin muttered something incoherent down the line, and when Mary asked her to repeat, she wisely chose not to.

"Why do ye need us to anyway?"

"Yer Uncle Colm's organising a wee bingo night at church, so he is. And Granda and Sarah are helping him". Mary explained.

"Why can't you and Daddy then?" A confused Erin replied.

"We're off to see a film tonight. Yer da decided to surprise me with that one at ten o'clock last night. Granda… was far from pleased".

Erin rolled her eyes at the thought of the argument she'd thankfully avoided by being at the Hospital with James. It was nice of her parents to be able to have a bit of time to themselves now, and with Orla's status as a celebrity, they might even get a free ticket. Probably not though…

"We'll have them both…". Erin exhaled a sigh.

"Grand. We're goin' out at seven so ye better come straight from school for somethin' to eat because I'm getting' myself all dressed up nice".

Going straight home from school meant more time away from James than she originally planned, making it even more unbearable as the day went on. She knew she'd miss his company for hours on end, though not wanting to run the risk of incurring Sister Michael's wrath, she also knew she'd have to handle it. Talking to James about it a few minutes later, he made the sensible suggestion that they invite Michelle and Clare too, make a proper evening out of it with the gang like they normally would.

The sensible suggestion…

The journey to school on the bus was a pleasant one. Orla wasn't present, as Erin expected after the phone call from Mary, so the three of them sat on the same row chatting away happily. A lot of the other girls were talking to them about Orla's amazing victory, a clear picture coming across of just how inspiring their friend was. She was a beacon of hope for women in the world of sport, a world still dominated by men, where an opportunity for someone like Orla was so rare. To go and take that opportunity was almost unheard of.

"Are ye sure we're allowed to have a baby in his Hospital room?" Clare fairly put the point across once Erin finished explaining the plans for that night.

"Wise up Clare!" Michelle scoffed. "They let Erin in there and Anna's less trouble…".

Erin playfully smacked Michelle's arm as her friend snorted, the two them laughing away as Clare watched on with a grin on her face too.

"Anyway, we'll need the practice". Erin concluded.

"What!?" The other two reared up in unison.

"For well in the future, ye know… when we're parents". She answered in a tone that indicated her confusion.

"Seriously Erin, ye need to stop that…". Michelle lectured her.

"Stop what?"

"I thought ye were about to say yer pregnant".

Not that again. She'd already ended up with the girls onto her about pregnancy before, on the day she let her feelings for James get a little too much. For the second time, Erin found herself denying Michelle's ridiculous suspicions.

"For feck's sake Michelle. How many times… I'm not pregnant!" She hissed.

"Keep yer voice down Erin!" Clare fretted. "Ye'll start people talkin'!"

"Oh right… I see. I'm sorry that my private life bein' discussed around the bus is such a tragedy for ye to deal with… it's not like… ye know… yer me!" Erin retorted.

The three of them continued to argue about the consistent belief that Erin might be carrying a wain, with the conversation only moving on from it as they approached the school.

"I'm surprised more people aren't talkin about ye Michelle…". Clare commented.

"Don't you start… me da's been on at me about it all mornin'".

"It was stupid". Clare continued.

"Christ alright!" Michelle reacted angrily. "Like I told me ma, it was a joke that went wrong… nothin' else".

"Aye, flashin yer tits to the country while their havin' their eggs on toast was just a wee mishap". Erin stated particularly dramatically. "We've all been there and done that!"

Michelle didn't care for Erin's theatrics, making a point of it to tell her as much for the rest of the way to school. Most of the students were congregated outside that morning, a pleasant morning to be able to shoot the breeze before getting on with the rigours of school life. They could see Mr Flanagan talking to a group of girls by the main entrance, a pile of marking under his arm and a smile on his face. They couldn't wait to see how pleased he would be for Orla.

"What's got you so normal again anyway Erin?" Michelle asked as the bus came to a stop.

The mischievous smile on Erin's face mystified Michelle in much the same way Erin had been confused when the other two flared up at her earlier.

"James was showing me how good he is with his hands… and I'm not talkin' about putting up shelves either".

Erin blew her a kiss as she walked away, with the same carefree, no fuck's given attitude that Michelle usually resonated. The young Mallon herself was left planted on the seat of the bus, her eyes squeezed shut after the knowledge she'd just received.

"I'm gunna boke…".

Sister Michael's fear of having the press sniffing around was completely justified. Multiple reporters gathered in her office earlier that morning to take comments from her about Orla, including a French reporter, who she barely resisted the urge to smash over the head with the Child of Prague statue. It was far too good a statue to waste on a Frenchwoman though…

They were all wanting to have time with Orla throughout the day, though she decided to forbid them taking her out lessons, insisting that they wait to speak to her at breaktime or lunchtime, when she didn't really care. She'd also banned them from the assembly hall that morning too, not wanting cameras to be going off or the potentially unthinkable filming of her address to the students. The media hounds weren't getting anything from her at all. Her comments to them about Orla, though all positive, were in the manner of a someone who wanted the reporter to make themselves scarce very quickly, rather than an in-depth look at her student. That would require the will to give a shit, something she did not have.

"Good morning all".

"Good morning Sister Michael". They all replied.

"You really have perfected the reply… there's hope for ye all yet".

Jenny and Aisling were back with the group, making them six girls again rather than just the two of them left at school as they had been from the Wednesday of the previous week. They'd watched the race together at Jenny's house that Saturday, screaming for Orla as she turned the competitive race into a procession. Orla was still shrugging off any praise, though did accept a big hug from the pair of them once they'd met up that morning. Though she did have other things to worry about…

"Right, the announcements…". Sister Michael began her daily bulletin of news. "… first of all, whoever flooded the science block toilets on Friday… may I remind you that toilet roll isn't there to be stuffed down the loo like the backside of a Christmas turkey. The subsequent flood has cost the school a lot of money in damages, and I'd like to think whoever was responsible would do the honourable thing and own up".

That was one act of vandalism that none of the girls could be blamed for, unless Jenny and Aisling had become rebellious in their absence, with each of them having an alibi for Friday afternoon. There were mumbles and whispers throughout the rows of students, but no one admitted it there and then, causing the headmistress to huff before continuing.

"Secondly, it was brought to my attention rather… vividly… over the weekend, that some of you are failing to meet the behavioural standards that this school prides itself upon".

It didn't require a degree in rocket science to know what or indeed who she was referring to…

"Even when you are not wearing the uniform, you are a student of this school and ye represent it with same values as when ye are wearing it… no matter how confident you feel with yer own body".

Michelle's face transitioned through a series of ever reddening phases, finishing up in the beetroot phrase as everyone turned to look at her. Not helping were Erin and Clare laughing under their breaths at her, the two them unable to keep straight faces at Sister's Michael's description of the stupid actions. The utter stupidity of it amused most of the school, in many ways Michelle being lucky they were in a girls only school and not mixed in with the lads. It was one thing having every girl in the school turn round to look at her like she was a tramp; it was another thing entirely to have boys ogling her chest all day.

"Finally, we have a new student with us today. Could you make yourself known please…". Sister Michael stopped to take a breath, though it came out as more of a snort. "Bogside Warrior".

On cue, the horse promptly neighed, prompting rapturous scenes of laughter that even the usually unmoved headmistress joined in with.

A punishment that was dished out after the second last fence still had to be honoured, something the school found out two minutes after the girls got off the bus that morning. Orla arrived in the horsebox with Paul, who unloaded their precious cargo to the awaiting crowd of girls. He'd behaved perfectly around the students, allowing them to give him pats and strokes without causing any fuss. Quite how Paul and Orla managed to convince Sister Michael to let the horse join the latter on the front row of the assembly hall, they did not know, but he was there in Orla's grasp having the time of his life.

"As you are all aware, a student of Our Lady Immaculate achieved something quite incredible on Saturday afternoon with this horse. I was watching on myself like I hope ye all were… and I think it is time that we honoured this achievement. Could you please put yer hands together for Orla McCool".

The applause that Sister Michael asked for went on for minutes, far beyond what she'd planned for, but the Sister didn't try to stop it either. It was no more than Orla deserved. A student who'd began the year as the same unwise girl that ended the prior one, wised up further than anyone believed she could. The barriers that almost everyone placed around her were cast asunder, constantly being proven to be ineffective against the mature and determined Orla.

The ovations for Orla did create one problem however, which soon became a lot more of a problem for one student in particular. Bogside Warrior might have been enjoying himself, but he hadn't had time to allow for his breakfast to escape his system yet that morning. Following in the footsteps of his owner James, the lack of a toilet for horses being much the same as the lack of a toilet for James to use on his first day, he compromised. However, whereas James made use of a bin to assist with his bodily requirements, the horse just fired out his excrement without a care in the world. Right out over the student stood a little bit behind him.

Moira O'Keefe.

"WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!" She roared.

The school turned to look at her as she was plastered with horse shit from head to toe, her friends to the sides of her immediately moving away due to the smell. Clare's mouth hung open in horror at the scene, not quite knowing how to respond to Bogside Warrior's antics. Michelle and Erin couldn't control their laughter. It was a real comeuppance for Moira, who'd often been scathing, especially when it came to James, and the Lord was giving them a lovely victory over her thanks to the horse.

"That high fibre diet… ach it's a nightmare".

Orla's dry conclusion only worsened the guffawing of Michelle and Erin, who found Moira glaring at them as she wiped horse shit out of her eyes.

"Chanel number two there Moira". Michelle sniggered.

Erin was completely lost at Michelle's barb towards the girl and only Sister Michael bellowing at them to take the horse away stopped it continuing. Hearing the commotion from outside, Paul made his way in to assist with cleaning the mess up, issuing an apology to the head mistress… though Sister Michael thought it highly amusing if she were being honest.

"Some April Fools that. Nice one Orla". Erin remarked.

The girls went to lesson still laughing away between themselves, Bogside Warrior returning home instead of taking a desk up, and they were happy to fire the occasional pot shot in Moira's direction. It left Moira with a, now clean, face of thunder, sending them vicious looks at every comment, but it did not deter them. It was only Moira after all.

Mrs Scanlon began her four days off work with a determined attitude. There was so much housework that she wanted to get done now that she finally had the time to focus on it. Antony taking that Monday off too meant they could approach it as a team to get a lot done. The living room was in desperate need of a lick of paint, it had been for some years, so the two of them started as soon as Danny and Brian departed for school that morning. They started well, getting a good chunk of it done before having a break for a cup of tea around eleven o'clock.

"Here ye go ma". He put the cup of tea down on a mat on the windowsill.

"Thanks Ant love".

He proceeded to turn the radio on so that they could catch the eleven o'clock news. It was turned up when he heard the first story.

'The mayor himself confirmed today that Miss McCool will be honoured with a statue in the city and that he was already in talks with a local sculptor to produce it. Orla herself returned to school at Our Lady Immaculate College today, with Bogside Warrior making the trip with her, introducing himself to the students under the watchful eye of Paul O'Meara. Having missed the ride on Bogside Warrior due to injury, O'Meara harbours no ill feeling towards the young jockey, instead being full of praise.'

"Ach, Orla's incredible. The way she can get a horse runnin' for her is just brilliant and I've probably learnt more off of her than she has of me".

'Asked about what was next for both horse and jockey, O'Meara stayed coy on the plans for Bogside Warrior but indicated a trip to the Czech Republic for the notorious Velká pardubická in October could be next. As for the jockey, he confirmed she will be present at Fairyhouse for our own National on Easter Monday, though did not comment on her ride in the race'.

They'd been away at relatives in Coleraine over the weekend, but Antony sat down to watch the race to find out Orla McCool was riding in it. The next eight minutes and forty five seconds of his life were some of the most thrilling, the immense feeling of pride at the end being something he'd never truly felt before. She was a credit to Sarah, a good woman who deserved such a daughter, and a credit to the whole of Ireland. A heroic young woman that needed to be recognised throughout the ages.

"Yer smilin' again Ant". Mrs Scanlon laughed at her son.

"Am I?". He laughed back.

"Ye know… if ye think about… ye helped to make it possible".

Whilst his mother was right, the story of Orla McCool was not possible without Antony Scanlon, he would never outright take any credit for it. That decision was made at the time… he wouldn't forsake it years later for a bit of press coverage, even if it would help ease the burden on the family reputation.

"Ach well… I'm just happy for Sarah ye know ma".

"I am too. I think the whole of Derry's buzzin' for their family!".

"Aye… to think it could have been so different…".

"Ye should go and talk to Sarah. Ye know where they live don't ye?"

Antony knew very well where the house was, but with the threat of Joe potentially being around, he dismissed the notion. He'd already thought of it a couple of hours after the race, but batted it away then just as quickly. There was no world where Joe McCool would want him at the door.

The two of them continued on with the painting up until lunchtime, having managed to get a first coat on around seventy five per cent of the living room. Lunch came as a welcome break for mother and son, the hard work of the morning leaving them with the need to rest. Either of them could have easily fallen asleep, but their mindset on the job was to get it done first with a well-earned rest at the end. Before they could start though, they needed more paint and Mrs Scanlon was certain there was some spare in the garden shed.

"I've not been out in the shed for ages". Mrs Scanlon said to her son.

"I can tell… grass needs cuttin'". Antony quipped in return, receiving a slap on the arm in return.

Getting to the door of the shed, she put the key in the lock.

It didn't fit.

"What the…".

"What is it ma?" Antony asked from behind her.

"The key… it doesn't fit anymore. Have ye had the lock changed?" She enquired with him.

"No. I'd have told ye and given ye a key".

Trying again, the same result was achieved. The key to the shed, the same key they'd had for years, no longer opened the shed door. If Antony hadn't done it then…

"Have the… have the boys?" She could barely believe it possible.

"Would they even know who to call?" He replied.

"Aye… Mr McNulty's number is in the address book. But how would they have paid him?"

"Pocket money? He probably didn't charge much ma".

"I guess…".

Mrs Scanlon was always suspicious of her boys when they didn't communicate. Changing the locks on the shed without saying anything started off the alarm bells in her head. It was usually Antony that would be up to that sort of mischief, but even when he was at his worst, he'd have given her a key should he have done so. Ant was good like that.

"Allow me ma".

Antony gestured for his mother to stand out of the way, an instruction she hesitated on with a deep frown across her face.

"Ye not breakin' it down Antony!"

"I'm not going to…". He smiled, gently moving her aside, with something in his hands. "… about time I used these skills for good anyway".

Mrs Scanlon watched on as he picked the lock to the shed, having a bit of difficulty at first, but eventually the lock clicked open.

"After you…".

He held the door open for his mother, who, with a breath caught in the back of her throat, tentatively headed on inside. The shed was fairly big, spacious inside too, a combination of there being little in it and the usual tidy state it was kept in. It could have probably fit four or five people at a time with a squeeze.

The tidiness had given way though, and the floor of the shed was littered with empty crisp packets and drink cans. There were magazines… the ones Mrs Scanlon wouldn't let the boys have… strewn across the floor too. The bin was overflowing with all kinds of junk, the shed stinking of sweat too, with only the mower surviving whatever the boys had done to her shed. The spare tin of paint was kicked over on the floor. Antony went over to retrieve, finding it to still be intact too, though with a slight dent on one side of it.

"Them two are getting' it when they get home!"

"It's disgustin' ma… treating the place with no respect!" Antony took the same tone.

The two of them stood and shook their heads at the total destruction of the previously well-kept shed. Danny and Brian clearly didn't have any respect for their possessions, which would almost undoubtedly see them grounded for the rest of the week. The smell was perhaps the worst of all; the two of them being couped in there generated an unbearable reek.

Mrs Scanlon spotted a box, almost a chest, at the other end of the shed that she'd never seen before. It certainly wasn't anything she'd purchased, and she couldn't remember Antony mentioning it either. With his lack of knowledge about the locks being changed too, it could have only been the boys responsible for it. Walking over and finding it unlocked, she decided to see for herself why the boys bought it. What she found inside… was harrowing.

A thin blanket lay at the top of the box, but it did little to conceal the true contents that lay underneath it.

Guns.

Two pistols lay to either side of a rifle in the chest-like box.

Laying on top of the rifle was a map, that showed the plans of the Altnagelvin Hospital. The same set of plans she knew had been stolen from the Guildhall the week before, the others that were stolen being stuffed down the side of the chest.

"Antony… Antony…".

It was just under an hour away from the end of the day for Danny Scanlon. Sat at the back of the History classroom, he wished he could have been anywhere else other than there. Having to learn about Oliver Cromwell only enraged him. He was an English prick, not a hero of Ireland, and having to complete an exam on what he'd done to their country was unbearable. They should have been learning about significant Irishmen in Irish history, not significant Englishmen who didn't belong in their beautiful country.

"Daydreaming again Mr Scanlon?" The teacher said to him.

"Huh?" His reply acted as confirmation.

"Just as I thought".

The teacher decided not to press the matter any further, allowing the young Scanlon to continue his dreams. He was not the worst student, in fact he was top of the class at the start of the school year, but in recent months he always seemed to be pre-occupied. The teacher didn't quite understand, though cared little for the Scanlon boys with their family's reputation for lawlessness.

Danny could have provided him with a very simple explanation.

All he could think about was his plans for that evening. The plans that he went to bed thinking about the night before, the ones he subsequently dreamt about and couldn't stop thinking about the moment he'd risen that morning. He was going to become one of the very Irish heroes he dreamt about… his actions were going to inspire a revolution. A proper revolution. Not just flash in the pan insurgency or a few broken windows. That night would be the start of an uprising, that would continue with the bombing of the barracks on the Friday, ultimately culminating in an Ireland free of English influence. There would again be one unified Ireland, undivided and unconquered… free.

And if that meant killing James Maguire to do it… that's what it would take.

The slightest part of his conscience felt for the fella. After meeting him, he'd supposed he wasn't really that bad if you were to take away the stupid accent and replace the flags on his passport. Then again, they didn't live in a world where things like that could be forgiven. The English could never be forgiven.

His daydreams about the death of an Englishman were interrupted by the crackling of the school tannoy system.

"Daniel and Brian Scanlon to the head's office please… the head's office please, Daniel and Brian Scanlon, with yer bags".

The rest of the class turned to look at him as his brows furrowed. He'd remembered years before when the same tannoy went off on the day Antony was sentenced. Sitting in the head's office that day, crying his eyes out because his older brother was going to jail, with his younger brother sobbing beside him too. It was one of the worst days in his life. Surely Antony isn't in trouble again… not today… today of all days he should know better…

The teacher gestured for him to get a move on. Putting his books away and standing up, Danny said goodbye to a couple of mates on the way out. The corridors were eerily empty as he began the reasonably long walk to the head's office. It was annoying that Brian was on the other side of the school to him; they couldn't meet up and walk together. He hoped his younger brother might have more of an idea as to what was going on too.

It was still far too quiet…

By chance, looking into a classroom as he went past, Danny noticed that all of the students were under their desk. As if they were practicing some sort of wartime bombing drill. Or…

"ARMED POLICE! ARMED POLICE!"

Casting quick looks in front and behind, Danny was suddenly surrounded by armed cops from the RUC. Completely isolated in the corridor, there was no means of escape.

"ON THE GROUND NOW SCANLON!" One of the ones in front of him shouted. "HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM".

He never carried one of the guns to school, the discovery of one of them could prove fatal to their cause, so he couldn't fight back against them either. Complying with their request, Danny could only snarl angrily as they closed in on him. The tannoy… it was a trap. A trap that Brian would no doubt be about to walk into himself at the other end of the school. Their plans to kill the wee English fella were over and the game was well and truly up.

But that would mean…

Surely not…

Surely not…

A rat…

But why…

Erin was back under James's covers that night, though the two of them were joined by an additional guest, having to both move right to the edge of their respective sides. Baby Anna was giggling away as she lay between them, tickling and fussing her to the little girl's exuberant glee. Orla had also been an active participant in the attention Anna was receiving, but she'd gone down to meet Michelle and Clare who were on their way up.

Any visit Orla now made anywhere though was longer. There were four people in the lift with her going down… all four of them requesting an autograph from the now legendary jockey. Every nurse and every dying man wanted to know her story, to be able to say they'd spoken to Orla McCool in the flesh. Being the gracious and generous person that she was, she never turned them down either. She loved a wee chat, whether it be with the elderly Mrs O'Rourke who used to sell the cakes after church, or the wee little Aoife who's da was the milkman. Though she might not have enjoyed being seen as a legend, she would always enjoy talking to the people she knew. Her people.

"She's been gone ages…". Erin finally gave in after fifteen minutes.

"Relax…". James pulled her head over to him to give her a kiss. "… there's probably a film crew or something downstairs. She's a celebrity now!"

James's assessment of Orla's status was spot on. If they were to freeze time right there and then, she was quite possible the most popular person in the whole of Ireland and most likely the whole of Britain too. The fairy tale story of the sixteen year old amateur stepping up to the plate to win the Grand National was all that anyone talked about at work that Monday. The name Orla McCool was known from the beaches of Los Angeles to the slums of Dehli, on the lips of those talking in the Pump Street bakery, to those meeting in the Kremlin. Just trying to go downstairs to meet two friends was like trying to make ground in the Battle of the Somme.

With all the distractions on the way, and a healthy level of conversation on the way back, Orla didn't see the one person in a staff uniform who shouldn't have been. Neither did Michelle nor Clare. They never did see the one remaining member not being grilled by the Cops that evening. But that person saw them. It only made everything much more fun for them…

Erin was still fretting to James about how long Orla had been when she burst through the doors, Michelle and Clare hot on her heels.

"Have we got some mad craic for the two of ye!" Michelle excitedly shouted at them.

"Michelle! Ye'll scare Anna!" Erin hissed as quietly as she could.

Knowing her little sister all too well, Anna began to cry right on cue, immediately seeking out James's shoulder to cry on. He picked her up and placed her there, rubbing her little back with what in comparison was his giant hand.

"Well done Michelle…". He huffed.

"Alright jesus… sorry. But this… this is fuckin' huge!"

"Language!" Erin sounded a hell of a lot like her Granda in her rebuking of Michelle.

"Christ!" The exasperated young Mallon replied. "Ye gunna let me tell you's or what?"

"Go on then".

Erin rolled her eyes, before looking to her left as Anna's cries began to cease as she clung to James. It was ever so sweet to see her baby sister seeking the comfort of James, who showed the fatherly side she'd seen glimpses of in the past.

"Danny and Brian Scanlon have been arrested!"

"What!?"

"Aye she's right Erin!" Clare confirmed in a fret. "They… They had guns and everythin'… and those plans that got stolen from the Guildhall last week… all of them!"

Erin's eyes widened, turning her gaze on Michelle. In another world, where Danny hadn't played the cruel trick on her and their relationship was genuine, Michelle could have been with him at this point… she could have been arrested too.

As Erin pondered the disturbing scenario that thankfully never occurred, someone else who knew Danny stalked the corridors of the Altnagelvin. They were smart enough to have remembered the way to the Englishman's private room, taking into account any possible issue they could come across. Danny and Brian being arrested was damaging, quite sickening for their feelings in fact, but in some ways, it would make it easier. They could quite easily have called off the plan, regrouping to go again other night when the risks were lower. But could they afford to wait? Brian was never quite in the same mental league as they were, and his conscious often tried to sway him… if the RUC could get to any of them it would be him. Already with a hand on their concealed weapon, they were not too far away…

Five corridors…

"Pardon the pun Michelle, but ye dodged a bullet there". Erin didn't make fun of her, instead taking a serious approach to the matter.

"Ye… too right. Still can't believe I fell for that shite…".

"Language…". Erin reminded her again.

"Wise up Erin! Yer as bad as Joe".

Sensing that the conversation needed moving away from the, intriguing, but conflict creating Scanlon arrests, James addressed Orla.

"How many autographs then?"

"I lost count to be honest James…". Orla wandered off slightly as she tried to put a number on it. "… is that bad?"

"No, I'd think it's natural". He chuckled, the others chuckling with him.

Four corridors…

"Do you want to become a professional?" He asked her.

"She already is ye dick!" Michelle jumped in, earning Erin's glare at the language again.

"I mean officially. I'm aware Orla is better than the rest of them thanks Michelle…".

He was running a dangerous line answering his cousin back in that way, but he ran it anyway under her frosty stare.

"I think I do James… I want to go to England and ride those horses for Harriet's da".

"You'll be paid well". Clare muttered, the others humming their agreement.

"And you'll get opportunities elsewhere too. Who wouldn't want the great Orla McCool aboard their horse?"

Three corridors…

Orla beamed at James's delightful comment about her ability. She was confident from the moment she first got aboard 'The Wee English Fella' at the stables. Less than two months later she was a Grand National winning jockey. There would be fights to book her for rides if she committed to it full time.

"You do realise you'll need an agent though…". He said to her.

"Ach yeah… Paul was talking to me about that earlier."

The life of a Jockey's agent was a hard one. Some of the bigger agents had multiple clients across the country, and they were responsible for organising nearly every part of the jockey's life outside of the races themselves. They not only had to book the rides for the jockeys, but they were in charge of their media duties and helping to promote their image, as well as booking any accommodation that might be needed on longer trips away. There were also expenses to look after as well as records of all of the upcoming race meetings and notes about certain trainers and owners. Even if an agent had the one client, it was still a very demanding role as trying to do another job around it could be chaotic. Time waited for no man in the world of racing.

"I was… I was thinking of asking ye to be me agent Michelle".

Two corridors…

"Me?" The startled Michelle replied. "Catch yourself on Orla, that's the worse idea ye've had since suggesting we hide the scones up our holes!"

Michelle may have thought it stupid, but her cousin could see the logic. James wasn't as knowledgeable with an agent's life as he was with the rest of the racing world, though he knew one or two key bits of information. The agent needed to be able to stand up for their rider should things go wrong or should there be complaints about them… there was no doubting Michelle ticked that box. They would also be kept busy and therefore would not have the time to cause too much trouble. That would be a blessing for all concerned should she do it.

"Paul said he thought ye'd be good at it. It would mean comin' to England though…".

"You could see yer Tom then". Clare pointed out, flashing a never seen before wink.

"See Michelle, there's some incentive…". James snorted a little, Erin joining in with him.

"Don't ye… Christ ye haven't even met him…". Michelle's thoughts went to her own English fella, James unable to hide his laughter as her brain stopped on Tom. "… anyway, what about money… does it pay well?"

"I wouldn't worry about that Michelle". Erin advised her. "I'm sure Harriet would look after ye".

There were nods of agreement around the room at the valid point Erin made. If Orla needed an agent, and Michelle was going to be that agent, there was no doubt Harriet would use her family's substantial wealth to keep Michelle looked after. There was no way she'd take on any other clients other than Orla, which would not be enough to live on, yet Harriet would never see her go wanting. That was the thing with having a friend like her… she would always look after those she cared about. Be it emotionally or financially.

One Corridor…

Their progress through the Hospital was unrelentless and unchecked. The mop and bucket worked a treat, no one raising an eyebrow at the poor lone cleaner trudging their way to their next area. Not many cleaners were carrying a firearm under their apron or were planning to kill an Englishman and his partner… and seeing the rest of their little group earlier… Michelle Mallon and Clare Devlin too. But not Orla. They couldn't kill Orla McCool…

They were getting so close; they could see the room the wee English fella resided in at the end of the corridor. With no doctors or nurses about, they could only hear the sound of their footsteps… and the chorus of heavy breathing that accompanied it. There were no nerves now though… only a determination to destroy the English bastard and anyone else who stood in their way…

"Aye… alright I'll think about it Orla". Michelle agreed, met with her friend's beaming smile a second later.

"Cracker!" Orla jumped up and pulled her into a hug.

The two of them embraced for a moment, Clare watching on fondly, then turning her head to find an even fonder sight. During the course of their conversation, Baby Anna had fallen asleep on James's shoulder, her little snores beginning to puncture the air.

"Look…". Clare said with a voice full of wonder.

Erin's heart, which so often melted when Anna was around James, did so again. He was snuggling into her a little too, almost like she was his wain and not just Erin's little sister.

"One day my wee English fella will make a brilliant daddy…". Erin hummed, leaning in to kiss James's cheek.

"Not anytime soon I hope!". Michelle grumbled.

Suddenly, the door was flung wide open…

Chapter Text

Chapter 26: Secrets of the Past

BANG

BANG

Then came the cries and the screams. But they weren't done yet…

BANG

The cries and screams continued…

BANG

BANG

Then they ceased, and the only noise that could be heard was the breathing of the only one remaining. She was mesmerised but alive. All she could see around her was blood. Blood sprayed up the walls behind the corpses of her friends and family, trickling into neat pools, nestling in every crevice in the floor. For whatever reason, they hadn't shot her. She looked up into the eyes of the shooter, recognising them immediately, causing her face to fall into total horror. Perhaps they all should have seen it coming, the signs were there, but not to this extent. Not to murder.

And then darkness fell for her…

"Christ that was nastier than ye said it was going to be Gerry". Mary moaned as the screen went black at the cinema.

"I didn't know that girl was going to kill all of her friends and family… I didn't write it". He attempted a weak defence.

"Well…". Mary concluded as she got up to put her coat on. "… next time we have a film night… I'm pickin' the film".

Gerry sighed as his latest attempt to spend some quality time with his wife fell by the wayside. Granted, this time he'd spent the time, but with Mary's complaints about the film, he'd missed out on the quality element. Although Joe hadn't tried to disrupt the plans, despite his vocal disgruntlement with them, so he could cling on to some form of success. Even if it was modest.

Walking out to the car, the temperature had dipped significantly in the time they were inside, and being the gentleman he was, Gerry put his coat around Mary's shoulders. After all the years of being together, he'd never lost his loving touch and she'd never stopped enjoying it either.

"Ye know, I reckon James would do that for our Erin". She smiled as she thought of the two.

"Aye I agree…". Gerry's smile was as wide as hers.

"He's a such a good, brave lad. Erin could have done much worse than him".

"Like mother like daughter when it comes to that".

Gerry's amusing comment earned him a playful smack on the arm from Mary as they walked along towards the car. It certainly was a good idea Joe wasn't with them; he wouldn't have agreed with Gerry…

"Hopefully Anna will be asleep when we get there". Gerry aired his thoughts to his wife.

Mary snorted in return to his comment.

"Not if Michelle has anything to do about it".

He couldn't exactly argue that point with her, Michelle wasn't really suited to babysitting duties, something they'd discovered in the past. Albeit, if Mary caught Michelle making a comment about Anna's appearance, the wooden spoon would have its finest hour.

"Ye know, I was thinkin'…". Mary linked her arm with her husband. "… we might have more nights like this… just the two of us out".

"I'd like that". Gerry's eyes were full of love as he cast them over his wife.

"And ye've seen how good James is with Anna".

"He's a natural Mary… Christ he's better than I was… remember the first months with Erin!"

Mary almost howled with laughter as she remembered the nervous Gerry of years before, dancing around Erin like she was a bomb, scared to touch her in case she went off. There were still moments like that with his daughter, she was certainly cast in the same mould as her mother in that regard, but the first few months after she was born were terrifying for him. James already seemed to be beyond that stage.

"And Orla's goin' to be busy with all this horse ridin' and da will want to be watchin' her… Sarah too…".

"So we'll need a babysitter?" Gerry knew where it was going, and he wholeheartedly approved.

"Of course, it would mean the two of the alone once Anna had settled…".

"I'm sure they wouldn't do anything we wouldn't".

The married couple chuckled into the night as they got into the car, amused by the thoughts of exactly what they'd have done at that age themselves…

The door flying open sent Clare jumping out of her skin, leaping straight up from the chair that she was sat on. It startled the others too, except the sleeping Anna, though none of them could match the ferocity of the cack attack Clare produced.

Looking up to see who it was, they were all surprised to find the same Inspector and Constable that had visited James the week before. As far as they were aware, the case was closed when it came to James's attack. With his inability to remember any further details of what happened that night, and almost a week later he still couldn't think of anything, there was nothing for the cops to go on. The chance of someone's conscience changing, and them coming forward as a witness, was very remote.

"Mr Maguire. I see you've got quite the crowd". The Inspector addressed him.

"What can I do for you Inspector?" He asked calmly, but inquisitively.

"I was hoping for a word alone, if that's alright with you".

James didn't have a problem with it, but he knew there was no hope of getting Erin to leave his side. Not that he particularly wanted her to leave his side, in fact if anything he wished that the Inspector might relent and let her stay.

"Who's the wain?" The Constable asked, pointing at Anna on James's shoulder.

"That's me sister…". Erin answered. "And yer gunna wake her up…".

"Why don't I take the rest of you's down to the wee shop". The Constable addressed the girls.

Erin looked to James, almost looking for permission to leave his side, but neither wished to part. His eyes told her to stay where she was, and her eyes told him that she held no intention of going down to the shop with the Constable.

"Perhaps Miss Quinn can stay".

The Inspector, being a detective, was never going to miss the looks between the young lovers, seeing that they would not be parted so easily. It wouldn't be a violation of his duty if she were present as well; for as long as she was at James's side then it would apply to her too.

"Orla, can ye take Anna?" Erin asked her cousin.

Nodding enthusiastically, Orla rose from her seat and walked over to the bed to retrieve little Anna from James's shoulder. To her credit, Anna didn't wake or cry, staying fast asleep as she moved into the grasp of her older cousin. Michelle and Clare, the former giving the cops a foul look, exited the room with the Constable, holding the door open for Orla and Anna to follow suit. Unnerved by the presence of the Inspector, Erin shifted right up next to James, finding his right arm around her shoulders and his left hand coming to meet hers. The Inspector pulled up one of the chairs that the girls used and sat on James's side of the bed, giving him an expressionless look.

"How's yer recovery going?"

"Quite well thanks. I'm being released on Friday". James replied to him.

"Right". The man said, still giving little away. "That does form part of what I need to talk to ye about".

The couple both frowned at the Inspector. Erin's fears, beginning a slow rise, took over her body and she instinctively squeezed James's hand.

"We've arrested a couple of young men this afternoon…".

"The Scanlons?" Erin interrupted him.

"Ach so ye've heard already. Gossip does travel fast in Derry…". He quipped, without losing any of his authoritative demeanour. "… there was something of interest to us when we searched the property… in relation to yerself Mr Maguire".

"What do you mean?" The Englishman's frown remained.

"We discovered some plans of the Hospital at their address, along with a assortment of various firearms".

"The plans stolen from the Guildhall?" Erin enquired.

"Our suspicion is that they were indeed Miss Quinn".

Erin's worries continued to gain momentum, finding herself moving even further into James side, his arm wrapping around her more tightly in return. Michelle already told her as much earlier in the evening, but with Michelle's history of not always being factually correct, to hear it confirmed by the Inspector was troubling.

"I'm confused…". James admitted. "… what's this got to do with me?"

"There was a room on the plans for the building that was highlighted in particular… marked out rather crudely with an x".

The Inspector paused, watching as the minds of the two teenagers in front of him cottoned on to what he was about to say. Their faces were not masks of shock, but of fear.

"This room".

The Scanlon's held the plans to the Altnagelvin and had marked out James's room… that could only mean one thing. The family reputation was so incredibly true as the details rang in his head. If anyone was going to viciously attack an Englishman in the dark alleys of Derry, then it would be a Scanlon. He couldn't find the words to respond, instead looking to Erin, who's eyes betrayed fear with their damp, glassy state.

"Mr Maguire… I need to ask… do ye associate with the Scanlons? Would they have any reason to dislike ye?"

James paused to consider his response. He wasn't aware of having annoyed Danny during the brief time they'd been acquainted, but he could annoy the majority of the city by just opening his mouth, so it wasn't out of the question. The only one of them who could have caused a problem with the Scanlon's was Michelle, though it was Danny who seemed to have caused the issue rather than his cousin.

"I…". He stopped, lifting the hand he locked with Erin up in the air. "… we know one of them. Danny".

The Inspector nodded, making a note of it on his pad.

"And how do ye know him exactly?"

"He was briefly in a… relationship with my cousin".

"Aye, alright… so Miss Mallon and Mr Scanlon were together… for how long exactly?"

That was the most difficult question yet. To quantify the true length of Danny and Michelle's relationship was an equation that even Einstein would struggle with. To define it would require Michelle's side of the story, Danny's side of the story and a degree of judgement that not even a court could hold.

"A… a couple of weeks". Erin answered for him, James nodding his head in agreement. "… but maybe Michelle's the better one to ask".

"Alright, no problem… now this development does require me to speak to ye about yer safety again James. I know we spoke at length about it when we came to see ye last week, but the goalposts have changed a fair bit in the last few hours. The evidence is suggesting that there was to be a follow up attack on ye, and we don't know who else could be involved in this…".

"I'm not leaving!" James protested adamantly, Erin's breath catching to his side.

"I am not for one minute suggestin' that ye should, but I also can't allow ye to be left here without being guarded". The Inspector calmly retorted.

"I thought you said that wasn't possible?" James questioned the detective.

"That is no longer a problem. The risk to ye is too severe to not have a twenty four hour guard in place… at least for the time being".

A tear trickled out of the corner of Erin's eye, slowly journeying down the side of her face until it was met by James's thumb. He wiped it away, stroking her cheek as she shivered into him. A guard on the door all the time would be a consistent reminder of the danger that he was in. The danger that Erin wished would just dissipate, leaving the two of them to resume the life they shared together in peace. But in a land where peace was more foreign than many of the nationalities that may reside in it, it would forever remain a pretty dream.

"Is there a risk to Erin?" James then asked the Inspector.

She tensed up, a squeaking sound reminiscent of Clare escaping her lips, but James reacted quickly to lean down and kiss the top of her head in order to calm her. He wasn't trying to frighten her. He had to know if her life was in danger too.

"Well… as long as ye stay together… aye. But from other evidence we found at the house, I think it is only yerself they intended to harm James".

"What evidence!?" A furious Erin demanded to know.

"I can't give ye all the details Miss Quinn… let's just say there was material of an anti-English sentiment at the property".

Once again it was the flag on James's passport that was causing the problem. The small-minded Scanlon's couldn't see past it, to the beautiful, kind young man that Erin gave her heart too. She was infuriated that they could be so cruel, wanting to do harm to him just because he was born over the other side of the sea. But before she could voice what she wanted, the door opened once more to reveal Mary and Gerry, with the girls and the Constable behind them.

The fucking cops.

The meddling arseholes from the RUC saved the Englishman.

They were so close to reaching his room… from putting an end to the stain on Derry's landscape that was James Maguire. In their haste to remember their own route to the room, they'd forgotten about the other entrance on the corridor. The same route the cops decided to take that night, beating them by only a few seconds. There was no way they could finish him off with cops swirling about… they'd never get out alive. The fuckers had taken Danny and Brian out of the picture earlier in the day too. Everything was falling apart…

Getting out of the Hospital as quickly as they possibly could, the first thing they could think of was to go to the cabin. Their mentor would no doubt be there… he always seemed to be. A point they were proven correct about when they could see that the light was on. Walking in, the mentor darted round at the presence of someone else in the cabin, holding a pistol up to them before the mentor recognised them.

"You… what the fuck are ye doin' here!" The mentor shouted as he lowered the gun.

"Why do ye think!" They shouted back.

"I TOLD YOU!" The mentor's shout went up further notches. "I told ye all to leave that English fella and look what ye've done!"

"HE HAS TO DIE!"

"NO! No, he doesn't have to die! Soldiers at the barracks… they have to die… but this fucker isn't important enough!"

"HE IS TO ME!"

"And he was to Danny… and to Brian… look where they are now!"

They paused a moment as a thick layer of tension set around the room. The mentor just didn't understand the importance of James's death… and what it would mean to them. Danny and Brian meant a lot to them too, but their significance fell behind the need to eliminate James.

"Ye better hope neither of them two talk…" The mentor started off again.

"They won't!" His last remaining student replied.

"They might… and we're both fucked if that happens".

"Both?"

"Have ye forgotten the door? They can trace me from that should either two of them talk".

"Ye think they'd just betray our cause like that?!" The student questioned angrily.

"Our cause? Ye care more about this English fella than the cause!"

"Killin' him is part of it! Why can't ye see that!?"

There was another silence as the two watched each other suspiciously. The prior level of trust had gone when the mentor learned of the arrests at the Scanlon house. However, there was still a job to do…

"Forget him. I mean it this time".

"I…".

"I'm tellin ye for the last time! No more personal vendetta's… got it?" The mentor gave them a last chance.

"Fine". They replied.

"Friday night is still on… but we can't meet here".

"Why not?"

"Because if they have said anything, they will come straight here. I have somewhere else we can meet though".

The mentor picked up a map of Derry, laying it out on the table between them. He pointed to a spot on it for them to go to.

"What about the plan now?" The student asked.

"Let me worry about that. Lay low tomorrow and meet me there on Wednesday night. And don't fuckin' touch that Englishman!"

They nodded to accept the terms given by their mentor. He was still angry with them, they could tell, and that anger was justified to a point. Even if by some miracle Danny and Brian were released from Police custody, they'd still be watched for a time afterwards. The plan for the attack on the barracks was thrown into disarray by their arrest. There would be no one rushing in to finish the soldiers off now, leaving the possibility of them being gunned down before they could get away from it.

Whilst they may have given their word not to go after James, they were far too far down that road to turn back.

No… James Maguire still had to die.

It was eleven o'clock by the time that the Police had finished, and Mary and Gerry took Anna home for the night. Martin arrived to add to the party shortly after Mary and Gerry, taking Michelle and Clare away once the Inspector finished speaking with them. Erin only left James's side to get changed and go to the loo, an experience now completed with a guard directly in front of the door. A constant reminder that James was unsafe. She was still completely livid that the Scanlon's would dare to take her wee English fella away from her.

"Bastards". She muttered to herself, tucked into his side.

"Erin…".

"What James!? That's what they are!"

He sighed deeply, continuing to stroke her arm with the hand of the arm around her shoulders. As much as his emotions were screaming at him, it was hers that he was most concerned about.

"I'm always going to have enemies with my accent".

"It shouldn't be that way!" She complained. "Why can't people look past that!?"

"Erin please. Don't get upset about it, I just have to learn to deal with it…".

"Don't get upset!" She wrestled away from his grasp to sit up and look him in the eye, snarling. "They had guns James! Guns! What if they'd have got in here… they'd have killed ye!"

Though the cops couldn't confirm to them that they were truly planning to kill James, the manner in which the weapons and plans were found at least suggested it. Getting the Scanlon's to talk would be another matter; they weren't known for being weak when it came to the RUC.

"But they didn't, did they?" He spoke softly, trying to get her to nestle back into his side.

"That's not the point!" Erin continued to argue.

"Erin… I'm not willing to live on 'what if's'. What's done is done, they can't hurt me now… and I have you by my side. That's what I want to live my life by… you".

He watched as she finally relaxed, pulling her in for a kiss as it felt right to do so. She latched onto him like she'd almost been starved of him, snogging him with such a ferocious passion, that when they finally surfaced for air, they were both panting as if they'd ran a marathon. She stayed with her head lying on his chest, his right hand running up the curve of her spine, whilst his left cupped her cheek.

"I just… I love ye too much to… lose ye". Erin's voice crackled as tears threatened to fall.

"I'm not going anywhere…". He smiled, looking into her eyes as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. "… not when the love of my life curls up to me at night and kisses me in the day. No, I belong here".

The two of them soon resumed eating the faces of off each other, uninterested in the thought of sleeping despite it being late. Erin would no doubt wake up and still be tired in the morning, but she couldn't care less if it meant she got to enjoy special moments with James. The guard on the door outside would probably be laughing away to themselves on hearing the two youngsters professing their feelings and kissing each other without a care in the world. But they couldn't care either, because in the room that night it was just James Maguire and Erin Quinn showing each other the depths of their love.

"Can I ask you something?" He said once they'd decided to settle to sleep.

"Go on…". She hummed into his chest.

"Earlier… when you said you think I'd make a good daddy… did you mean it?"

She reared up in the same way she'd done before at his question, the Englishman internally chastising himself within the blink of an eye for asking such a stupid question. He hoped he would himself and hearing Erin say it was music to his ears. Why the hell would I think she didn't mean it…

"Wise up James. Ye know… yer so good with Anna so ye are. She just falls asleep on ye as if ye were her bed. And ye always seem to know when she needs a big hug".

James was kissing Erin again a second later, muttering a thank you as he leant in, before becoming lost in the beauty of his beloved once more. His hand began to run down her body, Erin shivering from the intense pleasure that the contact from just the tips of his fingers on her skin caused. He stopped around her stomach, leaving his palm open flat as he lifted her head up to him with his other hand.

"And when our child grows in here…". He proceeded to rub her belly, pulling giggles from her. "… they'll have the best mammy in the world".

Sarah's decision to take the day off work quickly appeared to have been the correct one, even if it was spontaneous. Her da was in a good mood that morning, mostly due to the fact Gerry didn't sleep well and he revelled in the headache his son-in law woke with. All over breakfast he made sure to speak just a little bit louder, place his mug down on the table a little harder and screeched the chair legs in the dining room a lot more purposefully. The entertainment soon came to an end though. Gerry skulked off to work a short while later, with Mary soon following, leaving Sarah and Joe to talk whilst Anna entertained herself.

"There's a reporter comin' this afternoon da".

"Another? Christ, they really are relentless". Joe huffed.

"Ach well, I'd agree with ye, but the press are ravin' about our Orla and I'm enjoyin' it, so I am".

"It's great for Orla love…". Joe agreed. "… but I can't get five minutes peace ye know".

Throughout Monday, whilst the girls were bombarded by the press at school, an equally large amount of media personal gathered at the house. At one point, Joe found himself being spoken to by three reporters from three different continents, with the American reporter asking particularly stupid questions. Not that it surprised Joe of course; the Americans weren't exactly the smartest people that walked the earth. He had become rather fond of the Italian reporters though, as they'd brought wine with them. The wine was for Orla and he'd told them he would ensure she enjoyed a glass, but that was just a fabrication so that he could have a couple of glasses that night for himself.

As Sarah went to continue their conversation, the phone rang out in the hall. He was up on his feet and off to answer it, with Sarah using the break to head over to Anna to see what she was doing to entertain herself.

"Joe McCool".

"Hello Joe, it's Kathy… Kathy Maguire".

"Morning to ye Kathy love. Is everything alright?"

"No… not really".

Joe swallowed slightly harder as he sensed the discomfort from the tone of Kathy's voice. She sounded shaken, far from the usually upbeat and sometimes arrogant tone that she usually carried.

"The Inspector telephoned me first thing this morning. He's… he told me about the arrests that were made and what was… found…". Her voice cracked as she came to a stop.

"Aye, my Mary was tellin' me last night. Those Scanlons boys have always been trouble ye know, doesn't surprise me at all".

"I just… I…".

"Take yer time love". Joe told her softly.

Allowing half a minute of sobbing from Kathy, Joe tried to think about what he could say to calm her down. He wasn't as shaken as she was from the arrests, but he couldn't deny the initial feelings of horror as Mary informed him. It touched raw nerves with Joe when it came to feelings against England. A past that was buried, though never truly forgotten for him. Had he taken a different decision twenty four years earlier, then it could have been him planning for some poor fella's death. James might not be perfect, but he was far superior to most Irish lads, undeserving of the fate that the Scanlon's wanted to see.

"I'm going to come over today… I'm phoning from the airport". She eventually spluttered out.

"What time are ye due in?" Joe replied.

"Around two. I'm going to r-".

"I'll come and pick ye up then. Keep yerself calm there Kathy, Mary said James was alright ye know… he's a tough young man".

Catching the tail end of the conversation from Joe's side, Sarah wandered into the hall with Anna in her arms. Joe was continuing with his attempts to keep Kathy calm whilst she waited for her flight over to Derry.

"Kathy's comin' then da?" She asked as he put the phone down.

"Aye that's right Sarah love. Ye might have to tackle that reporter on yer own this afternoon".

"Ach no problem da. I rec-".

Sarah was interrupted by a knock on the door, which made Joe throw his arms up in the air at the latest distraction that morning. If it wasn't the feckin' phone, it was the feckin' door!

"See! No peace!"

Joe grumbled, turning to his left to go to the door and find out who was pestering them this time. It couldn't' be Colm as he was busy helping clean up the church after the disaster of the previous night's bingo. The premise of the bingo was a sound one, an event to get the church community together, talking and socialising about the better days gone by. In most places that would be perfect, but Derry wasn't most places, and it was a hell of a long way detached from the ideals of perfection. The competitiveness of the elderly ladies could match 'The Thriller in Manilla' and it wasn't long before the evening turned that way too. Two eighty years old ladies tussling on the church floor was a sight to behold, a classic having to be there to believe it. That it then spread to most of the other old men and women was even more unbelievable, with the house of god soon turning into a cage fighting arena for those in the dentures class. The Priest was raging, with an embarrassed Colm offering to return the following morning to help clean the mess up. Who could it be…

Opening the door, there was one person that Joe didn't have on his list, standing before him.

It wasn't Colm.

It wasn't Jim.

It wasn't a reporter.

It wasn't Lord Lucan.

It wasn't the Lord God himself.

No. It was none of those.

It was Antony Scanlon.

The hours tumbled away after the discovery in the shed that Monday afternoon. Neither mother or son could quite believe it when they saw the guns and the stolen plans. Of course, if you'd have asked anyone in Derry where they truly thought either could turn up then the Scanlon's were one of the go-to choices. It could have so easily been Antony himself, with the attitude he held the moment that he walked out of prison nearly two months earlier. But seeing his ma again, and how much pain he'd put upon her being locked up for so long, he had the epiphany he should have had years before. The epiphany he should have had on the fateful day that he became a key component in the story of Orla McCool, the Grand National winning sensation. The daft young troublemaker he had been then didn't see it that way, but the reformed Antony who'd nearly destroyed his mother did. Violence wasn't the answer anymore. He wanted peace.

The boys… didn't.

His reputation being what it was, the cops immediately suspected that he was behind it all. He couldn't blame them for taking that line with him, as it wasn't for them to know of his reformation into the better person he wanted to be, and they were just doing their job. His Maria lawfully gave him an alibi for the night of James's attack, as they'd been cuddling on her sofa as the Englishman had seven bells knocked out of him. As he gave his accounts of that night, having helped the boys pay off their debts to Dennis earlier in the night, he knew they were responsible. The guns might have showed a future plan to get the fella, but it was clear to Antony that they committed the original attack as well. He knew they were fighters like him, they were always in trouble at school for it, yet to the magnitude of what happened to James… he never suspected them at the time. It was all clear now. So clear that he found himself travelling to Sarah's house to try to talk to one of the family… to tell them he was sorry for what his brothers had done. Knowing that Sarah's niece was the partner of the English fella, he knew it would have caused significant grief within their ranks. He just couldn't have them believing that he and his ma would do such a thing.

"Ye better have a damn good reason for being here boy!" Joe snapped.

"Mr McCool... please… I just want to talk".

"TALK?! Ye should be in the cells with the rest of yer lot!"

Antony could just see the slight figure of Sarah in the background, trying to shy away as she held a baby in her arms. Joe was never a man who you could mediate with, instead turning to his backup plan now that she was there.

"Sarah… please…".

"Don't ye address my daughter! Ye've got five seconds before that other eye g-".

"Let him in Da…".

With a voice that trailed off, Sarah visibly shaking, stood her ground with her father. Joe looked at her incredulously, though with his daughter stoic and certain, he found himself having to trust her. His insides were locked in a gargantuan battle of emotion. Scarface Scanlon, who was certainly involved in the attack on James, was stood at his door wanting to talk and seemingly held the backing of his daughter. Could he truly trust him? Was he manipulating Sarah?

They were acquainted after the fateful events of years earlier, an accidental acquaintance rather than one that was sought after. He definitely didn't trust Antony Scanlon then, so why should he now?

Reluctantly, his belief in Sarah won the battle over the inner workings of his mind, and he allowed the man through to the kitchen. A lesser man might have kept a weapon behind the door to wield when an unwelcome visitor such as Antony arrived at the house, but Joe only needed one right hook. His fist was already twitching at the prospect of meeting a hardened Scanlon jaw. There was no drink offered like there would be to any other guest of the house, instead Antony took a seat at the table, with Sarah sat opposite next to little Anna, indicating for Joe to sit at the head. His eyes never left the Scanlon that sat at their dining table. Antony could feel the intensity in Joe's stare… the intensity that Joe had every right to have.

"Ye trust him Sarah?" Joe questioned her first.

"Yes da". She replied honestly.

"Mr McCool…".

"I didn't say ye could speak yet!" Joe rebuked viciously as Antony tried to address him.

"Please Mr McCool!" Antony persisted. "I think it's time we tell him the truth… don't you Sarah?"

She nodded.

Ten years earlier, by the banks of the River Foyle…

The cops couldn't catch Antony Scanlon. When he'd fled from them after finding him in possession of drugs, he was always confident that he would get away. Even when the stolen car was totalled, it still didn't faze him. He was so quick, lightning fast in fact, that none of them stood a chance of catching up to him when he got shifting. For most people running from the cops alongside a river would present a challenge, but not for him. He'd heard them charge past him from his spot in the undergrowth. He was about to leave when he heard a distant branch snap.

"ORLA!"

A woman's shout shot downstream and unwittingly, he was already out by the bank to investigate it. The cops were too, further up, and as he looked upstream, they looked down to find him. But he couldn't care about them when he saw the distressed woman. And then the child.

The little girl must have been climbing in the trees and fallen into the fast-moving river. He could see her little head bobbing as she cried out in return for her mother. The poor woman, a young mother in her own right, was frozen on the bank. Perhaps she wasn't a good swimmer… or she didn't quite know what to do. But he did.

Without any thought for his own safety, Antony kicked off his shoes and dived in to meet the girl. He was one of the best swimmers around though, battling with the flow of the river in order to catch the struggling child. He got to her and took her in his arms, but they hadn't won just yet. With additional weight for a return journey, he himself began to struggle against the force of nature that was a fast-moving body of water. The cops were stood at the sides, uselessly idling instead of trying to find a way to get them back out.

"WELL FUCKIN' HELP THEN!" He shouted.

They didn't take kindly to his language, but at the next bend in the river, as Antony drifted to the side with the little girl safely in his grasp, some of the officers were able to reach out to them and pull them in. She was coughing a lot, having taken in water during her short time in the river and Antony was soon coughing too. His own head bobbed under a couple of times under the force of the Foyle. Not that the officers cared too much about that. He was in cuffs before he could make a protest, his heroic deed unrecognised by the fuckers from the RUC. Waiting for an ambulance, the woman was at least thankful when the cops allowed her to speak to him.

"Thank you. Ye… ye saved my Orla's life". She tearfully addressed him. "What's yer name?"

"Antony… Antony Scanlon".

He saw the way she recoiled at the name Scanlon, the deeds of his father being well documented across the city.

"Sarah… Sarah McCool".

"Why the hell didn't ye tell me!?" Joe demanded to know.

"Sarah and I agreed with the cops that they would take the glory for rescuing Orla. I didn't want ye to feel like I only did it because I wanted something from ye… or because I was casin' ye for me da".

"I wouldn't have!"

"I'm sorry da… I just didn't want to worry ye at the time…". Sarah admitted. "… so soon after ma and ye were still very sad…".

The time after Marie died was a terrible one for the family, Joe sinking to the lowest point in his entire life for the few weeks after. He'd narrowly avoided falling to the bottle, with only Gerry's silent and unacknowledged contribution, preventing it from happening. He couldn't exactly blame her from hiding something related to the Scanlon's from him. Though Antony was in the Hospital bed next to Orla's when he visited later that day, he only scowled at what was the teenager at the time. He'd argued with Gerry in his presence though, as well receiving chastisement from Mary for doing so, so it wasn't as if Antony didn't know the basics of his family life mind…

"Still, doesn't answer why yer here…". Joe was calmer, but still eyed the man with suspicion.

"I… I came to apologise… on behalf of myself and my ma. I know… I know James is a member of yer family and I couldn't sit by and let ye think me or ma had anything to do with this".

"Ye didn't?" Joe was shocked.

"No… I wouldn't do that… not anymore…".

Antony looked to Sarah to see if she could help to defend his corner, and Sarah was more than happy to do so.

"He's a different man since prison da… I heard ye've got yerself a job now Antony".

"Aye… mechanic".

"No offence son… but being able to fix a car doesn't stop ye from beating a poor young lad senseless". Joe reasoned.

"I understand ye… being sceptical Mr McCool… but I'm being honest with ye. I swear to ye, I've moved on from that. I've got my girl Maria now… I was with her the night he was attacked".

Joe considered his options under the cloud of a deep sigh. He was a Scanlon, the closest family to the disgusting title of scum that Derry had, every inch of him normally would tell him that he should be beating the living daylights out of Antony. But for some, utterly… stupidly mad reason… he believed him. He wasn't always right when it came to judging people, but when Antony Scanlon stared back at him, it was all in the eyes… he was telling Joe the truth. Every word.

"Why did yer brothers do it then?"

"I…". Antony stopped to think about his own answer. "… if I could tell ye that then I would. I don't understand it Mr McCool. It's one thing to hate the Brits… it's another to do that… and then the guns…".

There was a silence around the dining table. Sarah looked to both men, to try and comfort Antony whilst trying to ensure that her father remained calm. She'd always felt guilty for lying about Antony saving Orla's life ten years earlier, when she seemed certain to drown. The guilt crept back up to the surface as they slept on the ferry on the way back from England that weekend. She put her finger on it being so close to the water, her subconscious dragging her back in time whilst she dreamt. Orla was now a Grand National winning jockey, yet without Antony Scanlon, she'd have drowned in the Foyle. It was a story that needed to be known.

"I'm so proud of yer Orla, Sarah. She's a hero". Antony broke the uncomfortable hush.

Expecting Joe to turn on him, savagely berate him for talking about Orla, he instead found the patriarch smiling back at him. It seemed the common unity between them was the young girl that was so special to so many people. The generational talent that was Orla McCool, who'd professed that she wanted people to come together in peace. That started with her family and the long-buried secret of their past.

"Son…". Joe spoke to get his attention, Antony keeping focused on him. "… go home. Tell yer ma that we accept the apology. She's going to need ye to be strong with what's happenin'. And it will solve nothing if I'm hostile to ye…".

The next action from Joe dumbfounded not only Antony, but Sarah too.

He held out his hand for Antony to shake.

"I've owed ye this for ten years. Yer a good lad son… I know that things might be tough in the next few months… but yer always welcome at this house".

As Antony firmly gripped Joe's hand and shook, a historic achievement was cemented. There was a conflict in Ireland that had been solved by getting around a table and being honest and holding an open discussion to resolve differences.

If Joe McCool could do it, there was no reason why the rest of the country couldn't follow suit…

Chapter Text

Chapter 27: Breaking Point 2nd April 1996

The girls enjoyed a fairly relaxed morning at school. Erin was as tired as she expected to be, having gone to bed so late, so she was grateful for the relatively easy start to the day. Michelle wasn't mouthing off too much either, which left everything very quiet if truth was to be told. There were less reporters around too, Orla able to join them in their usual spot at break without the threat of being interviewed.

"Ye see Moira wasn't in". Michelle said to them all as they tucked into their bags of sweets, apart from Orla, who was watching her weight still for the racing.

"Aye". Erin responded first. "I'm hardly surprised".

Danny's arrest would have been soul destroying for Moira. Not that they cared less; the two of them were horrible people and quite frankly she deserved to be without him in all of their opinions.

"Maybe she's havin' to be questioned". Clare validly pointed out.

"Questioned… she's just Danny's girl… not like she's involved is it?". Michelle snorted in return.

"Well she could be!" Clare stood her ground with Michelle. "She might be involved for all we know".

"Wise up Clare…". Erin scoffed. "… she's all talk. She wouldn't do nothin'".

Michelle and Orla both nodded in agreement with Erin, Clare being forced to concede that they were most likely correct. Moira might have possessed a vicious tongue, but she was yet to truly physically challenge any of the girls, despite often posturing to do so. Though she might have disliked James, it wasn't as if she had it in her to hurt him.

"I still can't fuckin' believe they were goin' to kill James. Christ, he might be a dick, but ye can't say it's punishable by death". Michelle monologued.

"Michelle!" Erin complained at her description of him.

"Catch yourself on Erin! It's not like ye haven't thought he was a dick in the past…".

"He's very good to me…". Erin's mind wandered as she thought of him, Clare rolling her eyes as she knew exactly where those thoughts were leading to.

Michelle's grumbles put an end to any further discussion on the topic of James, Erin being lost in a dream world that she only vaguely came out of when Orla poked her to make sure she was still alive. Being so far lost in her thoughts of her wee English fella, Erin almost appeared to have frozen… she was very much enjoying where her mind was taking her…

"Have ye thought anymore about what I said Michelle?" Orla's question snapped Erin out of her trance.

"About being yer agent?" The young Mallon replied.

"Aye".

"Yeah… I've had a think about it".

Michelle was lying when she replied the second time. She'd been unable to get it off her mind all night, going to bed thinking about the offer and waking up thinking about. It was already bouncing around the walls of her mind as they were sat eating their sweets.

"I want to do it… I want to be yer agent".

"CRACKER!" Orla roared.

"That's brilliant Michelle!" Clare delightedly beamed. "Ye'll make such a good team".

"Of course… we're pack animals Clare!"

Pack animals was their preferred description, but with Michelle's acceptance of Orla's offer, that would be taking two of them out of the pack to go to England. The future was something they'd rarely considered before. With Orla winning the Grand National, the road ahead was changing, and it was beginning to come to the point where they had to plan.

"Have ye got any plans yerself Clare?" Erin asked her.

"What?" The diminutive blonde replied.

"Ye know… for the future. What ye might want to do…".

Clare didn't really know what she wanted to do. Professional cack attack artist wasn't a career path, that being her most obvious skill, though for a strange reason, teaching appealed to her. A primary school teacher was about the only job she'd considered, with the stresses of exams nowhere near as high, yet the stresses from children acting like… children… were much higher. However, she didn't want her friends to know that and ridicule her for being more scared than the kids would be.

"I have a few ideas". She responded with instead.

"What about you and dicko?" Michelle asked Erin.

"Well… I suppose I'll do a journalism degree… and James… I don't know. I haven't asked him".

Any chance for further questioning from Michelle was thankfully halted when Jenny and Aisling arrived. They'd stayed behind in the last lesson to put the tables and chairs back together after they'd been pushed to the side, with the gang electing to let them do it. It was far too much hard work for a Tuesday morning.

"Hey guys!" Jenny was as cheerful as ever.

"Morning Jenny. What's the craic?" Orla asked first.

"Me and Aisling… well we know with everything goin' on ye probably didn't have chance to do the French homework last night, so we've done ye some notes to help you's".

Although Jenny and Aisling might not have been as solid as Orla in the past few weeks, they'd reinforced the group with an additional layer of strength that was sorely needed. Anytime any of the girls felt like they needed a few minutes break, Erin mostly needing those breaks, they would make sure that they didn't miss anything when it came to schoolwork. It was the small touches like that which proved just how loyal friends the two were.

"Thanks Jenny". Erin pulled her in for a hug, Clare doing the same with Aisling.

"Yeah… that's proper class like". Michelle smiled softly.

"How many rhinos are left in Africa?"

She might have won the Grand National, but she was still Orla McCool.

James's morning ended up being a lot more taxing than the girls. Under the watchful eye of his guard, he went with the doctors to perform some movement exercises. They were trying to ascertain whether they could be certain to release him that Friday, and though he'd made remarkable progress so far, there was always a chance of that progress halting. He didn't mind the young cop having to watch him all the time, he was just doing his job, but James still couldn't help but feel like it was unnecessary. After all, the Scanlon's were in custody, they couldn't harm him if the cops had them.

Once the exercises were complete, he went back to the room with the guard, who he struck up a rapport with. The young officer Collins seemed to be a likeable enough bloke, sympathising with him over the situation he was in. James dropped off to sleep after his lunch, the effort still somewhat tiring him. It was all very peaceful until later that afternoon, when Collins woke him from the deep sleep. Immediately being overcome with apprehension, having been woken so suddenly, he was calmed by the officer who revealed that there was no danger… but he did have visitors. Joe was a welcome sight as he arrived in the room first and seconds later, he was shocked to find his mother too.

"Mum?"

"Oh love…".

She practically ran to him, hugging him tightly, the officer's lips curving into a slight smile along with Joe's. Kathy was a changed woman since she'd first returned following his attack, and Joe could attest to it from the car journey back from the airport. The entire journey Kathy fretted about his safety after the arrest of the Scanlon boys. Joe filled her in with the details he'd learned from Antony, only briefly aiding him to combat her fears, before she started worrying about who else might be out there to hurt her son. She'd allowed him to stay, supported his decision in fact, but with the cops only narrowly preventing a disaster, she had to question it. Getting James to leave Erin's side would be the hardest part. She certainly wouldn't leave Derry, it was her home, and her life was there, even if a significant part of it were to move away.

"What's the matter? Has something happened?"

The selfless James was always thinking of everyone else above himself, not allowing his own plight to cloud his wish to help those he loved.

"Those boys planning to hurt you… that's what has happened!" Kathy was slightly angered by his inability to see the reason.

"It was nothing…". He tried to shrug it off.

"Nothing?! They had guns James! They might have killed ye!"

"You sound like Erin". He huffed.

"She's a sensible young woman James! Do ye know what it could do to either of us!"

"I KNOW!" He shouted, his temper evaporating for once.

Joe, who'd stayed in the background during the opening exchanges, came forward to try to stop any argument ensuing.

"Come on son, ye stay calm there".

James was grateful for his intervention, Kathy too, though she was still going to be bringing up his safety. He couldn't escape her on that one.

"Are ye sure ye want to stay James?" She asked calmly.

"Yes mum. Of course I'm sure!"

"Son...". Joe cautioned as he flared up again.

The Englishman huffed and puffed at the question he wished that no one would ever ask again. He wasn't stupid, the around the clock guard showed him everything he needed to know; his safety wasn't exactly guaranteed. He just wished they'd stopped pointing out to him something he painfully knew because he was not going to be moved from his stance. Erin would never follow him to London, her place was in Derry with the rest of the family. The fear of receiving a punch or a bullet was nothing compared to the fear of losing Erin Quinn from moving away. He would never leave.

"I understand mum…". The calmer James began. "… I'm not exactly pleased about being unable to even step foot outside a Hospital room without the thought someone might be out to harm me. But I have a duty to Erin and to the girls… they need me, and I need them. There are exams coming up soon mum… I won't be responsible for them failing because I didn't have the guts to stomach the storm".

His passionate argument prevented Kathy from forming any type of counter. Though she'd forced herself to question the original decision to let him stay, the conclusion was quickly made that she could do nothing to change it. He was adamant that his life couldn't continue without them in it.

"Yer an honourable young man James". She kissed his cheek.

"Thanks mum".

The two hugged, sharing tears as Kathy finally let go of all of the pent-up tension she'd been carrying since the cops phoned her. Joe continued to remain a strong but silent presence, his hand coming to affectionately squeeze him on the shoulder like it often would.

"I've not seen a young man so honest in his convictions". Joe said to Kathy. "He's a credit to ye Kathy… I know I've said it to ye before but really… yer son is a fine young man".

They all shared smiles, James drying his eyes with a tissue provided by Kathy as she dried her own. Joe just admired the scene of their synchronised actions, an indicator that the days of their differences were definitely relegated to the past.

"And my Erin is lucky to have such an honourable man for a grandfather…". James looked up to Joe. "… Orla too".

"I wouldn't call myself that son. I've done plenty of things in my life that I'm not proud of… but having you come into my family has been one of the best choices. You too Kathy".

They sat together for a short while discussing the situation with the Scanlons, though without the cloud of tension that Kathy's arrival serenaded. Antony's visit to the house was soon outed to the shocked young Englishman too. When the Scanlon's were arrested, he'd naturally assumed that all of them were guilty of whatever was to be conducted. Hearing of the tale Joe had only just found out that morning, of how Antony Scanlon was not the man everyone thought him to be, it flummoxed him. He still couldn't work out why they wanted him dead… and if they attacked him in the first place… why they did so. Most of the city hated him because of his accent… but violence was something he hadn't properly encountered in the time he'd been in the city. Maybe I said something to Danny… maybe I was rude when I didn't realise…

"And Orla doesn't know?" He asked Joe as the older man finished the story.

"No Son… and I'd rather ye said nothin'… I think it's better it comes from me and her ma".

"Of course… I agree. I hope it doesn't upset her too much".

"She's tough… ye know that". Joe smiled.

He chuckled at the comment, knowing just how tough Orla was. In truth, when he'd denied her the chance of doing the gardening job not long after being left in Derry, he knew she was tougher than he was. And she still was. In the month of March 1996, he'd got his arse kicked and nearly died. She'd won the Grand National on a two hundred to one shot that she'd never ridden before. It wasn't really a contest, even if his scientifically unexplainable recovery was thrown into the mix, he would still say she was stronger.

"Oh James, the stuff ye wanted me to get is coming on Thursday".

"Right… thanks mum".

Joe went to ask, but before he could, the officer appeared in the doorway again with a wide smile on his face.

"Erin's on her way up the corridor".

Having spoken to officer Collins earlier in the day about his beloved, the officer was happy for him that he had someone like her. Young love was adorable, even to an RUC man.

Kathy, who seemed to have the ability to read into the future, without the need of tarot cards like Sarah, moved back out of the way. With Joe already well to the side too, there was a clear path for Erin to follow to reach James. Advancing into the room with a smile on her face, it dropped quickly when she first saw her Granda and then Kathy sat at the sides. She'd fully expected to return to her wee English fella alone.

"Granda… Kathy…". Her brows furrowed.

"Hello Erin love…". Joe addressed her first. "… good day at school?"

"Ach… not bad Granda".

Her brows remained furrowed, unwilling to give up her suspicions with the scene she'd found on walking into his room. Kathy was due to arrive on Thursday, not Tuesday, so her presence was the main mystery, although Joe's was also odd.

"How are you Erin?" Kathy addressed her in a friendly manner.

"I'm grand thanks…". Erin nervously fiddled with a long strand of her hair. "… I wasn't expectin' to see ya until Thursday…".

"I…". Kathy stuttered slightly. "… I was contacted by the Inspector ye see… I was so worried for James that I wanted to come and see him". She explained.

"Oh. Right… ye… of course". Erin awkwardly answered.

Joe found his moment to once again speak up, his gaze falling upon Kathy on the opposite side to him in order to convey his point.

"We were just leavin' weren't we Kathy".

Understanding what Joe was doing, Kathy grinned, and confirmed to Erin with a nod that they were indeed about to head out… despite the fact they had not been. Saying goodbye to his granddaughter with a hug, Kathy gave James a big hug and kiss, promising that she would come and visit him the following day. The two exited, saying their goodbyes to officer Collins, who glanced back into the room knowing he would be acting as a human do not disturb sign for the next few minutes….

Danny Scanlon was proving a tough nut to crack. Ever since some of the team arrested him at his school the day before, he'd gone down the road of giving nothing away. The Inspector prided himself on his ability to wear a criminal down over time, especially the young and thoughtless ones like Danny, but this time he appeared to have met his match. No comment was the stock answer to absolutely everything when it came to the young man. According to the Police tape of their interview, his name was name was no comment, born on the no comment of no comment… no comment. His gender was no comment. A secondary plan was required.

His mother.

Mrs Scanlon was an emotional wreck. Antony tried to support her the best he could, but she was left with a lot of questions upon what was in the shed. The cops wouldn't tell her or her eldest too much so it was left for her and her eldest to deduce what her other sons were planning. The poor wee English fella, who'd nearly died earlier that month, was going to be finished off and her boys were going to do it. Having spent years attempting to correct the family name's reputation for the better, it was a hammer blow to the progress she'd made. Sitting down on the other side of the table to her son, the Detective Inspector and a different Constable watching through the one-way mirror, Mrs Scanlon tried to break through.

"Danny…". She could barely speak, tears dripping down her face.

"Go home ma!" He told her straight, arms crossed and unwilling to make eye contact.

"Danny… please… why…".

"I said go home ma. I'm sayin' nothin'".

She couldn't believe that he would be so callous. The family reputation was of theft and violence; murder was a step that no member of the Scanlon family had sank too. Yet it appeared if they hadn't had ran out of paint that Monday lunchtime, he would have been the first one to do so along with Brian. They were not the boys she brought up. Someone else had done this to them.

"Who did this to ye?" She wailed. "Made ye so horrible!"

"The Brits ma! Do ye not understand… these Brits are our enemies! Ireland needs to be free of their filthy grasp!"

She continued to sob in front of her son, the Constable asking the Inspector if they should pull her out, but he told them to wait. A riled-up Danny might give something away.

"Listen to yerself… I've never spoken like this. Filled ye with these… ideas".

"Ye don't see it ma… I do".

"See what Danny? I see a version of my son I don't know… and it's killin' me".

Her cries didn't seem to move Danny at all. At least on the exterior it appeared that way. Inside was a different matter entirely. His mother was so good to him, yet he was going to let her sit there and cry. The better nature of Danny Scanlon told himself to end the games, explain everything to his mother, then seek forgiveness. But there was the cause…

"Why…". She started again. "… why the young Maguire boy. What's he done to ye?"

That was a question Danny couldn't answer with anything. James's record with him was clean, there was nothing that the fella had done to provoke him, other than being a Brit. That was enough though.

"He's a Brit ma!"

"But why him!" She shouted through the tears.

He winced, looking away from the broken woman that was his mother, not wishing to see her makeup-stained face again. It was too hard to look at.

"He's got family… people who love him. What if it was you in his position… imagine what yer Moira would be feelin'".

"Don't you bring her into this!" He snapped, rounding on his mother.

He was totally uncooperative with her after snapping, unwilling to look her in the eye or speak to her. The Inspector noted his reaction to Moira's name cropping up… how he then refused to comply further. Moira O'Keefe's name had come up when they'd interviewed Antony the day before and was mentioned by Michelle Mallon during questions that he'd put to her at the Hospital. But when he'd interviewed her himself earlier that morning, the girl having not gone to school in order to do the interview, he was certain she was a mere innocent. The O'Keefe family weren't like the Scanlon's. They were good people who abided by the law, never being in trouble with the RUC throughout generations. The poor girl held genuine affection for Danny, being devasted by his arrest, shown through her tears during the interview. A good girl caught up with a bad boy.

Moving on from Danny, Mrs Scanlon was then sent in to face her other son. Brian was equally ineffective at garnering details from about their plans, but he was going about it very differently to his older brother. Instead of staying silent, Brian tried to lie his way out of custody, a foolish plan made by the least intelligent of the Scanlon boys. He falsified answers to every question instead of being silent like Danny, thinking in his mind that they would be convinced and release him. The night of James's attack, he'd said he was at home watching the television with Antony, but his brother's story contradicted it. Mrs Scanlon's story matched the one her eldest gave, which left her youngest in deep water, with no alibi for the time of the attack. Danny not talking didn't help him either. He was getting more and more flustered by the time the Constable who'd been on the case since day one, ceased the interview to allow Mrs Scanlon in. She was still shaking from her time in with Danny, looking down at her Brian in the hope that he would come clean to her instead.

"Ma…". He addressed her as she was brought in.

Sitting down opposite him, in the same manner in which she had with Danny, Mrs Scanlon found Brian to be far more affected by her grief.

"Brian… why…". She asked him the same question as she had done with his brother.

"We have to ma… it's the only way…".

Unlike Danny, there was raw emotion in his voice. He didn't want to see his mother crying, he never wanted to see her crying, yet he'd made her do so. If only she could see that the Brits had to be eliminated, driven away from a land that wasn't theirs.

"Killin' a young man… that's the only way?"

"I… I… d…".

"What love… what…". She pressed on through the sobs.

He was struggling to keep it together himself as his mother tried to force the truth from him. She only had his best interests at heart, or at least what she perceived them to be, he knew that. He couldn't tell her though. If he opened up, then he'd betray Danny and he couldn't bring himself to send his brother down with him. There was fear too. Telling the truth would mean telling the whole truth, and their mentor was a well-connected man. He'd forever be looking over his shoulder, whether it be in prison or out on the street. Not that he was bothered about betraying…

"Please Brian…". His mother stopped his thoughts.

"I can't ma… alright. You can't ever know why… and I'm not tellin' anyone". He tried to sound defiant, but the effort was tame.

"But that poor fella's innocent!" She argued.

"I know that!" He shouted back at her. "I know he's done nothin'… it's not me who decided to get him, yer askin' the wrong person…".

Realising he'd said too much, Brian looked away from his mother, in the hope she would lose patience and walk out. Undeterred by his squirming, Mrs Scanlon resolutely stayed sat there, studying her youngest son in an attempt to reach out. He was a fighter, the amount of phone calls she'd received from school over the years proved that, but this was a different fight to a playground dust up. Brian Scanlon was fighting his own emotions, a battle he'd never really fought before… one which he was acutely aware of losing. Their eyes locked again over the table a few seconds later, with the tears still falling down Mrs Scanlon's face.

"Don't cry ma… I hate it when ye cry".

"Is it any wonder?!" She yelled back at him. "Do ye know what yer doin' to me… you and Danny… I've given you boys everything I could, and this is how ye repay me! Yer father would be disappointed!".

At his mother's mention of the deceased Joseph Scanlon, Brian slammed his fist onto the desk. All he ever wanted to do was make his father proud. Hearing his mother's belief that he wouldn't have approved of their course of action, not only angered him, but ripped right through him to the core. She was pushing the right buttons in the way that only a mother could.

Brian Scanlon was reaching breaking point.

From behind the one-way mirror, the Detective Constable realised it too. The question was how long it would take for him to crack…

The grapevine was a handy tool.

A way for news to travel without being truly questioned.

In a city like Derry, where gossip was a currency of greater value than the money in a person's pocket, the grapevine was an essential way of life.

It couldn't kill anyone.

But it could assist in doing so.

And for one person in particular, it would.

Hearing through the grapevine that James Maguire was receiving around the clock protection from the cops prevented them from trying for the second night running at the Hospital. Their run to the correct corridor was spot perfect the night before, and there was no guarantee it would be a second time. Factoring in that the cops would be on high alert for anyone acting suspiciously in the Hospital, it would have been stupid to repeat the trick. So, a different plan was required.

The grapevine also suggested that the wee English fella would be released from Hospital at the end of that week, being sent back out into Derry to get on with his life. Except that didn't sit well with them. James couldn't be allowed to have any form of life, whether it be in Derry or Damascus… his story had to end here. The cops would no doubt charge Danny and Brian for conspiring to kill the Englishman and they'd relax their guard on him. That would be their time to strike, once he was back out into the community, without the shield of cops or the possibility of witnesses. It did require the Scanlon's to keep their mouths shut, but if they truly cared for the cause like they said they did, they would know it would be foolish to speak up.

There was a significant problem to contend with, however. Their mentor. They'd agreed to meet with their mentor on Wednesday night, ahead of the planned bombing of the barracks on Good Friday. Little did the mentor know, he'd be walking straight into a trap. The Scanlon's were keen to blow up the barracks and remove the soldiers from existence, but at no stage did they truly care. They would have done the job with them anyway, had things gone to plan, though their plans for the getaway were far different. When they'd got to a location where they could lie low, they'd have killed both the Scanlon's and the mentor when the time was right. They were all just means to an end after all, the end being that of James Maguire's life. Now that the boys were out of the picture, it left only the mentor who would have any suspicion that it was them. He may well have been a well-connected man, but he knew far too much when it came to the Englishman. He would have to die on Wednesday night because of it.

James being released from Hospital also opened the door for a more creative approach to his demise. Within the confines of a Hospital room there were only so many ways that they could end his life, and Erin's if required, but out in the open… the list was endless.

The plan to shoot him was always the obvious one… yet it was the one done so often to make a statement. It always did so… but they wanted this one to be special, to show the world just how much Ireland thought of the English.

Getting him off the street would be easy enough. His leg might have been broken according to the press, but one day he would walk again and overconfidently he'd no doubt do so alone. They could watch and wait, a proven tactic when it came to getting to James, before dragging him off the street to somewhere away from prying eyes. There was an abandoned set of garages that they knew well, where they'd often meet the boys or some of their other friends. They could keep him in there, tie him up, tape his mouth… and simply leave him to die. Not many people frequented the old garages, and by the time anyone would think to search for him there, he'd be a rotting corpse.

But then they wouldn't get to see it…

A repeat of the dark alley was an option too. Only this time the glass bottle would be replaced by a knife or a meat cleaver, in order to hack him to death. The streets would taste the blood of James Maguire again, the inferior blood of the bastard that dared to roam them. They might have to wait a bit longer in order to do it though, as the perfect night was far from easy to create, yet they could remember the feeling from the last time. It felt good.

But would he be foolish enough to walk down a dark alley alone again? Probably not…

Erin Quinn also offered herself up as a target. The grapevine offered the further news that she almost never left his side, apart from going to school, placing her in their path too. They didn't mind though. Erin was a traitor to Ireland, according to their mentor it was something that ran in the family… so she would have to die a traitor's death too. An Irish girl like her wasn't meant to give her love to an Englishman. It was criminal and she would have to face their judgement in the absence of a court.

They could kill her in front of James to really finish him. He would be broken up seeing his beloved die in front of his eyes, dying the very traitor's death that she deserved. There were so many ways in which they could kill her too. Even luring the two of them off the street to the very same set of garages was a distinct possibility. It wouldn't be like getting Michelle Mallon up there, that would be difficult, and she would present a far clearer physical danger than either of the lovers. Shooting Erin Quinn at point blank range would end up messy, but if James was tied up and forced to watch, it would be downright effective. They could then take their time with the wee English fella. Cut him slowly… watch him bleed out over time. It was amazing what you could learn about history from just a few words in a textbook. It would be self-taught lingchi that would ensure James's death as he begged for mercy…

There couldn't be mercy for him.

He was a sin, all the English were, but him more so than the rest of them.

They were baying for his blood.

They knew the truth.

The truth…

The truth…

THE TRUTH…

The evening of the 2nd April 1996 was a calm one.

In James's Hospital room on the top floor of the Altnagelvin, he was sat cuddling his Erin, like he had been for hours. They were joined by Gerry that evening, chatting away with his daughter and her boyfriend, laughing and joking about one thing or another. It was bizarre to be doing so, when James was having to be guarded every hour of the day, not that they gave it too much thought.

Erin came away from his side to go to the loo, leaving James a chance to ask Gerry a question that he'd been meaning to for a couple of days.

"How much did we win in the end?"

Referring to the bet he'd asked Gerry to make on Bogside Warrior, in advance of knowing that Orla would ride the horse, they'd not managed to find the time to discuss it in the days since. Choosing not to vocalise the amount, he instead handed over the winning betting slip, complete with the final amount. A jaw dropping amount.

"I thought it was a lot but…".

James could hardly believe his eyes at that amount. He'd never dreamt of such money, let alone having it for himself, yet all of it was his. The bet was his money, the money he was saving for something else, but wisely chose to place on Bogside Warrior that Saturday morning. Considering the hard times he'd seen and experienced financially, Kathy wasn't always flowing with money, the original amount for the bet itself was huge. The winnings were something else.

"It's in yer bank don't worry". Gerry laughed. "I'm not goin' to be jettin' off to the Bahamas with Mary".

"Joe wouldn't let you". James joked in return.

"Aye… even if we did, he'd track us down…".

James amused himself with the thought of Joe tracking Gerry down in the Bahamas, sneaking up on him as he enjoyed a drink at a beachside hut in the sun. Joe would be in his element doing that and James would love to see it in some ways. Albeit, he needed the money Gerry would have to use to do so, for a different matter entirely.

"I need another favour Gerry".

Tick tock

Across the city, back at home, Joe was having to contend with Michelle Mallon staying the night at the house. Clare was too, but despite her cack attacks, he could handle having her at the house for an extended period of time. However, he'd quickly found it to be a misjudgement when it came to his grumbles with Michelle, especially upon learning of her decision to become Orla's agent. He wasn't exactly approving when it was first mentioned, but quickly changed his tune when he realised how seriously Michelle was taking it. After school, she'd gone into the city centre and purchased a diary as well as plenty of other equipment. Spending some time on the phone with Frankie, she made a list of all of the race meetings in Ireland and Britain for the following two weeks in the notes section of the diary. On the diary pages themselves, Michelle confirmed with Frankie, Orla stood next to her, all of the rides she'd been booked for during the Easter holidays. Orla soon went away again, leaving Michelle to continue on the phone for another half hour.

Walking back into the living room, she expected to be verbally lacerated by Joe for spending so long on the phone and was subsequently surprised when he said absolutely nothing.

"All done Michelle?" Clare asked.

"Aye". She replied. "Gather round girls".

Michelle lay down on her front on the floor, putting the diary out in front of the three of them, Clare and Orla taking a side each, copying her prone position.

"You've got nothin' at the weekend because of what ye ma said".

Sarah insisted that Orla stay at home with the family until Monday, with multiple church services to attend as well as James's imminent release from Hospital. Orla was contented to do so, with Frankie's only runner that weekend being ridden by Paul instead.

"Yer doin' Fairyhouse from Monday through to Wednesday…".

"Three days?" Orla gave her an inquisitive look.

"Aye, Paul came in when I was still onto Frankie and said he'd taken some more calls for trainers wanting ye to ride for them. I've got ye a place to stay for a couple of nights…".

Orla's face lit up at the news. As expected, Orla's availability was wanting to be capitalised on when she was off school and every trainer in Ireland appeared to be aware of it.

"So, ye've got five rides on Monday, three on Tuesday and then another two so far on Wednesday. I've given Paul me number and the number for school, so if ye get anymore in the next couple of days, I'll see about fitting 'em in".

"What about weights Michelle?" Orla quizzed.

"Most of them are low weights Paul was sayin'. From the bottom or outside of the handicap… whatever the fuck that means. So don't be eatin' too many Wham bars ye hear?"

The girls sat talking about the Easter week ahead for Orla for another hour, Mary joining Joe in watching the excitement they generated from planning. They were having the time of their lives in that living room, mapping out the path for Orla in her chosen career.

The future seemed so bright.

But every bright light was born out of darkness…

Nine o'clock on Wednesday morning brought with it the breakthrough that the Detective Inspector was looking for. Sending Mrs Scanlon in at first didn't appear to have worked, but after sleeping on it, it was suddenly paying dividends.

"Mr Scanlon". He said as he sat down opposite him. "Ye want to speak to me".

"Aye".

"Ye have something to confess?"

"Yes. I want to tell ye everythin' that has happened and everythin' that was going to".

The breaking point had been reached.

Chapter Text

Chapter 28: The Death of James Maguire 3rd April 1996

The mood on the school bus that morning was good. With their French homework completed, following the assistance of Jenny and Aisling's notes, the gang were able to relax for the morning, which started with a double History lesson with Mr Flanagan. Even though they were doing a practice paper in the first part of the double lesson, they'd all knuckled down in his lessons and were confident in passing. The conversation was mostly led by Michelle, who was still pouring all of her own focus into organising Orla's Easter week.

When the phone rang at the Mallon house at two o'clock in the morning, Kathy shot out of bed, immediately fearing something had happened to James. Deirdre joined her too, as well as Michelle, and it was the latter who the phone call turned out to be for, rather than anything to do with the wee English fella. The life of a jockey's agent didn't stop when it was time for bed. The phone call gained another two rides for Orla that week, ensuring that after her three days at Fairyhouse, she would have Thursday at Ballinrobe. She wouldn't need to stay overnight there though, as she would be back to the amateur ranks to ride for Frankie on the Friday, at a course just outside Antrim. Joe would be her faithful driver and supporter as normal throughout the week, and once she turned seventeen, which was only a few weeks away, Orla would be learning to drive too. It would be essential if she was going to be a professional.

Walking into school, they were chuckling away to themselves.

"I bet yer ma was fumin'". Erin snorted.

"Ach Christ, like ye wouldn't believe!" Michelle complained. "Aunt Kathy was no better either… moanin' that it was ruinin' her beauty sleep".

"She is a beautiful woman". Clare pointed out.

As Clare was walking along without thinking about her comment, the other three stopped dead in their tracks, though Orla only did so to follow along. She had no idea why they'd stopped.

"What?" Clare turned back to look at them when she realised that they were no longer with her.

"Ye can't ride me Aunt, Clare!" Michelle hissed at her.

"What! I don't want to ride yer aunt!" She hissed back, blushing.

"Ye did just say she was beautiful Clare". Erin added in Michelle's defence.

"It's all in the eyebrows ye know…". Orla mused her own thoughts. "… mammy says those eyebrows could kill if they wanted to".

However, Clare did want to scream and tell them how ridiculous they all sounded. Kathy Maguire was a beautiful woman… she was just stating the obvious. It didn't mean that she wanted to ride her or held any form of attraction to her beyond the bounds of friendship. She was James's ma after all… that would be disgusting!

"For heaven's sake, it was just a compliment".

"Ye well… I'm watchin' ye now".

Michelle gestured with her hands at the same time, with Clare huffing and turning to walk away again, with the three of them catching up to her a second later. They were heading towards their usual spot that morning, with fifteen minutes until assembly was due to start. However, as they rounded the corridor that led to their table, the tannoy blared out.

"Michelle Mallon to reception please, to reception please… Michelle Mallon".

Erin frowned at the announcement, but following the events of the night before, the other three knew exactly what it was about. Orla's agent was required to answer the school phone.

"Right I best be off then, duty calls. I'll let ye know what it's about when I'm back Orla".

"Aye thanks Michelle…". She replied, giving her a pat on the shoulder before she left in the direction of reception. "… I'm goin' to the loo".

"Come on Clare, let's go and sit down". Erin said to her fellow blonde.

Splitting up, Orla headed on around the corner from their seats in order to reach the toilets further down the next corridor.

She did not see the pair of eyes that followed her.

Orla was in front of the mirror after going to the loo, checking a little cut she'd sustained the prior morning after taking a fall at the stables. She was aboard the horse she'd be riding for Frankie in the holidays, bowling along nicely until they reached the last jump of the session. The horse seemed to be spooked by something and hit it hard, sending Orla crashing to the turf face first. Paul dismounted his mount immediately to go over to her, finding her mostly intact bar the slight cut under her right eye. It was so insignificant that even her hawk-eyed Aunt Mary hadn't spotted it when she returned home the night before and it didn't really hurt either. Satisfied that it was healing, Orla went to pick up her bag again when the door opened, and another student entered the toilets.

Moira O'Keefe.

Having not been in school that Tuesday, they discussed Moira on the bus as well that morning. They didn't think they'd see her for the rest of the week with Danny being arrested, predicting the devastation it would cause her. Not that they were bothered about it, though they were smart enough girls not to pick a fight with Moira upon her return. They didn't need to say anything to her, and she didn't need to say anything to them.

"Ach, alright there Moira". Orla asked pleasantly enough, immediately shattering that logic.

"Morning Orla". The response was a grumbled one.

"Ye alright? I heard about what happened with Danny…".

Orla's voice trailed off as she watched Moira's expressions flicker between anger and sadness. She could understand why she would hold those emotions, not expecting for one minute that her fella would be so cruel when it came to James.

"Aye… it's been tough". The hint of a smile hugged at the corner of Moira's lips.

"I know what it's like after what we've been through with James. At least it's all nearly over…".

Orla didn't understand the next expression that Moira produced, so it left her frowning. The girl, much smaller than her, was almost looking up and grinning at her. With such sadness over Danny, and the horrible weeks the girls had been through with James, she didn't know where the happiness could have come from. Then again, Moira didn't like James that much. She was always laying into the girls about him, Erin taking the brunt of the comments, but grinning at what she'd said still felt very out of place.

"Ye think it's over?"

Moira was almost chuckling, which was really confusing Orla. It was just the two of them in the bathroom at that point in time, preventing Orla from asking anyone else about why Moira was saying what she was saying and acting how she was acting. She wasn't as skilled at reading people as her friends were; they would all know what was going on whereas she didn't.

"I… I don't… understand…".

Grinning again, Moira seemed to be taking pleasure in Orla's confusion. She still couldn't work out why the little O'Keefe girl was acting as if it were the best thing in the world. She might have hated James… but surely, she didn't wish any harm up on him, as that would be nasty like the Scanlon boys were.

"Ye think everythin' will be fine… nothin' else will happen to James?"

"Aye… yer Danny and his wee brother will be in the jail soon ye know… they can't hurt him from in there".

"Who said that it was only them?"

Orla searched her mind, until it snagged on the thought that only Clare had ever truly given any airing to in the past few weeks… surely Moira wasn't involved…

"Confused ye have I?" Moira mocked, though Orla was that befuddled, she didn't register it.

"Aye ye have". She answered sincerely.

"The Scanlon boys aren't smart enough to create a plan to kill James and get away with it. Christ, Brian can barely tie his own shoelaces!"

"I…".

"Oh Orla… the Grand National winning retard".

That description had been levelled at her in the past, and it always made Sarah and Mary very angry when she told them that someone had referred to her with it. She knew it was designed to hurt her, attack the way that she approached life, outside of the normal bounds of the academic method. Moira might have held the edge in the classroom, but there was no way she could steer a two hundred to one shot round to win a Grand National.

"But yer in love with Danny?" Orla questioned, trying to forget the prior barb.

"Really?" Moira produced an extended snort. "Danny and Brian have both been useful, but love… hah! Ye really have no idea about me do ye?"

Now Orla believed she understood. Suddenly the lack of anyone else in the bathroom unsettled her, especially as Moira stood between her and the exit. There was no way out for Orla.

"Leave James alone!" She challenged.

"Finally caught up have we… that's grand… that's grand". Moira paused to cackle, her mind moving onto what she wanted to do to the wee English fella. "… but ye can't stop me Orla".

"I won't let ye hurt him!"

Orla bravely took a step forward to close the gap to Moira, who stood her ground, a dastardly bout of borderline psychotic giggling taking over.

"James is going to die. He HAS to die!"

"No he does not!" She argued back, shuffling nervously.

The nervous shuffling was something that Moira noted, and was quick to move away from mentioning James and re-focus on Orla.

"Don't worry yerself Orla…". Moira began to almost dance around her, frightening the usually free-spirited young McCool. "… I wouldn't hurt such a hero to Ireland. We're on the same side… it wouldn't do me any good to even lay a scratch on ye…".

Swallowing hard, she never took her eyes off of Moira, who strode around the bathroom with the widest smile that she'd ever seen across her face. Orla didn't want this to be about her though; this was about James and she wasn't going to stand there and let Moira get away with it, no matter what the cost may be.

"I'll tell Sister Michael!" She shouted at her.

"And why would she believe you?" Moira's vicious, teasing tone, put further fright into her. "Ye might have the world's press on ye every five fuckin' minutes, but yer still Orla McCool who talks shite half the time. As if anyone would believe anything ye would say about anything. Everyone knows yer fucking stupid'… livin' in the clouds. Ye couldn't prove it anyway…".

Moira was now stood before her, with only a short gap between the two of them. Orla's bag lay to her right side, still perched between the two sinks where she'd left it. She couldn't let Moira get away with it, and if the threat of Sister Michael wasn't enough to stop her, then there had to be something else. In a mad rush, a split-second decision that held the power to destroy everything she'd achieved, Orla resorted to the one thing she'd been warned never to do. Reaching into her bag, she retrieved an object of great importance to her.

One of the knives from her collection.

Her hands were shaking as she pulled it up towards Moira, who seemed to freeze on the spot. Moira took a step back, with Orla feeling a deep sickness in the depths of her stomach at the action she was performing. She knew it was wrong, that it was against the law to be threatening Moira in such a manner… but Moira wanted to kill James and Orla couldn't let that happen either. The young O'Keefe was like a rabbit in the headlights in front of her, the polar opposite to how she'd been just moments before. Fearing Orla's wrath.

But there was a reason why Moira O'Keefe was top of the Drama class.

The false mask of fear she'd presented was torn asunder, redundant after having hidden her braggadocio for a mere minute. It rose back to the surface, manifesting itself in the form of a cacophonous bout of laughter, ripping out from the bottom of her lungs.

"Just how I wanted it". She smirked.

Orla's ears twigged on the sound of an approaching Sister Michael. She didn't need to hear her voice from outside, as the distinctive footsteps were thundering towards the door. She quickly threw the knife back into the bag, only just having time before Sister Michael appeared in the girl's toilets, with Moira's two loyal friends stood with her. They didn't know the details when it came to the plan to kill James, as they were so loyal, they would do anything Moira asked them to. Anything at all.

"What's going on!?" The Sister questioned. "The girls are telling me you've threatened Miss O'Keefe, Miss McCool".

"She's got a knife sister!" Moira screeched.

Sister Michael visibly paled as the accusation was made, her glare boring into the terrified Orla, who looked like she was going to burst into tears.

"That is a serious accusation Miss O'Keefe. I hope it is not one made lightly!"

"Check her bag Sister, there's a knife in there!"

Moira's performance worked as intended, Sister Michael transitioning into a set of military like instructions in order to handle the situation that she was presented with.

"You two girls". She pointed at Moira's friends. "Find Miss Mooney now and bring her here".

"Yes Sister Michael". They answered in unison.

She pointed to the corner and flicked her head in Moira's direction to let her know to stand there, putting distance between her and Orla. Moira smirked as she passed the head mistress.

"Ye best give me yer bag Miss McCool".

Orla hesitated, eyes darting over to the still smirking Moira, before focusing again on the insistent Sister Michael, who held an arm out ready to accept the bag. Reluctantly, Orla picked it up and placed it into her hands.

Waiting for Miss Mooney to arrive, Moira kept her exterior emotions in check, but inside she was revelling from the scenario she'd manufactured.

She couldn't take Orla McCool's life.

But she could ruin it.

Erin was beginning to get worried for her cousin. Orla had been gone for nearly ten minutes, and with assembly only a couple of minutes away, she was considering going to find her. Clare too was aware of the time that had past, fretting herself at the thought that Orla could have gotten into trouble without them there to steer her away from it. They eyed Miss Mooney with suspicion as she stormed past them with Moira's two close friends snapping away at heels, being smirked at by the pair of them. Please not trouble with them…

Fate's decision was to bring the answer about Orla to them though, as Aisling appeared through a crowd of students at pace. She looked Clare-esque, cacking herself as thoroughly as the diminutive blonde, which only heightened their concerns.

"What's the craic Aisling?" Erin engaged her straight away as she drew up to the table.

"It's Orla…". She blurted out, breathing heavily.

"WHAT!?" Erin instinctively flared up with an underlying fear for her cousin.

"I…".

"Aisling what is it?" The equally nervous Clare pried.

"She… she threatened Moira O'Keefe with a knife in the toilets… Sister Michael's in there…".

It was the worst possible news for Erin. She was supposed to look after Orla to prevent situations like this occurring; one lapse in judgement later and it was too late. Her mother would crucify her when she found out Orla was left alone to go off to the loo without anyone looking out for her. She could feel her stomach churn as her mind played out the likely ending of what would happen, regardless of whether she'd threatened Moira or not. Erin would have given anything to have James by her side at that moment. He would always know what to do, how to guide her to see them all safely out on the other side of the trouble. He couldn't be there though, so she would have to face it with Clare and Michelle, whenever the latter was finished on the phone.

"Oh my god…". Clare's jaw dropped open.

"SHIT!" Erin began to shout. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

"What are we gunna do!?" Clare shrieked.

Appearing in the distance, Michelle's face was emblazoned with a wide smile, unmoved as she weaved her way through the now busy corridors. But as she reached her friends, the smile disappeared when the tears in Erin's eyes were registered by hers.

"What's up?" She asked Erin.

"It's Orla…".

"What!?"

Erin and Clare looked at Aisling, who quickly revealed what she'd heard to Michelle, who was staring almost into her soul. Michelle couldn't believe it. Orla could have thrown everything away. If she truly threatened Moira with a knife, and Sister Michael caught her in the act, she could be looking at serious trouble with the cops. Her reputation would be ruined, leaving Michelle out of a job too. Disaster… a complete and utter disaster.

"For fuck's sake…".

"She might go to prison!" Clare's cack attack was reaching maximum velocity.

"Fuckin' Moira… bitch is probably lyin'!"

"What if she's not Michelle?" The tearful Erin retorted. "My ma's goin' to kill me".

There was a commotion from around the corner, with the girls looking up to see Sister Michael approaching, a fearful Orla trailing in her wake. Miss Mooney was a little behind them, Moira and her two friends accompanying her.

"Orla!" Michelle tried to address her, standing in front of her and Sister Michael.

"Move out of the way Miss Mallon". Sister Michael commanded.

Michelle stayed planted, a foolish attempt at defying the head mistress, who was having none of it.

"Now!"

Grumbling, Michelle moved to the side to allow them to pass. The pausing in their walk allowed Erin to search her cousin with her eyes, her own fears growing further when she saw the terrified look on Orla's face. It told her of guilt too. She'd always told Orla to leave her knives at home, believing that the instruction had almost always been followed too, as she never saw them at school.

It hadn't been… and Moira capitalised on it.

Sister Michael's morning was not the one she was hoping for. Having expected to have a morning going through the school finances and signing off some invoices, she was instead dealing with one student apparently threatening another with a weapon. A student who also happened to be the most talked about girl in the world over the last few days, who's career was very much in the head mistress's hands. She was yet to venture into Orla McCool's bag, deciding to hear Moira's side of the story first to delay the inevitable. There could be no bias towards the jockey, even if she held her in great admiration, and the Sister knew the bag would have to be searched.

"Sit down Miss O'Keefe". She instructed Moira as they walked into her office.

One of the other teachers took statements from Moira's friends whilst Miss Mooney went to her office with the distraught Orla. As soon as they were away from the rest of the students, Orla began to cry her eyes out. Moira had stitched her up perfectly. Allowed a chance to finish the job, Moira was ready to put the nails in Orla's coffin with her own statement. No one would take Orla's word over hers with the young McCool known for her bizarre outbursts… it would be ever so easy.

Sister Michael retrieved a pen and a notepad, ready to take down the statement of events from Moira's side to compare with Orla's later.

"From the start, tell me what happened".

Moira took a deep breath. This was where the fun began.

"I… I…". She feigned upset, Sister Michael pointing to the tissues at the side of her desk in response. "… I was going into the toilets with my girls, Sister. J-just minding me own business, so I was…".

Good… so good… it felt so good. She was going to bury Orla McCool forever.

"… I said hello to Orla…".

"Where we you stood?" The Sister interjected.

"Me and the girls were stood about where ye found me earlier. Orla was stood in front of the sinks".

Sister Michael continued to make her notes, Moira ceasing her despicable fabrication in order for the head mistress to get every detail.

"Carry on".

"She… well I reckon this stardom has got to her head ye know… because she said 'I don't talk to the likes of you's' anymore'… I asked why she was bein' rude and… can I use the word she used?"

"For this delicate matter, you may". Sister Michael nodded.

"She told me to fuck off".

Having reared back in surprise, Sister Michael found Moira confirming her words with a nod, a deliberately overdramatic one on the part of Miss O'Keefe. Settling back down after a brief interlude, she indicated for Moira to continue.

"Then she told us to move out the way before we got hurt. I… I told her not to talk to us like that and the girls agreed with me… but they were scared ye know and said they were comin' to get ye… and then…".

The pause was for the waterworks to be turned on, crocodile tears escaping from the corners of Moira's eyes, to be dabbed at with another tissue taken from the box on the desk. The Sister was sympathetic, putting her hand over Moira's to comfort her.

"What happened next Moira?"

"… then sh-… then she….". The waterworks were overflowing. "… she reached into her bag when the girls left… and… pulled out a knife… and held it to my throat…".

With her voice cracking open and her body shivering, Moira was acting out her own script to complete perfection. When everything was over, James dead and the Brits driven away, she would become an actress… Ireland's leading actress, a career with success written all over it.

"I need you to be telling me the honest truth here Moira…". The Sister took a serious tone with her. "… Orla McCool held a knife to yer throat… that is the honest truth?"

"It is Sister". Moira confirmed stoutly.

There were a couple of minutes of silence as Sister Michael completed the notes from Moira's side of the story. She wouldn't know it yet, but the story would be a very different one to the tale that would be told by Orla, but Moira wasn't worried about that. Her story would be the one that was believed.

Escorting her to a nearby classroom, to be supervised by Miss Mooney after she'd brought Orla to the Sister, she could sit back and relax.

Orla McCool would soon be out of the way.

Their group shattered.

The death of James Maguire began to look even more simplistic….

The most inconvenient assembly of all time took place for the girls that morning.

Jenny wasn't singing for once, which gave their eardrums a rest, but their heads were all spinning. They needed to get to see Orla, find out exactly what took place in the loo's that morning, wanting to know which planet she was on to start threatening Moira with a knife... or to find out how much shite O'Keefe was talking.

"Come on for fuck's sake…". Michelle moaned under her breath.

Mrs O'Meara, their Geography teacher, was the most senior member of staff not dealing with the incident, so in the assembly, it was up to her to read out the notices that morning. Unlike Sister Michael though, she enjoyed a bit of a ramble, every minute of her speaking feeling like a lifetime.

At quarter past nine it was finally over, with the three of them heading straight for Sister Michael's office, leaving Jenny and Aisling to pass on their excuses to Mr Flanagan. The two of them were apprehensive to do so, but Michelle could be very persuasive when she wanted to be, the two finding the confidence to do so as they sprinted off in the direction of the History classroom. Michelle, Erin and Clare weren't saying anything to each other, not needing to, the three of them sharing the same thoughts almost telepathically.

The most worried of all was Michelle, viewing the incident as a catastrophe for the group, and rather selfishly, her own ambitions. Despite only having spent one evening on the job, she was enjoying every minute of acting as an agent for Orla. She still needed an official agent's license to do so, but whilst Orla was an amateur, she could get away without one. Everyone who'd rang so far had treated her as if she did hold an agent's license, a miracle in her mind given the agency game was mostly occupied by men. The latest phone call found her mixing in a circle she'd never have thought of mixing in, in a million years. It was from Buckingham Palace; the Queen wanted to meet Orla. As she was booking an appointment on the jockey's behalf with Her Majesty, Orla decided to book one with the RUC.

"Girls!"

Mr Flanagan's voice boomed down the corridor as they neared Sister Michael's office, the three of them stopping dead in their tracks at being caught.

"Where do ye think yer going?"

He was no fool. He'd already heard all about the incident, having been briefed quickly by Miss Mooney in the minute or so before the start of the assembly. Throughout it, he eyed the gang from afar, anticipating that they wouldn't be hanging around after they were dismissed from the main hall. They couldn't get involved at this point, it was a matter that could only be dealt with by speaking with the people present and they were not those people. Orla would have to fend for herself.

"Sister Michael's office". Erin answered.

"She's not acceptin' visitor's girls… ye'll have to come back to class with me".

"Oh I don't fuckin' think so!"

Michelle turned on her heels to go, the girls following suit. However, they got no further than a couple of feet away, when a sight they dreaded appeared on the horizon. Sister Michael's door was opened, and loud sniffles could be heard. Three people marched out into the corridor a second later, their backs to the girls, but the unmistakable figure of Orla was one of them. The other two were wearing RUC uniforms. It was only after another second, that they realised Orla was being led away in handcuffs, towards the main exit of the school.

"No…". Erin gasped, overcome with panic.

"FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!" Michelle shouted, punching the wall in anger.

Clare didn't say anything, allowing the tears that flowed down her face to describe her feelings at that moment in time. Orla's career was over, the press would soon get hold of the story and then Michelle really wouldn't want to be her agent.

"Girls…". Mr Flanagan tried to be reassuring, but even his dulcet tones did nothing to ease their pain. ".. we'll discuss this in the classroom… but ye need to come with me now".

With their backs against the wall, they could only accept his terms and concede defeat upon seeing Orla led away.

They'd stopped just outside the classroom that Miss Mooney watched over Moira in. She didn't dare show it the deputy head, but inside, having heard every word of what was being said outside and interpreting it to mean Orla was done for, she felt on top of the world.

Moira O'Keefe had won the battle… it was time for her to win the war.

After another twenty minutes or so in with Miss Mooney, Sister Michael returned to the classroom to retrieve Moira. She was expecting to be sent back to class after assuming Orla was led away, finding it a surprise when they instead returned to the headmistress's office. Moira took her seat in front of the desk, which had changed in appearance to when she'd last seen it. There were two glasses on it, as well as a jug full of orange juice and a plate of biscuits. Chuckling to herself beneath her breath, it was not only easy putting Orla McCool out of the picture, but she was also getting rewarded for it too. God was on her side.

"Moira…". The Sister started, staying stood up just behind her desk, her hands on the back of the chair. "… I've had ye back in as I thought it was best to run through what has happened since we last spoke".

"Oh right… of course".

Sister Michael took her seat a second later, reaching for one of the glasses and pouring herself some of the orange juice. Gesturing to Moira if she would like some too, the student dipped her head in reply, with the glass being handed over a few seconds later. It was usually their group that were given friendly treatment by the head mistress, though she doubted they'd ever been given OJ and biscuits. Both Moira and Sister Michael reached for a biscuit from the plate, quickly selecting their preferred choices. Sister Michael finished hers without hesitation, in order to get on with what she had to say.

"There is evidence to suggest Orla was aggressive to you, so I've dealt with the matter. She won't be botherin' ye anymore". She explained.

"Thank ye Sister…". Moira said with a mouthful of biscuit. "… I was so scared I was…".

"No student should ever feel unsafe at Our Lady Immaculate, I'm sorry that ye were put into a position where ye were".

"It isn't yer fault Sister".

"But I have a duty of care to you as a student Moira, as much as all of you children frustrate me". Sister Michael sighed dramatically. "Whilst we're on that subject, I've been meanin' to see if ye were okay after yesterday. I know it must have been difficult to hear of what Mr Scanlon was planning…".

"I'm fine!" Moira quickly replied to try to end that line of conversation.

"Are ye sure Moira?"

"Yes… I mean… I didn't know anythin' about it or why they wanted to hurt him". She lied in return… what a glorious lie!

"The papers say they attacked him in the first place…". Sister Michael continued to push on the matter.

"Like I said… I don't know anything". Moira huffed slightly, hoping the head mistress would take the hint and move on. "It's not like I've asked him about why they hit James on the head and stabbed him… why would I?"

There was a brief cessation of conversation after she asked the question, watching as Sister Michael shifted in her seat. It was frustrating for Moira that the Sister brought Danny up. She didn't care about him anymore, with his destiny to rot away in jail, unable to give her up because he loved her too much. And he'd never find out it wasn't reciprocated.

"My apologies Miss O'Keefe, I went a little too far there".

"No bother Sister". She smiled. "Can I go back to class now?"

"I just have one more question Moira".

Forcing another smile out, though internally she was cursing the head mistress for keeping her even longer, Moira decided to have another biscuit. If she was being made to stay, then she would at least ensure she remained well-fed for the rest of the time she occupied Sister Michael's office.

"What are ye goin' to do after ye leave school?"

It was a strange question, unrelated to anything that happened that morning, but it didn't do any harm to her plans to tell Sister Michael about wanting to become an actress.

"I… I want to go to actin' school".

"Acting?" The head mistress chuckled. "I had a friend at school who wanted to become an actress… she was very good… dedicated to it and besotted with the idea".

"Who is she? Is she famous?"

"No". The Sister solemnly confirmed. "Ye see, she was also besotted with a young man at the same time, but he was a bad egg, so he was. A real troublesome fella…".

Moira's confusion rose as to why Sister Michael was telling her the story. Sure, Moira might have been with Danny, and he was going to be seen as trouble, but he wasn't actually that bad. It was her who held the evil in their circle.

"What happened?" The now curious Moira asked.

"The fella was arrested for attempted murder. He'd left her pregnant as well, so she went away to have her baby in shame… I've never heard from her again".

Emotion that Moira didn't think Sister Michael possessed, appeared all along the head mistress's face, from the corners of her eyes to the smooth ridge of her bottom lip.

"But ye've not gone down that road have ye Moira…".

A seriously confused Moira scrunched her nose in response, unable to understand where Sister Michael's comment fitted in with her.

"I have something to show ye".

Sister Michael rose from her seat after speaking, using her finger to gesticulate that Moira should follow her. She moved over to the window behind her desk, standing with her hands together behind her back like a General watching over the troops. Tentatively, Moira edged over to the window too, as confused as Orla had been when she'd tricked her in the toilets that morning. It was almost as if… no… no… NO!

Outside in the car park, instead of finding Orla in the back of an RUC vehicle, she was found with two people Moira recognised from the TV. Frank Flanagan and Paul O'Meara. And when she poked her head even further forward, the rest of the girls were out there with Mr Flanagan.

The trap was sprung.

Moira was caught in it… with no way out.

"But…".

Moira tried to string words together, but they wouldn't come out. How…

"It's amazing what a handily placed classroom and a key to the drama costume cupboard can achieve isn't it?"

Sister Michael did not take her eyes off of the girls outside as she spoke, registering Moira's reaction only out of the corner of her left. There was silence for another twenty seconds as the student tried to think what to do, but she was brutally exposed in that room and could only panic. Then, with a face of fury, Sister Michael turned to her.

"Did ye really think yer bluster would work with me Miss O'Keefe!"

She couldn't respond… she was on the ropes… everything was coming apart. It couldn't though… James had to die…. HE HAD TO!

"I…".

"Yer story was such utter stupidity… and I let ye think I'd believed it. But not for one minute was I buying that rubbish!".

Moira started to step backwards, her brain automatically telling her to sit back down, without her conscience having any say on it.

"Ye never asked me why I took so long to come back to ye?" Sister Michael stayed on her feet but moved away from the window.

"I… I guessed ye were phonin' her parents". Moira answered in an odd whimper.

"No. I was going to be contacting yer parents, but it turns out the Royal Ulster Constabulary had beaten me to it. It's over Moira, they're comin to arrest ye".

If Orla would have stabbed her with the knife that morning, it would have been less painful than knowing that the house of cards had collapsed. It must have been Brian who betrayed her… being the thickest, they'd probably tricked him into a confession… into revealing who the real driving force was in the group.

"But she did threaten me!" Moira tried to protest. "The knife was in her bag!"

"Ach the knife…". Sister Michael tilted her head slightly to recognise the good point.

Opening the drawer to her desk, Moira, to her horror, could already guess what was about to be said. She thought she was good at planning, but Sister Michael was giving her a masterclass in the art of how to do it to perfection.

"You mean the one I leant to Orla's Uncle Colm for the Church bingo night…". The head mistress held it aloft for Moira to see, smiling at the girl. "… she was just returnin' it on his behalf… terrible night at the bingo though…".

That was the only deflector that Moira could cling to; with it ripped aside, she had nothing. Absolutely nothing. Unrelenting in her dismissal of her, Sister Michael continued.

"The Monday after James's attack, I stood in that assembly hall and made something very clear… do ye remember what it was Moira?"

"No". Moira, who'd regained some composure, spoke almost dismissively in return.

"I said that if I found any of ye to be withholdin' information from myself or the cops, that you'd never step foot in this school again. I intend to keep that promise".

"I did nothin' to him". She defiantly held onto the lie she'd formed.

"Oh but ye did Moira…". Sister Michael corrected her, totally in control of the situation. "… ye said to me earlier that ye'd never asked Mr Scanlon about hitting James over the head or stabbing him".

Moira's eyes narrowed as the Sister narrated just how badly that the young O'Keefe had been played that morning… how she'd gone and fucked everything up.

"The cops never released the detail about James's head injury. Don't get me wrong, I'm no Detective, but I'm no fool Moira. Only someone who was there could have known that. That's what I'll be tellin' the Detective Inspector anyway".

She froze again, unable to comprehend how foolish the comment had been. In her overconfidence from everything going so well, she'd put her foot in it, and Sister Michael wasn't in need of any wising up when it came to outwitting her.

"You have to pick two things carefully Moira". Sister Michael started to monologue again. "Your battles and your friends… ye failed at both".

"Ye don't understand". Moira sneered.

"I'm not sure if I want to understand what is going on in yer head if I'm honest. Ye failed because you thought I'd just accept what you said as gospel, that Orla acting how she does would make me discredit her story… that I wouldn't care whether it cost her a career. But she has the right friends, whereas you… you don't. When you pick a fight with those girls, yer also picking a fight with me".

"Yer a teacher… ye can't take sides!" Moira shouted.

"Well I have. So, there you have it. Some gentlemen from the RUC will be along in a moment to take ye away".

"Why them!" The student shouted again. "Why do ye stick up for them and that English bastard! He's the enemy! A FUCKING SIN!"

"No… No he's not Moira". Sister Michael shook her head. "England might not be the best neighbour, but you are a bully, and I don't defend yer kind".

Those were the final words said in Sister Michael's office, as multiple officers of the RUC arrived. A quick search of Moira revealed no weapons, and she was read her rights before being taken away to face the justice she so richly deserved.

It was up to the Detective Inspector to find the answer to a question that Sister Michael didn't want to understand from Moira.

Why James Maguire?

Taking another day off work, Gerry was already eating into his holiday allowance for the year, though as it was for James, he wasn't too bothered. In a different job, he could have done half a day, as his favour for the Englishman wouldn't be completed until the afternoon. In Gerry's line of work though, it was difficult to do so, but his boss, who'd been very good to him throughout the weeks of James's hospitalisation, was very understanding. He didn't tell his boss the exact favour James had asked of him, as an added part of the favour was not to tell anyone at all about what he was doing. He appreciated James wanting it to be kept a secret though… it wouldn't be much of a surprise if he told any of the others. Especially Sarah.

Tick Tock

He wasn't the only one present at the house though. Joe was home as always, the two of them already arguing over the washing up, with Joe insisting it wasn't good enough and that Gerry needed to do it again. It didn't help matters when Gerry pointed out that the items that fell short of Joe's standards, were the ones washed up by his father in-law himself. If they were alone in the house, it could have led to blows, but luckily for the rest of the family's sake, Mary was at home to prevent it getting any further than the verbally aggressive stage. Baby Anna was happily playing on the living room floor, and she was joined by the other person at the house that morning.

Kathy.

Mary was hesitant at letting her play with Anna at first, but Gerry waved away her arguments, which proved to be the right decision as Anna was having a great time with her. Mary never imagined Kathy to have any motherly traits about her, not with how she'd appeared to have raised James for years, providing a welcome surprise when Anna's first laughs sounded.

Those laughs ceased a few seconds after Mary picked up the phone.

"Oh… mornin' Inspector".

The Inspector had phoned for her or Joe first, despite not knowing Kathy was there, as he'd seen enough of the structure of their lives to know that Mary or her father were the leaders. Confirming that Kathy was present too, he was confident in giving Mary the details about Moira's arrest and the Scanlon confession that started the process. The rest of them listened in as much as they could, but Mary didn't do too much speaking, leaving the officer to run through everything without commenting unless she had to. They heard the phone go down, with Mary arriving back in the living room a couple of seconds later.

Tick Tock

"They've made another arrest".

"What!?" Gerry replied to his wife in shock.

"Aye. One of the Scanlon boys decided to tell them everythin'. There was a girl involved, one that our girls go to school with".

Joe paled as the thought of his granddaughters having been directly in danger for so long entered his mind. They were sharing the same classrooms as someone who wanted to kill James, who could have easily killed them. It was sickening.

Tick Tock

"Are the girls alright?" Kathy asked from her spot on the floor.

"Aye they're fine". Mary confirmed. "Not too surprised about who it is though…".

"What do ye mean love?" Joe frowned as he asked.

"Well the family might be alright, but they've had a run-in with this girl before".

The two men tried to think back to what Mary could have been talking about. It couldn't be Jenny Joyce or Aisling, as they were aware of the friendship that the girls now held with them. There was the Tina girl from a long time before, who they'd been accused of bullying on the day of Sister Declan's untimely demise in her prime. There was that girl…

"It was that Moira girl". Mary told them before they could enquire themselves.

"From back in January?" Gerry connected the dots.

"Aye that's right".

Kathy looked at them dumbfounded, with Mary proceeding to fill her in with the details of when Moira made some horrendous comments to Erin, prompting James to defend her honour with a far sharper tongue than any of them realised he possessed. A trait no doubt inherited from his mother.

"What was the family again?" Joe scratched his head as he posed the question.

"Ach I remember…". Gerry piped up. "O'Keefe".

"O'Keefe… as in the O'Keefe's?"

"Aye Da… that's them". Mary nodded to Joe. "I feel for Aine and Ronan so I do. Such a nice family they are and now this…".

There were hums of agreement from Joe and Gerry, who both knew the family once Mary mentioned them. Joe vaguely knew Ronan from being out and about, with Gerry knowing Aine through a couple of chats at school events down the years.

Mary glanced to the floor to look at Anna playing, but found a more startling sight when her eyes flicked over to Kathy.

The colour was drained from her face, the usually beautiful features gone, replaced with an almost ghost like figure on the carpet of their living room.

"What is it Kathy?"

Turning around at Mary's question, Joe and Gerry were both taken aback by how ill Kathy suddenly looked.

"Did ye… did ye…". Her tone indicated a colossal panic attack. "Did ye say Ronan O'Keefe?"

"Aye". Mary confirmed with furrowed brows.

There was a pause as Kathy put her hands over her face, an action that none of them could understand from the mention of Ronan O'Keefe.

"Ronan O'Keefe is James's father".

Chapter Text

Chapter 29: Blood Sins

Flashback. 8th January 1996.

Aine O'Keefe was sat on the sofa, a glass of wine in one hand and a book in the other. She would often wait up for her husband to arrive home. Ronan would have to do overtime, especially when anything broke out in the warehouse, unable to come home until it was fixed. He'd done that same job for so many years, to the point where waking up the next morning to find he'd been in and gone was unsurprising. They'd been together for so long, despite the issues they'd had at times, they were now watching their children fly the nest one by one. At one point, there were nine of them crammed into the four-bedroom house that they called home, as well as the parents, making it three to a bedroom for the wains. Now though, their four eldest were either at University or living in homes of their own, leaving them down to five. It was one of those five, now the second eldest at the house, that gave her additional reasons to be up late that night.

Moira was always the troublesome child of nine. Aine couldn't put a finger on when it had started, but certainly since the age of about ten, it was only Moira who would cause trouble. Her grades remained high despite the behaviour being poor, functioning as the only solace for them, but they'd never truly worked out why she acted that way. There was plenty of fighting for attention in the house between all of the children, yet they were exemplary in their behaviour at school… apart from Moira.

When the phone call came from Sister Michael that afternoon, she knew immediately it would be to do with Moira. She, like the rest of Derry, were aware of the wee English fella, and hearing the incident involved him, didn't surprise Aine. Moira had often made comments about wishing for a free Ireland, the sort of talk that would quickly be suppressed at the dinner table when she would mention it. The comments her daughter made about the lad's girlfriend were out of line, and she'd already given Moira a piece of her mind before dinner. She'd made her write the letter, but when she asked for the lad's surname, Aine wished she hadn't. That was the other reason for why she was staying up to talk to Ronan. A long-buried name splintered a secret that was hidden away within her conscience… one that was hidden in his too.

It was eleven o'clock when he finally made it in, beaming at his wife as he made his way over to the sofa, but finding no smile in return.

"What is it love?" He asked with concern.

Aine sighed deeply.

"Moira's in trouble again".

"Ach Christ…".

Ronan huffed, slumping down onto the sofa next to his wife, who'd already placed a whisky ready on the side table to his left.

"What is it this time?" The frustrated Ronan questioned.

"There was an incident with the Quinn's daughter at school". Aine explained.

"Mary's or Sarah's?"

They both knew the family to some extent. It was very hard to forgot them once you'd met them.

"Mary's. Moira… called her a slapper. Sister Michael's suspended her for the week".

"Oh for Christ's sake! I mean… a week's a bit steep… but why is she goin' round accusin' another girl of… that".

"Yeah… well…". Aine put the wine down to pick up a letter instead, also putting her book down too. "… that's not even the half of it".

Handing the letter over to her husband, the very letter Moira addressed to Erin, she kept her finger under the name she wanted him to read.

"James?" The befuddled Ronan spoke the name.

"Aye, James. The English fella at the school".

"Ach right ye, I remember Moira mentioning him a couple of times…".

"He has a cousin called Michelle…". Aine's tone changed to one that he didn't enjoy.

"Stop speakin' in riddles love… out with it". He cut off the tone he disliked, demanding to know the meaning of it.

"Her mother is called Deirdre…".

That is when it hit Ronan. Deirdre… surely it couldn't be that Deirdre. That Deirdre whose sister was Kathy Maguire… that same Kathy that he'd had the fling with years earlier… that same fling that resulted in Kathy leaving in shame to have an abortion in England… except now it looked like she hadn't done as he believed.

"He…".

"Aye".

Aine's anger rose, remembering when she'd found out about the affair whilst pregnant with Moira. It nearly broke their marriage, but with a combination of the children's best interests and their own hard work, they'd pieced things back together steadily in the years that followed. The surname Maguire suddenly threatened to shatter everything.

"This James is my son…". He blinked back tears, his swallows stinging the back of his throat. "… what if Kathy turns up and wants me to s-".

"From what I can gather she's not interested in him…".

Ronan and Aine continued to talk about it until midnight, tears being shed, and old roads being traversed once again. It wouldn't break them, but it shook the very foundations of a marriage that stood strongly after his indiscretion's years before.

They didn't know that Moira was struggling to sleep that night and had come out onto the landing at the top of the stairs to listen to them.

She couldn't believe it.

The English bastard… the one she hated for his stupid accent.

He was her half-brother.

"DO YE HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT'S LIKE TO HAVE THAT IN YER FAMILY!"

Moira shouted at the Inspector as she revealed the real reason why she wanted James Maguire to die. That night, she'd stumbled upon the ugliest truth that she could have ever thought possible. Her father, the man she loved so dearly, had been unfaithful to her mother those years ago, and the result was an English. Sure, James was fully blood Irish, but his blood was sinful, housed in the body of the equally sinful mannerisms of the criminal bastards from over the other side of the Irish Sea.

"Yer sayin', ye were prepared to kill him… for his accent?" The Inspector was having a hard time understanding her.

"He's a stain on my family". She snarled.

"But what about ye father?" The Inspector questioned. "Is he not guilty too?"

"What… ye think I'd kill me da? That would ruin my family… I'd never do it. He's made his mistakes and me ma' forgave him. End of".

"So that gives ye the right to kill James?"

"I hate the English!" She slammed her fist down onto the table. "I couldn't go to school every day, knowing the truth about who he was… what he was… and having to look at him without bokin'. He couldn't be allowed to live".

It was one of the strangest cases that the Detective Inspector had come up against in his time. When they'd arrested the Scanlon boys, they thought they were looking at severe Provo involvement at the worst. This was different. The undertones of their message remained within Moira's logic, but the true nature of her want to kill James was a personal one. She couldn't alter the mistakes of the past, the ones her father made nearly twenty years earlier, but she could stop the future of what those mistakes created.

"So why involve Danny and Brian?" He moved onto the Scanlon's.

"Simple enough". She replied with a huff. "I already knew Danny a bit, so I seduced him. I got his confidence, convinced him that I loved him… and the stupid fuck really loved me. He hates the English as well ye know… Brian too. That slimy little bastard".

"And Michelle Mallon. You convinced him to seduce her in the same manner you'd seduced him?" The Inspector probed, ignoring the comment about Brian.

"Aye that's right. Danny couldn't see it that way though, what do they say, blinded by love. But he did a good number on Michelle. That fuckin' bitch…".

"You didn't want to harm her though?"

"Why would I?" Moira laughed. "She might be James's cousin, but killin' her wasn't part of the plan… though I'd have probably done it anyway".

It chilled the Inspector to hear a sixteen year old girl speak so nonchalantly when it came to taking human life. The hatred from finding out her relation to James, had, in his eyes, driven her to a vicious psychopathy. It made her a very cold young lady.

"What was this plan?" He pried for details.

"The night we attacked him, Danny told her to meet him at his house… that he had the house alone. Mallon being the fuckin' slut she is, couldn't wait to drop her knickers".

Moira stopped to laugh at her own description of Michelle, with the Inspector making further notes on how disturbing it was.

"We'd followed him home a few times from the Quinn's house, so we knew where to get him. We knew Orla was having her first race that day, and no doubt he would be at their house afterwards. I'd already created a rift within their little group, and I was aware Michelle wouldn't be with him that night. We just had to hope he walked… which he did".

"Michelle being at the Scanlon house kept her out of the way then?"

"She wasn't part of the plan like I said".

The Inspector made notes for a couple of minutes, stared down the whole time by Moira. Her stare was unsettling to say the least, even for an experienced Detective like him; he'd never seen a young girl with so much open hatred. He'd stopped scribbling, taking a moment to compose himself before continuing with his enquires.

"Talk me through what happened on the night the three of you's attacked James".

Flashback, 2nd March 1996

They watched him leave the house. Alone.

It would be that night.

The three of them split up to set the trap they'd agreed. Danny and Brian set off at speed to cut him off at the other end of the alleyway, only narrowly avoiding running into the boring bastard they got stuck behind in the shop a few days before.

James turned into the alley, Moira watching from a distance, her balaclava on and the wooden bat ready in her hands. She'd stolen it from school that afternoon, having crept into the equipment cupboard when no one was looking.

The Englishman was walking along merrily until Danny and Brian appeared with balaclava's over their own heads at the other end of the alley. James was trapped. He looked nervously back at Moira over his shoulder. She still held the bat behind her back, advancing towards him slowly, though with not too much ground to make up. He finally stopped in place and she stopped with him.

"What do you want?"

He'd asked the question to the boys, allowing her to creep forward again, ready to smash his head in with the bat held in her right hand, now in front of her. Hoping he would look behind himself once again, she didn't have to wait long. James was visibly pale as he noted her weapon. The same weapon that was about to teach him that he was a sin that didn't belong in the world. Though this time she couldn't kill him… this time.

"Ye don't belong here English".

Unable to speak as he'd recognise their voices, Danny and Moira let Brian do the talking. He was not acquainted with James unlike the two of them, and with an accent so common in Derry, that it would not be distinguishable from others.

"Maybe not. But I'm here aren't I?"

It was a defiant approach from the wee English fella, making her wish to harm him rise even further. He would pay for his existence.

"That doesn't mean ye should stay… does it?" Brian spoke again.

James was shitting himself. She could tell it without him having to turn around, but he did so anyway, noticing Moira had switched the bat to sit behind her back again. She'd let him know what was coming… he didn't need to keep looking back to see his fate. It was already sealed.

"I hear yer with Erin Quinn…". Brian tortured him. "… good girl no?"

"What's it to you?" James replied with a false display of confidence.

Trying to act defiantly in front of them would do him no favours either.

"She's a Derry girl… she ain't meant for filthy English pigs like yerself".

"Is that so?".

His defiance continued, as he stepped forward to be almost right in Brian's face. It allowed Moira to creep closer, close enough to be able to swing and hit him.

"Erin's capable of making her own choice and she chose me! If you're jealous… tough".

Brian started to laugh at his ridiculous comment. She was laughing under her breath too… in what world would anyone be jealous of him…

"Jealous? Is that what ye think? "No, I'm not jealous. I just think Miss Quinn might need to be…persuaded… to change her fella".

Riling him would make it all the more entertaining. He might even try to do something to one of them first, making it justifiable to defend themselves in their minds. It would just be a very aggressive self-defence.

"Leave Erin alone. If you've got a problem with her, you deal with me".

They were going to deal with him alright…

"Oh English…". Brian couldn't contain his laughter. "… that's just how I wanted it".

Before the signal even came, she was ready to strike. There would be no time for James to look around… to put up his hands to defend himself. The back of his head would be taking the full swing of the bat. When it did come, in the form of a very unfriendly wink, she made her move. With all of her strength, Moira swung, catching him cleanly, hearing the clunk reverberate around his skull. He was sent crashing to the floor, ready to be set up on. They were a pack of wolves and he was their defenceless pray, trampling the English rose into the cold alley ground.

Danny opted to thump him repeatedly, with the odd kick for good measure.

Brian went for kicking mostly, but caught the Englishman with his fists a couple of times too.

Moira opted to stamp on him instead.

"FUCK YOU ENGLISH SCUM!" Danny yelled.

"FUCKING BRIT CUNT!" She bellowed the words, increasing the pace of her stamping.

They stayed like that for a few moments, pummelling him mercilessly as he lay broken on the floor. She wanted more though… she needed more. Her lust to see his blood pour out into the street was too intense to ignore. That was the reason why she'd brought the glass bottle along in the first place. The boys were so busy beating him to a bloody pulp, they only realised she'd stabbed him as the broken bottle found its way out. They'd not heard her smash it at all.

Danny and Brian stopped immediately, to her great disappointment. They still needed to give James a few more kicks.

"What the fuck!"

They were already beginning to move away, soon turning into a full sprint from the scene. She had to sprint after them, not wishing to be caught alone if anything were to go wrong.

"Ye weren't meant to stab him Moira!" Brian complained.

"He'll fuckin live! Though the fuckin' prick shouldn't…". She replied as they ran off into the night.

"Why did ye need to leave him alive?" The Inspector continued the question after she described the graphic events to him. "Yer motivation was to kill James, ye could have very easily done so there and then?"

He already knew of why they needed him alive, but he needed the proper confirmation from Moira too to make it right.

"Wise up…". She scoffed. "The cause didn't need a body at that time. I went along with it temporarily…"

"You had contact with someone?"

"Danny handled that. I let him make the contact went it came to the wider effort. He actually seemed capable of it… surprising really".

"This contact… who are they? A man… a woman?"

"It's the fuckin' holy spirit!" She quipped. "Ye really think I'd tell ye that?"

She was unlikely to spill the beans so readily, that he knew from the moment he considered the exterior source's involvement, though it wouldn't stop him trying.

"Ye have to understand…".

"Oh I understand!" She shouted to interrupt him. "Ye want me to give ye his name so ye can start watchin' him… but ye won't stop him".

"So it's a man?" The Inspector spoke with a wry smile on his face.

"Fuck you". She replied.

With that series of questions unlikely to progress any further, the Inspector slouched back slightly. The vicious attack on James was quite frankly disgusting to be retold. It was his job to listen to it, but he couldn't help but feel nauseous when she took pleasure from the fact they'd came so close to killing him… that she was self-lacerating to herself that the glass bottle didn't finish the job, even though they weren't supposed to kill him. She'd got the Scanlon boys wrapped around her finger. They were her literal servants, pandering to every wish or whim that she required. Without her, the two were very vulnerable. Something which he'd found that morning.

Brian still refused to give them the truth throughout the evening. He'd lied his way through another set of questions, lying again that morning when they worked him over at first light.

It was Danny who made the confession.

A confession he believed he was making through a betrayal from Moira, who his heart was set on. He'd never quite understood her true fascination with making James suffer. He might have been one of the fucking Brits. He might have had that stupid accent too, but James was not a soldier or a politician. He was just another lad. He wasn't willing to take the fall for her, like he'd assumed she'd done by telling the cops that it was them and not her. He overheard a couple of the officers talking about her questioning from down the corridor and when nothing was said during the round of interviews that evening, his mind was clear. Moira was saving herself… and she probably didn't love him.

"Take her back to the cells". The Inspector instructed the two officers stood behind Moira.

She laughed at his attempts to get the truth from her. He must have been one of the dumbest fucks in the RUC if he thought he could get Moira O'Keefe to grass on a Provo. Luckily for him, Danny didn't appear to care if he was found out to be a grass; he just wanted to make sure it was mutually assured destruction where Moira was concerned, willing to give every detail to do it.

"Ye won't stop him. The Brits will fuckin' die". She hummed gleefully.

"I don't think so Miss O'Keefe. Ye might not wish to talk… but others do not share yer view".

With that thought, her face dropped, and it was the Inspector who got the last laugh. Moira wasn't going anywhere. She was guilty and proud of it.

That wouldn't save her in front of the judge though.

Bombshell after bombshell.

That was what it was like for James.

It was a good job that he was in Hospital as everything came to light. If he would have been at school, there was no doubt that he wouldn't be able to cope with it. After being so close to death just a few weeks earlier, he didn't think the colossal pain of the aftermath could be topped, yet the myth he'd created was shattered that Wednesday.

He was expecting the girls to arrive straight from school, his suspicions being aroused when they did not. Though it wasn't unusual for them all to go home quickly to change into more comfortable clothes before they came to see him, especially after a hard day. He wasn't prepared for when they did turn up, minus Orla, along with half of the family. Curiosity on his part went through the roof when Mary, Gerry, Sarah, his Aunt Deirdre and his uncle Martin all arrived. Joe, like Orla, was not present. What sent him over the edge was his mother.

When she arrived with the rest of them, with eyes that betrayed hours spent crying, his worries went into the stratosphere.

Tick Tock

First it was what Moira had tried to do to Orla, and what she'd admitted also.

His recollections of that night would probably never come back, and on hearing the true story of what happened, he never wanted them to. He'd been preyed upon so brutally by people he knew, it was difficult to truly comprehend it. Aware of Moira's dislike of him, James would have never believed her capable of organising such atrocious violence. The Scanlon's too. Brian he couldn't account for, but despite the family reputation and the way he seemed frighten Erin, Danny was just as unlikely in his mind. Danny was certainly a troublemaker; what he did to Michelle was truly revolting from one human to another. But to kill him? Only when the true magnitude of Moira's involvement was explained to him, did he understand exactly why. Like James would for Erin, Danny would have done anything for Moira. Unlike with Erin though, he would receive nothing in return.

The reason why she did it brought a double bombshell.

The hatred of his accent and mannerisms were practiced by Moira on almost a daily basis, therefore it came as little shock when Mary told him how Moira wished for James's existence to cease due to it. The reason why his existence bothered her so much was the harrowing factor that elicited the description of bombshell. Moira O'Keefe wanted him dead because he was a part of her family whether she liked it or not… she couldn't let that stand. He could imagine the rage she was whipped into on learning that they were related… that they shared the same blood of Ronan O'Keefe in their veins. Michelle being his cousin and verbally berating him at every moment paled in comparison at Moira being his half-sister and wanting to see him to an early grave. Bury him, like her father tried to bury the memory of his affair with Kathy all those years ago.

His father. That other half of the double bombshell.

The existence of a father figure in his life was rare, with only his stepdad back in England getting anywhere near to close before Martin, Joe and Gerry. The three of them were fathers to him in their own different ways, Martin serving as a best of both between Joe and Gerry. Discovering that his biological father was alive and living in Derry, hit him harder than any of the revelations about Moira. They'd probably passed on the street without saying a word… or stood in the same queue at the supermarket without knowing who the other was. The subject of who he was never truly came to the surface when he was living in London, even less so with a stepdad around to act as a father instead. It was a sensitive topic that he wanted to discuss with his mother when the time was right, possibly in the summer after his exams. The wheels of fate denied him that wish.

Tick Tock

It was just Kathy left in the room with him when the events of the day were concluded. She was sitting on a seat next to the bed, with tissues in her hands after more tears were shed telling him about what happened those years before. Of her own shame. He did not feel ashamed of her at all, nor of Ronan for leaving her in that position. It was wrong what he'd done to both Kathy and his wife, but James couldn't fault him for trying to mend things with the woman he'd married rather than sacrifice it all for Kathy, who was far younger than he was. Life would have been difficult if he'd done so… he would have been a pariah.

There are times in life when choices are presented to someone, none of them being easy choices, but the person still has to choose one anyway. James believed in that; he could not hold a grudge against his biological father because of it.

And his Erin was with him through it all too. She was the rock that evening, a warm presence nestled into his side, to hug and hold him as he was swept away in a wave of such unexpected knowledge. His perception that he couldn't love her any more than he already did, was shattered for what must have been the one hundredth time. She was the one.

"I… I know…". Kathy struggled to speak again after allowing him a couple of minutes of reflection. "… I know we've never t-t… t-talked about your father. I wasn't goin' to hide from it forever y-ye know love".

"Mum…". James's voice didn't waver, instead being one of reassurance. "… I think you're the bravest woman in the world for doing what you did".

Kathy was lost in a sea of joyful tears at her son's words. At the time, had she stayed and gave birth to James in Derry, they'd be looked down upon in the street… cast adrift by the society of the day. Deirdre would have supported her the best she could, but whether their parents would have offered the same treatment was questionable.

"James…".

Erin ceded her position at his side to allow Kathy to smother her boy completely, instead running her hand over Kathy's back to provide some comfort. Tears trickled tentatively from Erin's eyes too at the scene of her wee English fella sharing an important moment with his mother.

"I…". James stuttered, regaining his composure as Kathy pulled away. "… I don't think I can be angry with him…".

Erin was back cuddled into him an instant, and they both looked to Kathy.

"Ye know love…". Kathy sniffed. "… I've often thought I should have held resentment against Ronan for abandoning me… but I knew the risks when we started seeing each other. His wife is a lovely woman, I… I always wanted to tell ye when I thought they would be able to handle it. I nearly destroyed Ronan's life once, I'd never want too again…".

"I've never been ready to face it mum". James admitted to her. "I guess I've grown to accept that the women in my life were always the ones to be there when I needed them".

Kathy smiled at his comment, the smile widening further as she watched him touch noses with Erin and give her a peck on the lips. It was so tender and sweet between the two, the very love Kathy herself had barely been exposed to across her years.

"It's been a lot to take in". He sighed, with a smile forming after he spoke. "Thank you… both of you… for being with me".

Kathy didn't attempt to squeeze onto the bed to cuddle him, but she held out her hand, James placing his left hand in her right. Erin squeezed him a little tighter too. He was receiving all the love possible from two of the most important people in his life, making the bombshells of the evening fade away.

Love would always defeat hate, no matter how hard hate tried.

"Where are Joe and Orla by the way?"

Whilst the family went off to explain the chaotic events of the day to James, Orla was off on a mission of her own, with only Granda Joe for company. As James was about to find out who he really was, Orla's journey was to thank someone for ensuring that she'd remained who she was.

Antony Scanlon.

After a morning of being scared so thoroughly by Moira, breaking rules to try to stop her from hurting James, Orla's original wish was to rest that evening. But as the rest of the family discussed his news, Joe took her to one side at home to remind her of a long-forgotten memory. Her memories of the day that she nearly drowned in the Foyle were patchy, remembering that she'd spent some time in Hospital, but unable to recall much else. However, she knew some of the cops were given awards for saving her life on that day. Joe revealing that it was all a deception, even to him, created a multitude of feelings for Orla.

Shock was the first one. She was shocked that not only her, but Granda Joe, were lied to for over ten years by Sarah.

Confusion was the second one. Orla couldn't understand the need for the lies. There was a constant theme of distrust towards the Scanlon's, but if Antony saved her life, why didn't that change it?

The final feeling was one of thankfulness. She was thankful that he'd risked her life for her that day when he was a complete stranger to her at the time. It was that feeling that influenced her decision to ask her Granda to take her to the Scanlon house that night.

"Ye ready love?" Joe asked her as they were sat in the car across the road from the Scanlon's.

"I am Granda". She confirmed with a nod and a wide grin.

"Do ye want me to come in with ye?"

"No…". Orla turned to look at him. "…I want to go on me own please Granda".

"That's alright love. I'll wait here for ye".

She leaned over to give her Granda a quick hug, before exiting the car and walking up the drive to the Scanlon's door. It wasn't particularly cold out, but it was dark by the time they got there, streetlights having flickered on.

It took a minute for Antony to come to the door once she'd knocked it. For a brief second, she thought that they'd perhaps gone out, and was relieved to hear the shuffling of feet from inside, followed by the figure on the other side of the glass.

A fly on the wall could be forgiven for thinking Antony had been hit by a thousand volts of electricity when he opened the door. His breath caught as he saw Orla McCool stood there.

"Hello". Orla addressed him with the most radiant of smiles.

"Or… Orla". His voice crackled as he said her name.

"Aye… that's right. Ye might have seen me on the TV".

The two of them chuckled together at her comment about Orla's various press appearances. She was living the dream, with another interview scheduled with an American magazine the following lunchtime at school thanks to Michelle's ace planning. Trying to avoid Orla was difficult. She was everywhere.

"That's true". Antony smiled. "Can I give ye a hug?"

She didn't answer him, opting to put her arms around him in an instant. He held her tightly… like he had done the day he saved her from the currents of the Foyle.

"Thank ye… for saving me". She whispered to him as they faced each other again after pulling apart.

"It was nothin'". He replied, lips etching up into another smile.

"Ye didn't have to. And I couldn't be where I am without ye".

Antony couldn't help but let a tear escape his right eye, running down his face to drip onto the mat outside the front door. He'd made so many poor decisions in his near thirty years on the planet, but without a doubt the one to save Orla McCool that day was the greatest one he'd ever made.

"I… I'm so proud of ye, ye know". Antony told her. "The way ye rode that Grand National… aggressive and ferocious, without any fear… it was tough, but beautiful".

"It wasn't hard enough actually". Orla continued to tell everyone she thought it was too easy.

"Not hard enough?" Antony guffawed at the comment. "I doubt those boys behind ye were sayin' that".

"Ach, I couldn't hear them". Orla flickered a mischievous grin. "I was too far in front".

They were giggling like old friends on the doorstep of the Scanlon house, which in many ways they were. The candle of friendship that should have existed between them after the events of years before, finally was lit that night. It didn't matter that his brothers were who they were, or what they'd done and were going to do to James. Strong friendships could withstand the most rigorous storms, to come out sailing into better waters on the other side.

Antony, and in time his mother too if she wanted, were firm friends.

It was half past eleven, and consequently, another late night for Erin. The family stayed with James for hours as he came to terms with the newly acquired knowledge of who he was, and why he was attacked for it. Everyone was supportive towards him, Michelle not throwing a single insult his way all night, and when he teared up slightly, the girls were all cuddled up around him. Orla too.

When she arrived at the Hospital with Joe, she revealed the details of her conversation with Antony, and the good that had come of it. James was delighted to hear that Antony was so proud of Orla's achievements. He was a man who'd had to experience being the worst person that he could be to realise his life could be a peaceful one, and after years of violence and criminality, it was his one good act in that time that he would be living the rest of his life by. His mother, who'd be worn down by the grief of having her other two sons planning to commit such an atrocious act, wouldn't be judged by them for Danny and Brian. She was judged by her Antony to them. Her Antony that risked his own life to be able to ensure Orla kept hers. In their band of family and friends, the two of them would fit in as if they'd been there for years.

Clare's parents arrived too, a little while later, James getting a rare chance to talk to her dad, who was hardly ever about. Sean was a very busy man in order to provide for his family, but he'd made the time to come to chat with James, an act of kindness that the Englishman was grateful for. They'd left first that night, with everyone else following on shortly behind them. He'd enjoyed another long hug with his mother ahead of her departure with Deirdre, Martin and Michelle. For the first time that he would admit to himself, he couldn't be happier than to be the son of Kathy Maguire. With the riddle of the start of his life finally solved, his appreciation for what she'd been through increased tenfold.

With the family gone, there was only his Erin left, barring the young officer Collins, who was doing the night shift that night. Erin was safely tucked up next to him, playing with the curls of his hair as he ran his hand along her arm. They were in total serenity in the Hospital room.

"Yer so brave". She muttered into his side. "Yer ma too".

"It's taken me nearly eighteen years to understand how hard it must have been at the time. I'm glad I've realised it".

"I can't imagine what ye were like as a baby". She snorted, getting him giggling in return. "Probably no different to now…".

His mouth dropped open in feigned offence as she laughed at him, with her lips covered by his a second later as he pulled her inexplicably deeper into his side.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you at school today". He changed the topic entirely, to a much more sombre tone.

Erin remembered her thoughts from earlier on that day. When she'd panicked then, she looked for James's support, but couldn't receive it. It wasn't his fault though; the very reason she was panicking, was one of the reasons he couldn't be in school. Moira.

"You'll be there soon enough…". She uttered as she played with his curls once more. "… with me at yer side, holding yer hand".

"Carrying my bag if I'm still on those". He flicked his head over to the crutches.

"Yes sir Mr Wooster". She joked back to him.

He produced a gargantuan snort at her cheeky jibe.

"Jeeves has never looked so sexy".

Those words really set the pair alight, and their hands were roaming around each other as their mouths connected, tongues gently sparring within. Erin was rolling onto him as they kissed, despite fighting not to do so in case she hurt his still recovering body. Their hands were becoming a real problem though, and both were invading spaces that they shouldn't have done in the confines of the Altnagelvin. Not that either of them were keen to stop, mind.

"We can't go that far". He mumbled onto her lips.

"I know…". Her voice was breathy… extremely breathy…. "… but I so want to…".

"Don't…". He was sighing into her mouth almost. "We'd need… you know…".

They thought they were so good at their little games, keeping their desires hidden between themselves, but what they failed to realise was how loud they were being. Something they were reminded of.

"That's not the sort of protection I'm offerrin'".

Officer Collins' quip filtered in from the other side of the door, Erin's eyes widening as they were locked with James's. She watched him struggle to hold his laughter at Collins' comment, with the officer himself finding it very difficult to not burst out into a fit. Astounded by the perceived insolence of the man, Erin went to give him a piece of her mind, but James stopped her by pulling her in for another kiss. A kiss that sucked the vicious words ready to be fired at the young RUC man out from the back of her throat, consumed by the love of her wee English fella.

"We're safe now…".

James softly whispered those words into her ear as the pair of them drifted off to sleep, wrapped up in each other's arms.

Of course they were safe…

Of course…

Right…

Chapter Text

Chapter 30: The Last Flight of The Condor 4th April 1996

After the momentously eventful day before, the final day ahead of the Easter break was quiet at Our Lady Immaculate College. The girls were able to coast through, barring the interview Orla sat through with the American magazine that lunchtime, which was tedious even by her standards. They weren't too interested in discussing her sporting achievement, instead trying to obtain her feelings on how it could be viewed in a wider context, something which in turn disinterested her. They'd all been in to see Sister Michael that morning to pass on their heartful gratitude for her belief in Orla's innocence when it came to Moira, even if she technically wasn't innocent at all. The Sister was always going to take their side when Moira tried to convince her that Orla would use such foul language. The young McCool would never say words like that and wouldn't be dismissive of people either. She had time for everyone, a lie too far from Moira when it came to the head mistress. The rest of their school day went by without incident, and they went straight to the Hospital when they'd finished, Erin ready for her final night sleeping there before coming home with James for good. His leg would still need time to heal, but the very worst of the ordeal was over.

"It will be weird…". Erin said to the girls as they walked up the stairs to the top floor. "… I've gotten used to comin' here".

"It'll be fuckin' great. No more fuckin' about with the bus and I can get straight home to answer the phone…". Michelle listed all the positives… for her.

"And to have James back in school". Clare added, Erin smiling at her for doing so.

Orla stayed quiet as they continued to discuss the positives of not having to go to the Hospital. She was in a little world of her own, having allowed herself to have a bag of sweets for the first time in ages. With no rides until Sunday, she could afford to live a little that night. She would need to keep an obsessive eye on her weight when it came to riding as a professional, but Paul was already helping in that regard, recommending a doctor who specialised in nutrition. Though when she'd mentioned the doctor at home, Mary took it to mean one who would inject her with performance enhancers, immediately warning against it. For once though, she wasn't going to be listening to her Aunt Mary.

"Yer quiet Orla?" Clare put a hand on her elbow, a thin smile across her lips. "Is everything ok?"

"Aye. I was just thinkin' about somethin' that's all…". She replied, voice trailing off.

"What is it Orla?" Erin asked her cousin.

"Well, ye remember that wee Kamal fella?"

None of the other three said it aloud, but all were thinking the same thing. Oh Christ…

"Aye…".

"Does he like coco pops?"

It was going to be one of those Orla conversations and they knew it. Seeing as she'd decided to ask Orla what it was about, the natural run of things dictated that Erin finish the conversation she'd pushed for.

"I don't know Orla, I'm not sure they have coco pops in Africa".

"Ach how do they live?"

"Quite poorly I reckon". Erin reasoned.

"They don't have much". Clare backed the opinion up. "Ye know… hence why I was tryin' to raise money for him".

"I don't know much about Africa". Orla admitted to them.

"Neither do I…". Michelle commented. "Ye should ask Toto".

"No Michelle d-".

It was too late for Erin to stop the inevitable question when it came to that song and that group. Orla was only ever going to respond in one way.

"Why would I ask a dog?"

Michelle started laughing at Erin's predicament as the lead in the conversation, humming away the tune of Toto, the group's, famous song. Erin and Clare soon joined in with the humming, leaving Orla to wonder what was going on as they reached the ward James was on. A ward which was surprisingly empty, with only two other rooms occupied apart from James'. Deirdre suddenly appeared out of the staff room on that floor, heading straight for them with her arms folded.

"This can't be good". Clare muttered.

"What's the craic ma?" Michelle addressed her mother.

"I can't believe you sometimes Michelle!" She scolded her. "Givin out the Hospital staff room number to a trainer!"

"If ye get me one of those fancy mobile phones then I wouldn't have to". She argued.

"Catch yourself on! Now go an' answer the phone before ye lose Orla a ride".

Michelle hurried off into the staff room to take the call, with Deirdre shaking her head as she watched. She couldn't stay with the girls, having to get back to her shift, though took the time to make sure that they were all alright, as well as letting them know that James already had two visitors. Erin was expecting it to be her Granda and James's mother Kathy again, but they weren't the two that the girls found upon getting to the room.

Harriet was not an entirely unexpected presence, with the girls being delighted to see her. She'd been unable to make it to the Grand National to see Orla, watching on from the German Ambassador's home with pride instead. She was just as equally proud as the rest of them though.

"My hero". She said to Orla as she hugged her, a tear in Harriet's eye.

"Ach, thank ye Harriet". Orla rubbed her back as they hugged.

Clare and Erin shared hugs with their friend from England too, James watching on with fond affection as they all came together. He was surprised by her presence earlier that afternoon, not expecting anyone else to visit before the girls, having been visited by his mother and the Detective Inspector earlier in the day. The round the clock guarding would cease the following morning, with Officer Collins taking over at eight that night to do the final shift until six o'clock on Good Friday morning. The Inspector's visit was mostly to reassure James that the threat to him was far lower with Moira in custody, though they had one final person of interest to still track down. From Danny's confession though, the Inspector didn't believe that this man would set out to harm James, only leaving Collins in the very unlikely case that he did. It was good training for the young officer too.

Orla and Clare both smiled at the other guest in that room, whom Erin didn't recognise, looking to them all for some sort of hint as to who he was. She wouldn't though, with James and Harriet only finding out earlier on, Harriet having brought him up with her after meeting him in the reception, after finding him asking the staff where James's room was.

Tom.

With Orla's win and the story of James's involvement in the ownership of the horse being broadcast far and wide, it was easy for him to work out where to try and track Michelle down to. If he could find James, then he could find Michelle. He'd spoken on the phone with her a couple of times that week, though the second time she couldn't talk for long because of one reason or another. He thought he'd surprise her, bringing flowers with him like a gentleman. Spending the afternoon with James, the two did exactly what Michelle feared they would do and built up a splendid rapport with one and another.

"You must be Erin". Tom said to her. "I'm Tom, I…".

"She's Michelle English ride". Orla clarified, though Erin worked it out once he'd said his name.

"Ride?"

He looked to his fellow Englishman for assistance on the language, James remembering how it felt to hear descriptions such as ride for the first time… it was rather adorable to see it happen to another countryman.

"It's a term of endearment Tom. Don't worry, I'll teach you the ropes in time".

"Right". He nodded in return. "You are a lucky man James mate, with your Erin here".

She couldn't hide her delight about being thought of as James's. She was after all, and he was hers… it was nice to be reminded of it by others every so often though.

"It'll be a nice surprise for Michelle". Clare noted.

"That was the intention". Tom chuckled.

They didn't have to wait long for Michelle to return from her phone call, hearing her long before she arrived at the door of the room, as per the standard when it came to Michelle.

"Orla, ye've got another interview Saturday mornin' at the stables and…".

She stopped upon entering the room, finding not only the unexpected presence of Harriet, but of Tom too. Her cheeks blazed pink within a split second, her knees becoming uncontrollably weak as she ran her eyes over him again. She hadn't expected her own English fella to turn up that afternoon, mortified that he would see her in her school uniform and not in her best. He looked different too, reverting to a t-shirt and jeans rather than the full suit that he'd be in at the racecourse. It made him even more desirable…

"Oh… Tom".

The words came out a lot more shyly than intended, with James and Erin both only just able to hold their laughter at the very different Michelle. Whenever lads were involved, she was usually ultra-confident, but it was undeniably clear to the pair of them that Clare's comment a few days before about Michelle really liking Tom was true. The cute, vulnerable Michelle Mallon showed with Tom, her lesser shown side blazing like the sun.

"Michelle". The look he gave her was one of total adoration. "These are for you".

Michelle's heart skipped a million beats as he handed the bouquet of roses across to her, her cheeks as red as the flowers themselves.

"I remember another English fella who gave a girl some roses". Erin whispered into James's ear, reminding him of Valentine's morning.

Well some of that morning…

"Thank ye". Michelle eventually spluttered out.

The rest of them were expecting her to leap up to snog the face off of him at that moment. What none of them quite realised was the inner romantic within Michelle, who wished to find a much quieter spot to show her affections. Taking Tom by the hand, she led him out of the room, with Orla watching as they went into the staff room. She nodded to Deirdre, who'd spotted it from down the corridor where she was seeing to another patient on the ward. She'd be finding an excuse to get along to that staff room within the next few minutes. She wouldn't be having any funny business in there!

With her safely up the corridor, out of earshot, James and Erin could finally burst out into fits of giggles and guffaws. The rest were soon joining in, except from Orla who was distracted by a bird flying past the window and out towards the countryside.

"Oh Tom…". James couldn't help but mock his cousin.

"They're eejits". Erin sniggered.

"It reminds me of another couple".

Harriet alluded to the two of them, with Clare voicing her support for the comment a second later. Despite mocking Michelle for it, both James and Erin were extremely happy for her to have found someone that made her feel that way. After the vile game that Danny Scanlon had played with her emotions, it was rewarding to know that it wasn't affecting her in the long term. It was even aiding her, if anything.

Michelle Mallon, jockey's agent to the legendary Orla McCool, was in love.

With Deirdre having chased them out of the staff room after five minutes of intense kissing, Michelle and Tom were sent back to the room packing. The poor RUC man on the door that afternoon must have wondered whether his job was really worth it, spending every five minutes getting out of the way of a pair of young lovers.

He drew the short straw that afternoon, and it wasn't until his shift ended, and Officer Collins took over, that the room was down to just James and Erin.

Having managed to convince her mother, a remarkable act given their hostility after the flashing incident, Tom was put up for the night at the Mallon house, though he would be on the sofa rather than in Michelle's bed. She might have wanted him there, but that would have to be for another day, very much aware it would be a request too far to ask if he could stay in her room that night. They were the first to leave, as Deirdre's shift ended at six, just as Martin arrived to take them all home, Clare getting a lift back too. Harriet once again had a driver arranged for by her father, taking her leave of them shortly after in order to get to Jenny's house on time for dinner. She, like Gerry, had completed her own favour for James, handing him the requested items before the girls turned up that afternoon.

Tick Tock

Mary and Gerry arrived just as Harriet was leaving, Joe and Sarah in tow too. They exchanged pleasantries with the beautiful young English girl before she left, reaching James's room to find only Orla with the couple. It was Maundy Thursday, and there was a mass at seven o'clock that night, one which Orla was yet to miss without fail in all of her years.

"Thanks for comin' to get me Uncle Gerry". She'd said to him once they'd arrived.

"Ach no bother love…". He smiled. "… it's my pleasure".

"It'd be my pleasure to shove ye out the window…". Joe had grumbled quietly about him from where he was stood behind.

"She never misses a Maundy Thursday mass our Orla". Sarah commented.

"Why not?" A confused James had sought the reasoning from Orla herself.

"Ach well… ye know James… I just like havin' me feet washed ye know. It tickles when the priest does it…".

Tick Tock

Gerry soon led the rest of the family out to get to mass on time, he himself seemingly in a perpetual state of eye rolling at every comment made that night. James tried to sympathise the best he could; it was fiercely hard work being Gerry Quinn.

"One more night…".

James sighed as he stroked Erin's arm with his hand, her now casually dressed figure nestled back into his side once more. He'd been sick of Hospitals and blaring machines in the not even two weeks that he'd been alert since waking. He'd never tire of having Erin by his side though, that being a gift from the good Lord himself, having her with him constantly. The clock ticked over to twenty to nine.

"Tomorrow night ye'll be in my bed". She whispered to him, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Really?" He smirked wickedly. "You seem so sure…".

"I said to Mammy that I wouldn't sleep in my bed again until you were in it with me. And I would quite like to sleep in my bed again…".

"I hope you aren't planning on any funny business Miss Quinn". He teased her.

"Wouldn't dream of it".

The two of them were soon engaged in a fierce combat at the lips, feeling the warmth of their own grins through their contact. Every time they met like that, managed to feel as if it were a new experience, a first time rather than a thirty first time.

That was love.

Pure love.

Love that always conquered hatred.

Yet every victory came at a cost. The scars of hate could heal in time, but they'd always start as just that. Scars.

Hate still held one final hand. It's royal flush…

They were pulled apart on the sound of it making its move, through the two gunshots that rang out in the distance, off at the other end of the mostly empty ward.

"MAGUIREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Fear.

All around the ward, whether it was a patient, a member of staff or a young RUC officer, they were all immediately in fear.

The gunshots echoed around the mostly empty recovery ward, from the doors at the main entrance all the way to the end of the corridor where James's room was.

Collins edged back into the room, finding the two youngsters looking up at him. There was a definite look of fear in Erin's eyes, the crystallisation of a torrent of impending tears apparent in her irises. James, harder to read emotionally, seemed frozen stuck on the bed.

It was him again. Someone was coming for him.

"Take this".

Officer Collins threw him an object, which James caught just in front of his face.

"It's a key to this room". The Officer explained. "Lock the door behind me, don't let anyone in".

"But… yer meant to protect him!" Erin scolded the RUC man at a whisper.

"And we're sittin' ducks here. I'll draw them away and ye wait here until my colleagues arrive. Understood?"

Erin wanted to rip him apart for leaving them, but James's hand on her back stopped her. Officer Collins radioed in the reports of gunshots whilst he was still in the room, calling for everything they could muster, confirming the threat was to James. The Detective Inspector was to be informed immediately and would no doubt rush to the scene.

"Ye might want to get under the bed where he can't see ye through the glass". The young Officer sensibly suggested.

Collins shared a knowing look with James. It was the sort of look of appreciation shared between two men who were both extremely fearful of what was to come next. Collins wasn't that many years older than them and had little experience of dealing with the situation they were facing.

Drawing his sidearm, Collins gave the Englishman a final nod before heading out to face whatever awaited him at the other end of the ward. It was a large, desolated ward, with the entrance being around the corner to the right, beyond the large centre desk area. There was the side entrance to the corridor, but it came with no guarantee that more assailants could be waiting for him there, unable to send the kids to safety down it either. He would have to face whoever it was head on.

The adrenaline of the situation kicked in, the young officer trying to regulate his breathing as he crept up the corridor to the centre desk. He glanced into the empty rooms, the other patients on the ward being treated in rooms nearer to the entrance though, still constantly keeping vigil for any surprises. One of the lights flickered above the central area, the nervous Collins pointing his sidearm at it as if it were about to shoot him. The central area was circular, with desks that stretched around, only missing meeting due to the gaps where the entrances were. To his left was an empty room that would usually fit four patients, that instead was filled with empty beds. It was the same to his right, with the final option being straight ahead around the desks. That corridor continued along until taking an abrupt turn to the right where the main entrance and front desk sat, and where the sound of the gunshots originated from.

The silence deafened him.

He could hear nothing, not even the screams of anyone who might have been witnessing the events unfold. There was just nothing.

Convinced that the two rooms to the sides were clear, Collins pushed on down the corridor. His heart was beating at a thousand miles an hour, terrified of what he might find when he got there. There could be one person or multiple that he would have to face, with his colleagues still being minutes away from getting to the scene.

It was just him against whatever appeared.

The correct ward.

The correct approach.

But where the fuck was James Maguire?

The nurse on the front desk refused to tell him.

She couldn't possibly divulge that information to a man that she'd never seen before, especially with James being under Police guard. She'd lose her job for it.

Not answering him would nearly cost her more though. Her life.

She was on the floor seconds later, having been struck around the back of the head with the butt of the pistol. Nobody else saw the attack on the quiet ward, which left the poor nurse unconscious behind the front desk, with no one to assist her. That left him with another problem though.

There was still no one around. No one to ask where James was.

A foolish man would panic and charge off around the ward to find him. That would arouse suspicions… and no doubt would arouse the suspicions of the cop long before he could find James. Whatever happened, the cop would have to be put out of the way first. If being led to him by a nurse and shooting the cop at point blank range wasn't going to do it, then luring the cop out would. After all, it could help pinpoint the local of the Englishman as an additional reward.

Not being the foolish man, he moved to that plan.

The ceiling soon found itself bearing the marks of two bullet holes, the man having raised the weapon above his head to fire into it.

"MAGUIREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Finding a perfect spot of cover behind the desk, he was able to peer out to see down to the corner at the bottom, giving him the perfect overview of anyone who may arrive. There were no screams after the gunshots, only the quiet gasps of two people in a room further down the way.

He simply sat there in wait.

The gun shots might have attracted people's attention, in turn summoning the cops to the scene, but he wasn't worried about them. He'd been in far worse scrapes and came out without a scratch. That night would be no different. The Condor would fly again.

He could hear the RUC man coming.

The first thing he noted was the heavy breathing… the fear…

The Condor knew he scared the life out of the RUC. Whenever he turned up, they would retreat away from him in fear. It had been like that since the early days in the Bogside; they didn't dare attempt to apprehend The Condor… ever. Yet times had changed, and the RUC were coming for him this time, finally chancing their luck with one of the biggest thorns in their side.

He was ready for the RUC man, hand already over the trigger.

Collins rounded the corner, his head glancing in every direction in order to try to find the source of the gunshots. But a young inexperienced officer who didn't know The Condor would never be able to get him with a lucky arrest. A seasoned veteran would struggle.

As Collins looked back towards the main entrance, the man stood up and fired, the bullet striking the Officer cleanly in the forehead, throwing him backwards. His plan to lure the man away was over. He was dead before he reached the floor, where he was thrown back towards the windows by the corner upon impact.

"MAGUIREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

"SHOW YOURSELF YE COWARD".

"YER WEE COP FRIEND CAN'T SAVE YE NOW!"

"MAGUIREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Watching Collins move off up the corridor before locking the door, Erin wrapped herself around James in fear, the moment she returned to the bed. She was ignoring the instruction to get under it, wanting instead to feel the warmth of her wee English fella. It would be difficult to get James underneath too with his broken leg, but he seemed to be in no hurry to do so, wanting his Erin too.

They'd thought it was all over.

But the pantomime show that was living in troubles Ireland rolled on.

Oh no it wasn't…

They stayed in each other arms as her first tears fell, splashing onto the exposed skin of his left arm. Her shaking was the hardest for James, berating himself for allowing Erin to be scared while she was under his protection. She would never be scared in his company again.

Then came the third gunshot.

James didn't need to be able to see the scenes of further up the corridor to know what had happened. Collins was a young officer who'd no doubt charged in over his head to try to stop the threat… the latest threat to James. Somebody was out baying for his blood again, with the list of suspects once again extending to any man in Derry who owned a gun. Except from Joe, as that certainly wasn't Joe's voice.

"MAGUIREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Erin gasped in horror. Unlike James, she hadn't jumped to the immediate conclusion of Collins' demise, hoping that he would have removed the threat to her wee English fella. But the second shout of James' surname showed that it was not to be.

"SHOW YOURSELF YE COWARD".

"YER WEE COP FRIEND CAN'T SAVE YE NOW!"

A sob was ripped from her as the very fate James suspected was confirmed. Collins might have tried, but it wasn't enough for them that night. The danger was still out there, a danger that was unavoidable now that their only chance to defeat it was gone. She never envisaged being murdered in a Hospital as her way to go. Her imagination always pointed to a heroic way out or a peaceful slip into the next life in a cosy armchair of a front room. There was little heroism to be found in having your brains painted onto the walls of the Altnagelvin like a Picasso masterpiece.

"MAGUIREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Erin was tensing again at the sound of his name being yelled down the deserted corridors of the recovery ward. But James wasn't. He only sighed. A reaction that she couldn't understand, expecting him to be gripped with a fear that they would share until whatever fate decided to do to them. It was only then she realised he'd taken the key back from her.

"James…".

NO… NO…

"Listen Erin…". He started but had to stop, the words catching in his throat.

Defiant, but terrified… that was James Maguire.

"We need to hide…James". She urged him as the tears continued to fall.

"No Erin". He stated bluntly. "You need to hide".

He wasn't going to do this to her. He couldn't. She didn't think him capable of doing it to her when they were so happy together. She wanted him to ask for her hand in marriage… she wanted the rest of her life with him… to have children when they deemed it right. They were meant to have the most perfect wedding, surrounded by their family and friends, reaching the peak of happiness in the eyes of all. But he was going to throw it all away… she couldn't take it.

"No!" She screeched. "No James… no!"

His fingers went over her lips as their foreheads drew together to touch. Erin tried to kiss him, restrain him by the mouth, but he forced his fingers back against her lips in order to keep her away. He was going to do it…

"Erin…". The pain in his voice slashed at her heart. "… I can't let you get hurt. I won't let it happen… I made promises to your parents and Joe that… that I would never see you harmed while we were together. I'm not going out as a promise breaker…".

The words wouldn't come for Erin when his voice trailed, accepting of his fate. James was accepting that he wasn't going to survive whatever was coming down the corridor that night, but he was going to make sure she did. But how could she go on without him…

Removing his hand from her lips, he moved both up to cup her face, wiping away at the never-ending tears that poured from Erin's beautiful eyes. Tears ran from his own as he saw how badly he was breaking her apart… but he had no choice this time. There were only so many miracles that a man could be granted. James Maguire's entitlement now ran dry.

"It…". Every word stabbed at his throat and his heart as he stammered away. "… it… it has been th-the greatest honour and pr-privilege to be able to love and to care for you Erin…".

"NO!" She cried, finding James shaking his head.

"You've made my life s-so… sp… spe… special". James almost wailed the words out as the egg timer of life began to turn against him.

"James please… PLEASE!"

"Shusshh, don't cry Erin…. don't cry…". He ended, swallowing incredibly hard. "… I've ignored every warning to leave… every little hint that fate has given to help me. I've ran up a bill that needs to be paid…".

Erin Quinn was dying in his arms. There were no injuries inflicted upon her through an act of violence, but instead she was dying of a heart that was cracking open from an act of love. His love was going to kill her, whether it saved her life or not.

"Lock the door behind me…".

"I won't let you!" Her internal scream came across as a whisper, her voice box allowing nothing more. "I can't… I can't go on without you".

She was clinging to him with every ounce of strength her young muscles could find, but James was taking her arms off of him after a second, crying himself. He was then pulling himself up and onto his crutches without her assistance. Her head screamed an ear-piercing screech at her to stop him, but when her body tried to respond, there was nothing. She couldn't rescue him from the fate he'd decided to follow… she could only watch as James prepared to face death.

He was moving over to the door when her body finally allowed her something, Erin grabbing at the back of his shirt to stop him, nearly bringing him down in the process.

"Stop Erin!" He commanded with his crackling voice. "You'll kill us both if you bring me down".

"I'll die with you then…". She squinted at the thought of perishing.

"Erin…". He closed his eyes saying her name… with every single time he spoke it feeling as if someone was punching him in the kidneys repeatedly… god damn did it hurt. "… I won't let you".

The key was slowly turning on the lock as she tried to grab his wrist to stop him, forgetting he was only just over breaking it. Somehow, he withstood the pain of her grabbing at it, and she withdrew immediately on seeing his extreme grimacing. Erin couldn't bear to hurt the man she loved so dearly.

"I LOVE YOU!"

A statement of undying love became the final weapon left in the emotional armoury of the young Quinn. She'd always love the fella she once witnessed piss in a bin on his first school day… who she so nearly lost to Katya… the same James that sacrificed the convention he'd been raving about for weeks in order to see her to prom… the same James that wanted to be hers… she would always love him.

James took a deep breath as the lock clicked. He turned his head back on his right side, a burning sensation running through his chest on seeing her splintered in front of him… because of him.

"Promise me one thing…". He started, having to wipe the tears out of his own eyes before continuing, watching her tremble with a raging fear at whatever he wished. "… promise me that… th-that you won't… grieve over me for long. I'm not worth it Erin… I don't want you to spend the rest of your life remembering… me".

"HOW CAN YOU ASK THAT?!" She shrieked through the sobs.

"I'm not Erin…". He insisted with a sigh. "… there are plenty of other James Maguire's out there… but there's only one Erin Quinn… and I'm not having her waste her life on the memory of me".

James didn't know if his words were hurting her more than they were him, but his own chest felt like it was being toasted over a medieval forge, having already been thrown into a smelter beforehand. Time was running out though… he couldn't stay talking to her forever, as much as he wanted to… as much as he should have been allowed to.

"In another life… another time… we might have made it…". He summarised, a summary which saw Erin clutch at her own chest.

"J… Ja… Ja…".

The words wouldn't come for the girl who adored poetry…

But they did for him…

"We were ahead of our time darling".

Pulling her up quickly for another kiss, James sobbed into her. If only he didn't have the accent, the accent that he was finally seeing as stupid that night, they could have seen the dawn of Good Friday in together. But it was not to be.

The door opened slowly, and James hobbled out on his crutches, ensuring that Erin didn't follow him out of the room. The door didn't slam, and a quick check down the corridor revealed no one to be watching presently… though he knew they were there somewhere.

The thin slither of glass in front of the door enabled him to get one final view at his beloved. She might have been broken apart, but for a second his mind pushed past that vision, to the vision of the normal, bubbly Erin Quinn. The young woman that kept a diary of her deepest thoughts… the same one who believed 'Shoes of the World' were a newsworthy item… the Erin he rescued from being a victim of her own hypocrisy on prom night… the same Erin that wanted to be his… he saw her as the angel that ruled his heart.

Their heads came to rest together, with only the thin pane of glass stopping them from touching again. He could almost feel her breath on the other side of the door, mirroring her action as he moved his hand to the glass so that they were touching through it. His life was on the other side of that door, but it was a door too far… a life he couldn't have.

"I love you…".

There was no sound, the pair mouthing the words onto the glass in unison instead. Their heads stayed there for another few moments, both staring into the glazed palaces of suffering beyond the eyelash parapets that tried to hide them.

The door lock clicked again. She was locked away from him… forever.

Clearing his eyes and taking the deepest of breaths known to man, James Maguire set off up the corridor to the central area to meet his maker.

Erin did not hide under the bed as instructed… she never made it there. Her back was against door, sinking to the floor, knees coming up to cover her face as she sobbed relentlessly into them. She would have to listen as her beloved went out to die for her.

The bastard wasn't showing easy. He was searching the side rooms of the central area, hoping to find the Englishman cowering away like others had before him. Like the night The Condor killed a young traveller from across the sea, chasing him through the woods… letting the fucker believe he'd got away before hacking him down brutally.

He didn't get his wish.

The sound of someone struggling along on crutches reached his ear, bringing an instant smile to his face. The time had come.

Walking out of the side room, he strolled over to the corridor that led to the end of the ward. His pistol was drawn up ready, though he was prepared to toy with the English bastard before sending him on his way. James looked up to see the pistol, stopping as he did. The staff room was too his left, but it would only be delaying the inevitable trying to hide in it.

"Looking for me". James opened the conversation.

"So yer the English fucker that's caused me so many fucking problems!" The man seethed at him.

"I take it you are the man the Police are looking for".

The man he'd never met smiled back at the Englishman. The Detective Inspector never gave his name, but he'd told James that it was unlikely that the man would set out to harm the Englishman. How wrong he'd been…

"They've done a fuckin' shit job". The man replied chuckling.

Nothing was said for another couple of seconds, James watching as he lowered the pistol slightly, though still leaving it pointed at the Englishman once it was lowered.

"You have caused me… so many fuckin' setbacks… you fuckin' prick".

"I'm sorry for being an inconvenience". James dryly answered in return.

"Inconvenience?" The man snorted. "Ye've never been that… ye were just never supposed to have distracted those kids".

"That's the problem when you get children to do your dirty work for you… you can't guarantee that they will get the job done".

James's bravado was admirable, unwilling to cower to the man. He was a Provo of some description, and not a young one by any means. He couldn't have been that much younger than Joe, with grey hairs in his hair and beard, wrinkles across the skin of his face.

"Moira kept the truth about ye from me… but then who would want a bastard half-brother… with that fuckin' accent too. She was right to want ye dead, even though I told her not to…".

"Told her not to?" James questioned the man. "You wanted the glory of killing a teenager for yourself".

At the barrel of a gun, James was mocking a Provo… a Provo who was ready to splatter his brains down the length of the corridor. Even he didn't know the James that was now leaning against the right-hand wall to stay on his feet.

"Ye know what kids are like for repeating things… they did their job…".

"You…". James struggled to understand. "… you wanted them to tell the cops that… that you'd told them not to hurt me?"

"Well fuckin' done!" The man teased him.

"Why? What have I done to you?"

"Apart from ruining my fuckin' plans!"

The man's rage boiled over at James, the Englishman closing his eyes in the expectation that he was about to be shot, being surprised when he was not.

"Joe".

"Joe?"

"Yes Joe… Joe McCool!". The man confirmed. "Has he never told ye about me? I am disappointed...".

"He's a far better man than you". James commented sincerely.

"Joe a better man than me?" The man stopped to laugh at the frankly ridiculous comment. "Ye know nothin' about him then".

"I know that he is one of the most honourable men that this world has ever seen".

He'd came out to defend Erin, but James had no qualms when it came to defending her Granda either. At a time when he didn't realise that he needed a friend, Joe stood up to be his mentor, guiding James and finding him worthy of caring for Erin. He'd learned more about the working world from Joe in a few weeks than he'd learned from any other man in the rest of his life. To have this man disrespect him, angered the Englishman.

"Joe was nearly one of us ye know…". The man explained. "… aye I remember how close he'd come to commitin' to the cause. But he chose his family over the future of his country… a selfish choice because he didn't have the guts to go through with anything. Bastard".

"He made the sensible choice". James reasoned. "He chose to be a hero to those he shared love with, not those he shared hatred with".

"Hatred? It's deserved for you English bastards and yer fuckin' politicians with their honeyed words! One night, a few nights after Joe made his choice, I was gunna burn their fuckin' house down… kill em fuckin' all… but I changed my mind".

"Didn't have the guts?" James trod a dangerous line.

"Fuck you English". He raised the pistol momentarily, James cacking it before it was lowered again. "No, I gave Joe a chance, one that I've always regretted… but then when I found out yer fuckin' his granddaughter… I had a shot a redemption".

James was stunned once more. There was yet another reason why someone wanted him dead… another reason why he shouldn't be in Derry. He never thought there could truly be any more. But there was.

"Killing me won't hurt him". James lied, knowing that it very much would.

"Perhaps not…". The man grinned. "… but breaking his granddaughter's heart… and finding out that it was The Condor who was responsible… it would finish him!"

"The Condor?" James snickered slightly at the nickname. "How fearsome…".

"They do say laughin' in the face of death helps". The man was amused by James trying to get to him.

James continued to laugh, guffawing in the presence of The Condor… the supposedly nasty Provo who was named after a big bird. Neither had mentioned them, but the sirens from the Police cars outside set an accompanying rhythm to their conversation. Both knew the cops wouldn't just charge in, and that James could never buy enough time to escape his grasp.

"It does surprise me that Joe would let an English have his granddaughter… Erin is it?"

"Yes…". James grumbled at the man's audacity to say her name.

"Ach ye didn't like that did ye!" The man picked up on it immediately. "She's an Irish girl… not to be messed about with by a limpdick English fuck like you!"

"She's the most beautiful girl in the world and I love her!"

"She's a fuckin' slag…".

"YOU WILL RESPECT HER!"

James was hoarse with rage, bellowing across the short distance that separated him from The Condor. He didn't stand for it with Moira in the classroom that January, and he wouldn't stand for it from this man either, regardless of the pistol pointed at him. Nobody ever said a bad word about Erin… EVER!

"Save yer shoutin'… she'll understand ye no good when yer six feet under". He cruelly taunted James.

"You won't harm her?" He enquired.

"Is that what you've come out here to ask me for?" He was mocked again. "Ye stopped cowerin' to come and beg for her life instead of yers… what a fuckin' gentleman… and ye know what… I will because a broken heart is far worse than death itself".

The extended chortling of the man set a fierce rage inside James. If he wasn't handicapped by the crutches and the broken leg, he'd have charged the man whilst he was distracted, with every intention to beat him to a bloody pulp. Whilst he still drew breath, no man or woman would be safe form his ire if they ever dared to even wish to inflict pain upon his Erin. He would not put up with it.

The air around them changed then, changing the stance of The Condor. The pistol was raised again, and this time it stayed in place ready, his hand over the trigger. James was at least going down fighting, not quite in a blaze of glory, but it was the best he could do in a bad situation. He could at least die contented…

"This has been fun James Maguire…". The man's tone returned to a serious one, instead of a mocking one. "… but we're out of time… The Condor needs to take flight".

With one last acted of bravado, James burst out into a final fit of giggles and laughter. He still didn't recognise the James that was coming from within, but he could only think that it was the final iteration of James Maguire. The combination of the normal, reserved James and the gallant knight who saved Erin's prom night, finding a room in her heart in the process… a heart sized room.

"What are ye fuckin' laughin about boy?" The Condor was angered by him.

"Well…". James could barely stop his amusement. "… I've grown up without knowing my father… been left in a city where I'm hated, completely against my wishes… disowned by my own mother for a time and then nearly murdered by my half-sister. And now I'm about to be killed by a man nicknamed after a bird… I've just got no luck, have I?"

The man's snort hinted at how hilarious he found the melancholic backdrop that was James's life story. A life story he was about to put to a definitive end.

The pistol was ready, and The Condor's finger was about to squeeze the trigger.

James had often thought it was a cliché that your life would flash in front of your eyes before you died, but in death he could confirm it did. There were glimpses of good times and bad, finishing on the angelic vision that he was about to leave behind on Planet Earth.

Erin Josephine Quinn.

BANG

Erin didn't listen in to the conversation between her James and the mystery attacker as she thought she would… other than the odd snippet, such as James's demand for the man to respect her. Her wee English fella was going to die as the bravest man ever, yet all the valour and chivalry in the world would never mend her broken heart.

She was still up against the locked door when it came.

The storm of gunfire that made her scream.

She didn't wish to count the shots… not that she could anyway. Her mind only pictured James and it also told her to disobey his orders to stay in the room until it was safe. No, it was her heart that did that…

In a tearful rush, she was unlocking the door, fumbling with the key until it finally unlocked the door to his Hospital room. Rushing out, she found multiple guns being pointed at her from a distance.

"ARMED POLICE! DOWN NOW!"

"STAY DOWN!"

She jumped straight to the floor to put her hands on her head, and it was only then that she saw the dreaded scene. The one that, deep down, she knew to expect.

There were two bodies lying further up the corridor between her and the advancing armed Policemen. The lights on the corridor were still on, guiding her to the trails of blood that ran away from the bodies that were side by side.

James was on his back, crutches at his side… still.

He had done as he said he would.

He had died so that she could live.

But she couldn't think about living in that moment.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"JAMESSSSSSSSSSSSSS… JAMESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS…. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Erin Quinn was broken.

Chapter Text

Chapter 31: Good Friday

Broken.

Absolutely broken.

She could still only see his body, flat on his back and unmoved. There was no sound emanating other than from the Cops and their radios.

It didn't stop her from crying out for him… screaming his name.

"JAMESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

"JAMESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

In truth, they more like shrieks than screams.

"Get her somewhere safe". The lead officer instructed to two of his men.

Suddenly, Erin found herself being approached by two fully armed RUC men. They might not have been pointing their guns at her, but it made it no less terrifying seeing the weapons… knowing they'd just been fired. Knowing that perhaps a stray bullet had killed her wee English fella…

They picked up her as she kicked and screamed, desperately trying to see if James would suddenly get up, but to her pure despair, he did not.

"GET OFF MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

"JAMESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!".

Her pierced cries cracked the eardrums of the cops, who were trying to secure the ward and designate it as a crime scene. Erin was back in his room a second later, finding herself shut in and blocked from looking out by a cop standing directly in front of the glass on the other side. She frantically banged on the door, demanding to be let out to see her James. He might have been dead, but she wanted to hold him one last time… to kiss him and feel him like he was there, even if it was only his body present and not his soul.

She was ignored by the cops.

The absolute bastards didn't even flinch at her demands to be let out. When she tried to open the door, hoping to somehow be able to barge the man out of the way, he simply held onto the handle the other side, preventing her escape. She didn't care that they had a job to do out there; she needed James one last time.

But fate refused to let it be that way. As her attempts to escape the room came to an abrupt end, Erin sank to her knees crying about the future that was torn away from her. Her future with the fella she'd given her heart to, that she was prepared to give anything for to spend the rest of their lives together. Fate was a cruel opponent and after weeks of waiting for its moment, it had brutally delivered the Coup de grâce at the eleventh hour. Her chest was ablaze with remorseless pain, her legs burning like a wildfire and her head beating a barbaric agony of drumming torture. She curled herself up into a ball on the distinctly lava-feeling floor of that room, her own heart erupting with a tormenting grief, her stomach sickened.

Erin didn't know if she wanted to scream or be silent…

She didn't know if she wanted to be sick or gorge on so much food that she'd forget everything…

She didn't know if she could survive without him.

Her everything.

Waking up to face the world every morning became a lot more bearable the day James walked into it. It might have taken them well over a year to become the sweet couple that they were, but Erin could distinctly list the day that she first saw James as the end of the unfulfilled life she didn't even know was so miserable. There was the period before James and the time with him. One might have been many years longer than the other, but it was the second period that was the happiest time of Erin Quinn's life. It had taken until that very moment to truly separate the two and realise just how brilliant the second truly was.

And then the night of the 4th April 1996 was closing that beautiful chapter.

What do I do? I've lost everything…

I am nothing without him…

My life means nothing now…

Hurts…

My head…

My arms…

My legs…

My heart…

Her family would be there for her, processing their own grief at his death too. They would ensure that she was cared for in the darkest moments when everything would be too much. In time, they'd try to ease her back into the world, to encourage her to find happiness again. She had the support of two wonderful parents, her Granda and no doubt Kathy too. There were her friends as well. How well they would be able to cope was a question that Erin didn't dare ask herself though.

Clare would cry for days…

Michelle would struggle to come to terms with it…

Orla… perhaps her capacity to deal with it didn't even exist…

In a ball, shrieking into the lonely, desolate Hospital room on the top floor, an unrelenting gale of suffering swept through her. Erin was left with so many thoughts and questions, but so very few answers.

She was left to face them alone.

James was gone and Erin's life had never felt more worthless.

Peaceful

It was anything but for them that night.

They didn't know what was going on when the first shouts arrived, and the door was banged relentlessly. It was no surprise that it was Michelle mind, but there was no shout of 'Motherfuckerssssssssss' this time… there were only shouts of despair. She brought news of gunshots being heard at the Altnagelvin, having ran up to the house after Martin broke every road law thinkable to get them there.

They were all gripped with fear.

The cars darted away from the house at speed, with no care of whether they were breaking the legal limit. They had to get to the Hospital… fast. The flashing lights of the police cars were visible from a way out, the sirens being audible as they got closer. There must have been ten vehicles there, with some of the Police holding back the crowd that had formed, and the others holding the perimeter. They were all brandishing firearms to meet whatever the threat inside was.

Inside were Erin and James.

Mary searched desperately for her daughter, as Kathy did for James. Neither could be found outside the large group of people that were stood outside. Deep down, every single one of them knew that it would be the two of them in danger as soon as they heard about gunshots at the Hospital. That was despite the Detective Inspector's belief that James was no longer in danger. Clearly, he was wrong, and now Erin was in danger too. It was all becoming too much for Mary, who was unable to stand unless Gerry assisted her. As they had been when James was first attacked weeks before, it was he and Orla who stood up to be the rocks of the group. Orla could feel a sense of normality returning to her life in a way too; stood out in the dark Hospital car park, she was a normal girl and not the Grand National winning legend that she was reminded of everyday.

They heard the occasionally blaring of Police radios, but the cops were telling them nothing, even after the multiple attempts to pry information from them. The group must have been stood there for half an hour with no further news about the young couple.

Kathy was sobbing onto Joe's shoulder as tears tried to escape his own eyes. When he heard there was another person of interest, he didn't quite believe the Detective Inspector. Who else could possibly want to hurt him? However, he was too taken by trying to calm the terrified Kathy, putting his own feelings aside in order to comfort her. She'd only just made her way back into her son's life… a life that could have been over for all she knew. It was too much…

Mary and Gerry were stood together, Gerry holding his wife tightly whilst Orla was hugging her mother to their side. Baby Anna was spared the night, with Uncle Colm at the house after having been to church with them earlier in the evening. They could only hope that the two were safe, with Gerry holding no doubt that James would do everything in his power to make sure Erin was. He would do the same for Mary if it were them in that situation, whether it had been then or twenty years before. Love like that was worth everything to fight for.

The Devlin's were already at the scene when the rest of them got there, having heard of the gunshots first via a friend of Geraldine's. They were consoling their wee Clare, who was beyond the stages of cack attacks, instead breaking down completely distraught outside the Hospital. Two of her best friends were in grave danger inside, as once again the darker side to Derry appeared to show its face that night. The dreams of peace and prosperity now seemed ever so much further away, when for the first time in a long time they'd looked to be far more realistic prospects than ever before.

Harriet was also on the scene just after them all, having arrived with Jenny and Aisling. The three of them were enjoying a night in watching the television when the phone rang for her father. Being a surgeon at the Altnagelvin, he knew his duty called when a colleague phoned to inform him of what was happening. He knew the girls would need to be there for their friends too. The sickening thing for them all was when he rushed in, the cops confirming that a surgeon of his calibre was required. Considering they weren't given any further details by the cops, conclusions were drawn by all of the family very quickly.

Deirdre wasn't called in to assist, despite working at the Hospital herself, instead shivering away as Martin put an arm around her. Having tried to toughen him up during his time in Derry, there was not one lesson she could have taught him to be prepared for this. An odd guilt festered in her mind, that if she hadn't have accepted him the day Kathy left him, that she'd forced him back onto her, then he'd never have been through the agony of the previous weeks. Yet his life, the one he built with the girls, and the even more special one with Erin, would never have been so rewarding either. He was happy in Derry… unsafe, but happy…

Michelle's vulnerable side was giving a public display in the Hospital car park. Only usually experienced in glimpses, it took over where the boundaries of the normal confident Michelle couldn't extend to. James might have been an English dick of a cousin… but he was her English dick of a cousin that she truly cared for. She would have to go to church that Sunday and thank god for letting her have Tom for comfort. Having expected a different experience to the monotonous life he lived back at home, he never thought he'd walk into a life-or-death situation involving those that Michelle cared for. But he was cut from a similar cloth to James, immediately wishing to calm those around him. Perhaps being new to the family helped in that regard, not knowing James or Erin enough to be as emotionally wrecked as the others, not that he wasn't feeling upset inside. James seemed like he could turn out to be a good mate, distressing Tom that he might be lying dead inside.

The Detective Inspector, who'd been in the building for some time, finally stepped out into the now cool night air. The temperature was dropping all the time as the hours in the day began to run out. An icy backdrop to the already frozen reality of the suffering that they were beginning to believe had taken place.

"I think ye all best come inside".

All of them were ushered in, watching on as the crowds, now laced with press reporters, tried to understand why they were all being led in. Gerry led the way, almost dragging the distraught Mary along with him.

Barely inside the building, the most harrowing sight of any of their lives appeared. There were two trolleys being wheeled down the corridor, both with bodies zipped up in bags on them. Mary's knees buckled the moment she clapped eyes on the body bags. The only reason she wasn't on the floor within the next second was the combined efforts of Gerry and Orla holding her up, as well as Sarah once she'd added her weight to holding her sister up.

They should never have seen that.

The Detective Inspector entered a door on the left side further down, one that Deirdre knew to be a large private room on the ground floor. Taking deep breaths, they all entered the room.

There they found Erin.

Distressed…

Eyes puffy…

Bloodshot…

But safe…

The morning of the 5th April 1996, was Good Friday morning. A day that signified the supposed crucifixion of Jesus Christ himself after the betrayal by Judas.

Yet there was little good to be found on that Friday in Derry.

The sickening violence of the night before sent shockwaves throughout the city.

Ever since Orla professed her wish for peace in front of the crowds the previous Sunday, a genuine wish for peace was formed within the people of the Derry. A wish for peace not only for them, but for the rest of the country. Years of never-ending violence was yet to solve anything, the same gripes of the days of battles in the Bogside being unchanged to the days of Bogside Warrior winning the Grand National.

But there were still those opposed to it. As the prior night sadly proved.

Joe volunteered to make the trip back to the Altnagelvin. After everything that had happened, there was little competition to him when he spoke up at home that morning. Orla herself wished to go with him, company which he found very much welcome on what would have been an otherwise lonely car journey to the Hospital. They said very little to each other though. The Grandfather and Granddaughter always held a special bond, but none of them had truly gotten over the events of Maundy Thursday evening.

To combat the silence, Joe flicked his car radio on, but quickly wished he had not done so.

He'd heard the statement that the Detective Inspector read out in the early hours of that morning from the scene, spending most of the night replaying the chilling words in his head.

"… this was such a tragic waste of a young life. The life of an honest young man, who was loved dearly by his friends and family, with a prosperous future ahead of him, taken away by a man who acted with such callous hatred. I can confirm tonight that the suspect we were seeking is the same man who my fellow officers had to use lethal force on to stop tonight. Michael McNulty, fifty nine years old, was pronounced dead at the scene shortly after engaging with armed officers. No further comments will be made at this time".

Michael McNulty.

Joe buried the name years before, believing any further dealings with McNulty to be over. In truth, they had little to do with each other. They weren't really friends, not existing to a social extent outside of any meetings that the two might attend. McNulty was always one of the most hard-line men that the local cause possessed, Joe having witnessed him spout his hatred of the Brits many a time. He was nicknamed The Condor for reasons which Joe never found out; it was not like he had the wingspan of the Andean vulture anyway.

A vulture he was though, as privately, the Detective Inspector painted the family a picture of a man who'd prayed on the hatred within three teenagers, who were little more than children, in order to further his ambitions.

"Did ye know him Granda?" Orla heard Joe snarl when the name came up on the radio.

"Once…". Joe sighed. "… a long time ago".

Orla didn't like to see her Granda Joe upset, having already done so the night before at the Hospital, but wished to know more about the mysterious man.

"What was he like?"

"McNulty?" He questioned, Orla nodding. "He was… a nasty man. Always had been really".

"Was he ever nasty to ye?"

"Ach, well love… I don't think he was too fond of my decision to choose yer ma and Aunt Mary over blowing something up or ambushing a Brit somewhere".

That was the truth. The ambitions of The Condor were all based on an overdue revenge against Joe from all those years before when he'd chosen his family. A revenge that should never have been sought or carried out on the poor wee English fella, who was just an innocent caught up in a fight he didn't belong in.

"Have ye ever killed anyone Granda?"

Joe's conscience was thankfully clear when it came to taking life. It never got to the point where he'd gone as far as to kill anyone. He might have enjoyed threatening Gerry with a rifle in his later years, but that was just messing with the free state prick. There was no such humour when holding a gun and intending to use it. He knew that.

"No love".

"Good".

The conversation dried up again, and they were soon in the car park of the Altnagelvin, trying to set aside the ghosts of the night before. Both still remembered rushing out of the car the night before, with tears in their eyes and grief in their hearts.

"Are ye alright Orla, love?" Joe asked as they were still sat in the car.

"Aye… aye I am Granda".

Taking deep breaths in unison, they exited his car, walking over to the entrance of the Hospital across the way. The same walk they'd done so many times since the beginning of March, yet this walk was going to be a very different one. Very different.

Passing through the corridors, their feelings changed. It was not the same as when they were walking up to go to James's room. They weren't heading to the top floor again either, the cops having sealed the area off as a crime scene, yet to re-open the whole ward. They were instead heading to a ward further back into the Hospital on the ground floor. The same room that the Detective Inspector had taken them to the night before.

On reaching it, Joe opened the door first, holding it for Orla to walk through. The room was a large one, with a Hospital bed at one end, and almost a whole reception area out in front of it. There was even a little kitchen at the opposite end to the bed, and that was where they found Erin. She was stood washing up a glass of water that she'd drank from minutes earlier. Glancing up, she saw her cousin and Granda enter the room, with the two of them noticing her eyes were still red raw from tears.

They were never getting her away from the Hospital that night, not even speaking to her about the possibility of going home. The impact it would have on her mentally in the long term was unknown to them too; the dark memories of the night would no doubt haunt Erin forever though. Memories that would haunt the others in their close family too, creeping up on them in a nightmare or at a quiet point in their day. It was hard to escape what had happened.

But it was finally time for Erin to head home. That was the mission Joe and Orla were on that morning, the task he'd volunteered for back home that nobody challenged him for.

"Are ye ready Erin?" He asked his blonde-haired Granddaughter.

"Aye".

Erin sighed her reply, looking towards the other end of the room where the bed was located. Joe's eyes followed, until they stopped at it. And what was on it.

The night before, in the minutes after the gunfire ceased…

The windows had safety latches on, so she couldn't jump.

The room did not contain anything she could inject herself with to send her along her own path to the pearly gates.

Orla didn't keep her knife collection in the room… there was nothing to cut herself with…

Erin couldn't even try to join her angel in heaven that night.

She just cried in her little ball on the floor, an overflowing river of tears trickling away around her to form a full reservoir.

Perhaps if I cry enough, I'll drown…

There would be no drowning though. Erin couldn't estimate how long she'd spent down on that floor, but at a random guess it must have been half an hour. The cop that blocked her exit was still in place when she eventually looked up, eyes full of an intense crimson fire.

Sniffling to a stop, Erin just listened to the air around her.

It was pure silence.

There may have been the distant voices of the cops and the sirens from out the front, with the occasional blare of the radio, yet to her it was just silence.

An uncomfortable, sickening silence.

A minute later there were more voices and noises from outside, this time drawing closer. She could hear the voice of the Detective Inspector out in the corridor, getting ever closer to the room she was in at the end of it. It was apparent to her that his final destination would be the room, to tell her something that she already knew. That James Maguire was dead.

James Maguire was dead…

She turned away from the door deliberately to face the bed itself. She'd moved onto her knees into what would seem like an act of prayer to anyone behind her. Her hands were not clasped together in an act of communication with the almighty though, instead covering the gaping hole where her heart once belonged. It may have stayed there physically, but emotionally it ceased to exist the moment her eyes found his still figure on the blood splattered horizon.

She'd never get to sit in front of him and tell him she loved again…

She wouldn't run her hands through those beautiful curls, watching his face light up, ever again…

There would be no passionate kisses…

There would be no warm hugs…

The feeling of his warm hand in hers gone forever…

When Michelle would make an idiot of herself… when Clare would have an almighty cack attack… or when Orla would say something ridiculous… never again would he share in her laughter.

Erin's head was working against her, only seeking to deepen the chasm created by the death of her wee English fella. The thoughts were dark; but they were justified to her.

What was the point of a life without James?

Thoughts of ending her own life were alien to Erin, barring the irritational occasions where a small child would utter something they truly didn't mean. There were so many people that would miss her if she did so, adding another layer of grief to the already vast one from James's passing.

Was it selfish?

She battled with that question for another couple of minutes, the questions drowning out any other noise that made itself present around her. She might have lost James, but she still had her family and friends. She could still have a successful career ahead of her if she threw herself fully into studying to be a journalist, as was her dream. There was still so much of life to be experienced for her, almost a lifetime of highs and lows, a door waiting to be opened in the distance, to which only she held the key.

But the key to her lay with James, one which could only be opened by the press of his lips against hers. An action that could no longer be performed in the mortal realm.

However, one door that could be opened was the one to the room she was in. Not that it caused her to turn around or jump. Secretly she hoped there was another attacker… perhaps working in collusion with the cops, ready to finish her off. A part of her told herself to turn around and beg for death, wanting to be reunited with James in the next life, but then the thought of her family having to grieve both of them stopped her. As hard as it was at that moment, as it would be for years to come, she would have to continue on because they needed her.

"Erin…".

And then fate decided to play another cruel trick.

Of course it would on a night where it had already taken everything away from her… why not one more final teasing action?

The Detective Inspector had taken his time making his way into her room, considering she'd heard him minutes before. Having the audacity to address her by her first name, instead of Miss Quinn as he usually would, the wheels of fate thought it pertinent to even make him sound like her wee English fella.

He'd died and there fate was… laughing at her.

It controlled her ears, forcing her to hear James's voice from beyond the grave.

Making her think of him being there, even though he could not be.

As if he w-

Wait… wait…

Unless…

Surely it could not be. Her own eyes would not have betrayed her so easily. She'd seen him lying dead on the corridor of the ward.

They were ahead of their time… fate had already made them fully aware of that through the various attempts to break them apart… it could not be… it could not be…

Gingerly, trembling from an overwhelming sense of fear, Erin slowly began to raise herself onto her feet. Her breaths were staccato, a weakness forming in her knees at the very moment she was back up into a straight posture. She could be mistaken for a foal, stumbling around in a stable box in the minutes after it had been born, unsure of where it was in the world. Very much like Erin was in that room in those brief few seconds. Turning around she saw…

JAMES!

"J… J…".

He was stood there, held up by his crutches, slightly dazed… but without a scratch on him, and with a small, quivering smile that curved at the end of his lips. There were tears in his eyes too. Actual tears… the type of tears that were shed by a real, living human being.

Ignoring the fact that the mortal James Maguire still carried a broken leg that was in the process of healing, she ran forwards and dived at the figure. If there was no wince, or warning that she would hurt him, she'd know it was either a cruel dream or that her heart had truly burst on that cold floor, killing her and sending her to the ethereal planes of the afterlife with him.

"ARGH!"

His shout confirmed it for her.

James Maguire's miracle counter was not as dry as it should have been.

He still had one more up his denim jacketed sleeve.

"JAMESSSSSSSS!"

She still wailed as they came together, squeezing together within the comfort of their arms. Her tears launched out of her eyes and down his back. Despite the broken leg, James pushed through the pain, in order to hold onto the person that he never wanted to ever let go of again. His Erin.

"I'm sorry…". He whispered into her ear.

"I'm sorry…".

Erin just continued to cry, finding a further bout of strength to somehow grasp James even more tightly than she already was doing.

"I'm sorry for scaring you". He told her sincerely.

James was terrified she wouldn't want him. When he got up from the floor, he was taken straight into a side room to be assessed for any injuries, only getting a short glance at the prone figure of The Condor to his left. He was still a little out of it, but he could have told them from the second that his eyes flickered open that he hadn't been shot. The eighty million to one chance that his attacker would miss him… even the most optimistic of backers wouldn't have put their money on it.

But it wasn't to be his destiny.

The bullet whizzed past James's face, smashing into the wall to his right a little way behind him. The RUC men were quickly on the scene in the seconds after, McNulty turning to fire at them, but being ripped apart as the officers opened fire. Keeping him alive was never going to be a part of the plan, the Detective Inspector had told them as much before they'd ascended the stairs to the top floor. He'd been incorrect about his belief that the locksmith who Danny Scanlon named in his confession, was going to leave James alone. Brian confirmed as much as Danny too once he'd known his brother had caved in, informing the cops that their mentor refused Danny's request to finish James, acting on Moira's behalf, on multiple occasions. Yet when the Inspector received the first reports of the shots at the Altnagelvin, he oddly knew straight away who the shooter would be and who their target was. He didn't even need the confirmation from Collins to confirm it.

"I th-… thought… ye… ye… were…".

Erin was stammering into his neck now, having pulled back from her original dive onto him. His leg might have been trying everything in its power to give up and cause him to crumple, but James held firm with Erin in his arms.

"I… I just lost my feet as… as the bullet went past… and hit my head…".

"But… but… the blood…".

She pulled back to finally meet his eyes. For James though, he wished a bullet would have hit him, because it would not have caused anywhere near the same amount of pain that seeing his Erin so upset did.

"His… not mine… god…Erin I'm so sorry".

His apology was accepted, not that it needed to be. Confident that it was reality, Erin smashed her lips against his, feeling her very soul escape through the gaps in her teeth, joining his in their mouth walled cavern. As if they'd practiced it for years, both reached around their necks for the necklaces he'd brought on the night they truly became more than just friends. The little hearts between the letters E and J came to touch as the two's tongues came to do the same.

James Maguire was not dead.

Erin Quinn was not broken.

And it was in that similar state that the family found them on the ground floor.

She was still distressed, eyes puffy and bloodshot, but she was safe… safely wrapped up in his arms, neither willing to cease contact with the other.

He made a promise to Mary, Gerry and Joe to keep her safe. He'd honoured it and came out of the other side ready to face the world.

Against all odds, the plucky Brit survived again.

"Are ye ready too son?" Joe asked James.

James was sat on the bed of the massive room they'd been allocated on the ground floor. It was finally time for him to go home. A strange feeling given the night before he'd so very nearly only left the Hospital in a coffin. Officer Collins's death still hung in his mind too. He was getting to leave the Altnagelvin with his beloved, to go home to their family, whereas the family of the RUC man were grieving like his family almost were. The poor young man was already long gone by the time the cops stormed the floor, which James believed must have been a horrendous experience for them, having to walk past their friend and colleague's lifeless body. He'd gotten to like him too, the two of them having spoken about various bits of their lives during the short time they'd known each other.

"I am". James replied to Joe after his reflection.

He looked up to Joe and smiled. When the family's relief at seeing the two of them alive and unharmed the night before wore off, James told Joe privately about what McNulty had told him. Joe nearly broke down, burdened with the sudden feeling of responsibility of being so close to breaking Erin's heart by costing James his life. The Englishman was not offended or angered by him though. It might have nearly killed him, but James told him that he'd happily confront anyone looking to settle a score with Joe one hundred more times. That was how much respect he held for him. Joe cried in James's arms after he'd told him that, only doing so as the rest of the family happened to have vacated the room at the time. He was used to holding Erin and not her Granda, coming as a shock to him that Joe would open up so freely, yet unable to shake the feeling of it being right by him doing so.

Ready to get up, Erin rushed over to James's side to help him, with Orla ready holding the door open for them. She was off to meet the Queen of England within a fortnight, and there she was holding doors open for her cousin. That was Orla.

His few personal belongs he'd kept with him at the Hospital were in a rucksack which was sat next to him on the bed. With a steady hand from Erin on his back, James was up and onto his crutches a second later. The final visit from the doctor that morning confirmed that he was ready to be released back into Derry. His time at the Hospital, bookended by occasions where his life was so very nearly lost, drew to a close. The cops were gone too, convinced that the threat to his life was at an end with the death of McNulty. He hadn't told them about the true reason why the Provo wanted James dead, a question the Detective Inspector asked him after the ordeal, after his own information from the Scanlon's indicated the opposite. James instead wove him a tale of revenge, the man being angered that his students were arrested and any other plans he might have had were finished. Worried that they might investigate Joe's links to anything from years earlier, James neglected to mention his part to the Detective Inspector. That secret died with The Condor.

Ambling down the corridors towards the reception, Orla carrying his rucksack for him and Erin always staying close to him, James was hit with a wave of emotion.

Weeks.

Weeks of his life were spent at the Altnagelvin, with the morning that Orla returned from Grand National glory being the only time he'd ventured out into fresh air. No one should ever have to spend such a lengthy spell in Hospital, especially after the brutally he'd suffered from Moira and the Scanlon boys.

Moira, his half-sister.

His half-sister who he was willing to forgive.

He was yet to mention it to anyone, fearing that they would call him insane for wishing to forgive her for wanting to commit such atrocious violence against him, but he was a benevolent young man. A young man who found it in his heart to put the past where it belonged, to move forward with the life he hoped to lead. Reserved within the plan of that life would be an attempt at reconciliation with her.

His father too.

He wanted to get the day over with, but Easter Saturday would be the day that James would try to reach out to Ronan. He could understand that the man wouldn't get involved that Friday; he needed to look after the family around him first before inviting any others into it. He would even understand, despite knowing it would upset him greatly, if the man wanted nothing to do with James. After all, there was the accent at the end of the day…

"Hey". Erin beamed up at him, stroking his back.

"Hey". He looked back at her and smiled.

"Ye look deep in thought…". She noted.

"I was". He breathed out, moving his focus to the main doors ahead. "Maybe… maybe later we can talk about it".

"Whenever yer ready".

That was the other part of his Erin that he loved. Her caring side, the one that hid behind the ferociously ambitious and often self-righteous outlook of her school persona. It was only James that really saw that side to Erin on a regular basis, with the rest of the group only getting occasional glimpses. Another reason to love her.

He was concerned that there would be an army of reporters waiting for him outside given the events of the night before, but it wasn't to be. To his relief, they could simply make their way over to Joe's car. Erin caringly helped him into the car, Joe holding the door open for them as she took James' weight, easing him down onto the seat.

The couple were holding hands across the back seat of the car, with James feeling there was a sense of déjà vu to the scenario, though with improvement on the prior time. He'd sat behind Joe on the night of the prom all those months ago, with Erin sat across from him in the back and Orla sat in the passenger seat up front. He didn't have a broken leg then, but neither did he have a totally fulfilled heart, a fulfilment he'd found with Erin in the months since. One he wanted forever.

"Ye still want to make that stop James?" Joe asked him.

"Yes please Joe". He replied without hesitation.

"What stop?" Erin and Orla asked together.

"That… is a secret". James purred.

Joe knew that asking James about the stop was a stupid question. There was no chance that the Englishman would change his mind now, especially with how close he came to losing everything. All of the favours that James had asked for were complete, and now it was the time for the wee English fella to start his part of the plan. The patriarch also had to accept that Gerry had done an incredible job with the main task handed out by James. Having already viewed it, he couldn't believe his eyes that the slack southern shite was able to do such a good job for James.

The car came to a stop on a street a couple away from the Quinn residence, with Orla and Erin both looking mightily confused. In comparison, James was grinning from ear to ear, with Joe unable to prevent a little smile passing his lips.

"Why have we stopped?" Erin asked.

"Aye Granda, we don't live here ye know". Orla added.

"I know love. We don't live here". Joe confirmed to her.

His granddaughters were still none the wiser, turning to James to try to understand the reason for them stopping where they had.

"Will you help me out the car?" He addressed Erin.

Despite being suspicious of whatever was going on, she wordlessly complied with his request, exiting the vehicle on her side. Walking over to his, she allowed him to put his weight back onto her as he rose from the car, having his crutches out ready for him too. Once he was out of the car, he gave her a quick peck on the lips, with giggles falling from the pair of them at the action.

"Are we gettin' out Granda?" Orla asked Joe from her front passenger seat.

"Not yet Orla…". Joe moved his left hand to place over her right. "… we need to give them a few minutes".

"Are they havin' funny business?" Her eyes widened.

"No…". Joe chuckled. "… we just need to give them time… that's all".

Joe looked out of the window as James went past, the two sharing a nod as the Englishman rounded the front of the car to reach the path to the left. Erin was walking by his side, her own curiosity bubbling over, ready to demand to know exactly what they were doing.

"James…". She said his name as they reached the path. "… what's going on?"

He stopped in front of the gate to the house they'd pulled up in front of. She took a quick glance at it, noticing there was no car on the drive, the whole place looking seemingly empty, though there was no for sale sign outside. There was a beautiful little garden to the side of the driveway, with a little bed of flowers growing in the corner.

"Well…". He started, but laboured when it came to an explanation.

"Ach come on James, I don't like ye keeping secrets from me…". She muttered in a low voice.

He took a deep breath, requesting her hand. Having received it, he gently tugged her around so that she faced the house full on. It all began here.

"There's no secret". He stated softly. "You're looking at it".

"A house?" Erin's brows furrowed, though she didn't take her eyes off it.

However, she did take her eyes away when he dangled a key up in front of them, pulled from the pocket of his denim jacket.

"Our house".

She slowly turned her head to him, eyes wide and a heart beating faster than a race car. James knew how to pull out a surprise or two, usually when it came to staying alive, yet this was one that Erin never saw coming. A house. A house for the two of them to live in, away from the attentions of their family and friends, where the two of them could hold their future together.

"Wh… What?" Her disbelief took over.

James laughed to himself under his breath at her disbelief, watching how cute she looked, as her brain tried to process the newly found information.

"Remember when I said your dad put a bet on Bogside Warrior?"

"Yeah…". She responded with a raised brow, remembering him telling her as they cuddled in the Hospital.

"We… well I suppose I, won quite a lot of money. A couple of hundred thousand nearly…".

"WHAT!?"

"I… I wanted to do something for us…". He squeezed her hand as he spoke to make her calm again. "… and Gerry said he had a friend who was an estate agent, so it was easy enough".

Their eyes met as they looked away from the house; there was no question about what would happen next. Cupping her face with his right hand, James tilted his head down, placing his lips onto hers and kissing her with a loving passion. There was nothing rushed or childish about the kiss like most of their kisses usually were. No, this one held true love within it, making Erin blush profusely at just how romantic it was. These were the kisses she envisaged with him as her mind showed her the future through the vessel that was her happiest dreams.

"A house... THAT IS CRACKER!"

Orla's shouting, and the slamming of the car doors, broke the two out of their passionate moment. Erin was about to give Orla a piece of her mind for interrupting such a perfect moment of divinity and peace, but James shook his head to tell her not to. He didn't want a shouting match in the street.

"I'm sorry son". Joe apologised to him. "I had to tell her ye know…".

"It's alright Joe". He laughed.

"We goin' inside then… I hope yer house has a Wham bar handy James. I can only have one more this week and I am STARVIN'!".

"Orla!" Erin scolded her this time.

That was as far as the scolding went though, as James started on up the empty driveway to the front door, Erin relinquishing his hand but staying by his side. She'd thought of many doors the night before, and the many keys that were needed to unlock those specific doors, but never this door with this key.

She never expected her future to lay a few streets away from the family home.

But of course James would buy them a house… a sensible investment for a teenager when confronted with a raft of unexpected money. He could have spent it on meaningless items for himself or organised a wild party for everyone at school.

Instead, he unlocked part of their future.

The house was mostly unfurnished, but immediately Erin could tell that she would happily make it her home. The hallway leading from the entrance reminded her of the family home, being confronted with stairs to the right hand side and the hallway extending down towards the back of the house. However, the similarities ended there. The walls were not covered in hideous wallpaper like they were at home, being painted a lovely cream colour at their new house. There were no paintings hanging on the walls either. Everything was spacious and free, like they would be when they moved in.

"James…. I… I don't know what to say".

The supply of tears seemed unending for Erin, although the tears of sadness were replaced by those of joy in the hallway of their new home.

"Shall we have a look round?" He smiled, taking her hand back in his.

She nodded, but before they could start off, Joe got something off his chest.

"I have to say… Gerry's done a grand job…".

"Have ye had one of those funny scones again Granda?" Orla questioned him.

Erin snorted a laugh at the memory of Joe being ever so kind to Gerry at the wake that night, having consumed one of the drug-filled scones that were accidentally distributed. Joe gave the three of them a roll of his eyes but had to laugh at the memory himself. This time though, he didn't require any substances to compliment Gerry. Gerry had done a fine job.

James led the way, though he didn't particularly know it himself. Very quickly it was apparent that this house was bigger than the Quinn house. The first door he came to on the left was open, leading into a fairly large area that did hold one piece of furnishing within. There was a long dining table in the middle of the room, signifying exactly what the room would be used for, confirmed by the opening to the right, that led into the next room.

"Christ!" Joe exclaimed. "It's feckin' huge".

"I… how are we even goin' to fill it?" A dumbfounded Erin asked James.

"I'm sure we'll find a way". He hummed back to her.

Going through the opening to the right, they were greeted by a large kitchen. It wasn't particularly wide, but it extended right to the back garden, with a back door at the opposite end from where they were standing. There were worktops running along either side, with an oven already in place as well as washing machine. The house might have been mostly unfurnished, but between the two of them, James and Gerry ensured that essentials would be in place. Which was also why there was a gift wrapped up on the worktop immediately to the left, with Erin's name on the tag. A gift that James picked up and handed over to her.

"Ye can't have something else for me?" She grinned, a laugh creeping out from between her lips.

"Just open it". He shared the same amusement.

Gently tearing away the wrapping, Erin burst out into a fit of guffaws when she saw the essential item that James had got for her. Granted, she would have followed in her mother's footsteps by having one ready at all times, but considering his chequered past with the item in question, she was surprised it would be her fella that ensured she possessed one.

Her very own wooden spoon.

"Ye don't need to steal ours now James". Orla commented.

"That's right Orla".

He couldn't contain his laughter either, Joe being in the same boat, though Orla just smiled through it, not quite seeing how funny it truly was.

Eventually they meandered on through the kitchen, James unlocking the back door for them to go out into the spacious garden. There was a little shed up against the back fence, but other than that the rest of the garden was a lush green paradise, the grass freshly cut. A small patio area lay directly outside the door from the kitchen, with a washing line stretching around the perimeter between grass and pavement. Erin could imagine them sat out there on summer nights with the rest of the gang, drinking away without a care in the world. Listening to Michelle's overly exaggerated tales about some fella getting off with some girl, Clare fretting about whatever might have happened in the day that proceeded them and Orla making them laugh with her left field comments.

The living room had a set of French doors, they certainly wouldn't be inviting Sister Michael around anytime soon, which they re-entered the house through. The living room was perhaps the emptiest of all, only containing a television in the corner, just along from a beautiful feature fireplace. In time, they would add a large sofa and an armchair for when Joe visited, with even space for two sofas if caution was thrown to the wind.

"Can I go back outside and have a look in the wee shed?" Orla put to them.

"Here". James gave her the keys. "It's the little silver one".

"I'll come with ye love". Joe smiled at Orla. "The two of you's can have a look upstairs".

Exchanging smiles, Orla skipped out into the garden towards the shed, with Joe following her out, still grinning away. It left just James and Erin, holding hands in a house that would soon become the home that they lived in.

"Can ye get up the stairs?" Erin spoke of her concerns for him.

"For you…". He raised his other hand to pinch her nose. "… I'd do anything".

The pair of eejits were kissing again, just as passionately as they'd done when they were interrupted outside before. This time there would be no interruption though, Orla being in a world of her own in the empty wee shed at the bottom of the garden.

"I love you". He whispered into Erin's ear.

"I love you too".

After having a thorough look around upstairs, eventually joined by Orla and Joe, they were ready to depart their future home for the Quinn house. There were three bedrooms upstairs, with a large bathroom too. James and Erin had the master bedroom for themselves of course, the bed already in place for when they were to move in. There was a secondary bedroom which, upon arriving upstairs, Orla claimed for her own whenever she might visit in the years to come. Not that she would have much spare time as a professional jockey of course, though Michelle would no doubt find a few breaks in her schedule during the year to allow for a visit or two. Having a third bedroom was a luxury, but before they went inside it, Erin decided to see if James had already made plans for the room. Perhaps it might be a study space for the two of them, they might even be able to get a fancy new computer to work on.

"What about this room?" She'd asked.

"This room…". His hand had fell to her belly. "… is for when we are ready".

A room for a child… or children. James was so convinced of their future together, that he was already planning for the next generation of their family. He may have still been a teenager, and still immature in many ways, but there was no doubting how sensible his approach was. She knew he would make a brilliant father, having already told him as much a few days earlier at the Hospital, a comment reinforced at that very moment.

The trip back to the Quinn house was short, if James wasn't on crutches then they could have probably walked back hand in hand, and quickly Erin realised that it wouldn't be a quiet day. They would usually go to church on Good Friday afternoon, but judging by the number of cars that were parked all down the street, a party was in the offing. Orla was just as clueless too, having been left out of the knowledge in the fear that she might spill it to James and Erin. Only Joe knew that all of their family and friends would be at the house ahead of James finally coming home after his weeks of hell.

Walking into the house, they were greeted by Mary at the door, with the sound of family and friends chatting in the background.

"Welcome home James". She said to him.

It might not have been his real home, but the Quinn house was forever going to act as home to him. In theory, it already was for all of the gang, spending the majority of their time there, rather than at the Mallon or Devlin households.

Along with Erin, he hugged her mother, Orla almost jumping on Erin's back to be able to join in too. Joe watched on with fondness at the scene. After his past nearly conspired to ruin the foundations that they'd built over the last few months, he could only watch on in admiration at their future. They were led through to the living room, where they found all of their family and friends, along with a few surprising guests too.

James nodded a thanks to Gerry the second they were in the room, for doing such a tremendous job finding them a home. His estate agent friend would no doubt have recommended it, but James owed it to Gerry for arranging it on his behalf. His toll would soon be repaid though.

Tick Tock

The guest list was illustrious. In addition to Gerry, Sarah and baby Anna…

Michelle, Clare, Deirdre, Martin, Geraldine, Sean, Kathy, Tom, Uncle Colm, Frankie, Paul, Mr Flanagan, Sister Michael, Jenny, Aisling, Harriet, Jenny's parents… even Dennis.

They were all packed into the Quinn's living room as the clock struck twelve. There was a round of applause for James, with tears threatening to fall from most eyes in the room at the wee English fella truly being back in all of their lives. Even Sister Michael's hardened exterior was allowed to fall for a moment, genuinely happy to see James out of Hospital and ready to return to everyday life. She might have to put up with the antics of him and Erin for the rest of the school year, but those thoughts were for another day.

"Thank you". James sniffed out his feelings to them all.

"Stop crying dicko!" Michelle shouted at him, receiving a slap on her wrist from Deirdre.

Accepting a glass of champagne from Sarah, James looked back over to his cousin, who was wrapped up in Tom's arms in the corner of the room. Revenge time…

"How many of these has Michelle had?" James asked the room in a pompous tone, a chorus of laughter sounding at the open question.

"Do ye want that other leg broken?" She huffed.

"Do ye want to be grounded for the whole of Easter young lady?" Deirdre again came to James' defence. "With no access to the phone…".

"What!" Michelle argued back. "I have to have access, I'm Orla's agent and…".

Tom put his hand over Michelle's mouth, a very sensible idea that Deirdre commended him for with a dip on her own head. Sometimes it was the only way to stop Michelle, and there could be absolutely no disagreement that it was effective.

General chatter spread amongst them all for the next few minutes, with James sneaking out of the room, as sneakily as one can when on crutches, to go to the bathroom upstairs. Erin helped him up there, making sure that he did not fall on the long, agonising journey up the stairs at the Quinn house. It seemed however, that James was still full of surprises, as he told her to go to her room as there was another present for her.

Five minutes later, once he'd finished in the bathroom, they met out on the landing once more, Erin's heart melting when she realised what he'd done. When she'd gone back to her room after he'd closed the bathroom door, she found a brand-new Easter dress on her bed. It was Easter after all… it didn't look too out of place to wear it when she returned to the family downstairs. Yet when he re-appeared from the bathroom, with a familiar scarf wrapped around him, she could have oozed into the floorboards. It was like prom night all over again, except this time James wasn't at her house because John-Paul stood her up. James was there because he was her world. Her everything.

After a careful navigation on the return leg down the stairs, Joe having come to meet them at the bottom in case of any accidents, they made their way back to the family. Commenting on how beautiful Erin looked in her Easter dress, Joe's heart swelled for the young couple. Especially so, because he knew…

The couple never left each other's side once they were back in the room, taking up a spot right in the middle of the living room. The family were all stood around them, with wide grins on their faces and cheerful laughs filling the air. James knew it was the right moment. The perfect moment for his final surprise. He just needed a little bit of assistance in silencing the room. Once again, Gerry was on hand to aide him.

"I think James has something he wants to say!"

"Oi! We aren't deaf boy! Don't you be shoutin' in this house!" Joe reprimanded Gerry, whilst shouting himself… obviously.

"Thanks Gerry". James smiled his appreciation.

Tick Tock

He looked around the room, taking his hand out of Erin's grasp for a second. It was quite the crowd for what he was about to say, but it would at least save a hundred conversations over the next couple of days.

"I… I want to thank you all for what you've done for me over the past few weeks…". He started off nervously. "… I know from what I've been told that it was touch and go for a while back there… and I'm sorry that I… I… well… I'm sorry that I scared and upset you all."

"There is no need to apologise James…". Sister Michael spoke up before anyone else. "… it is to others not present to provide the apologies".

As much as he appreciated her sentiment, and would thank her privately another time, the Sister's hint towards Moira was one he didn't wish to speak of. It just wasn't the right time to openly admit to them all that he was willing to wipe the slate clean with Moira. Or that he wished to be in contact with his father. Those were experiences to have with the part of his life that was dormant for so long, but it would have to remain dormant for now, as the other part was active and in need of his attention.

"I want to say thanks to you mum, for getting these…". He pointed at his suit & scarf, along with Erin's new Easter dress. "… shipped in at such late notice".

"It's my pleasure son". She beamed back at him.

"And also to Joe for everything with the horse…". He nodded to the man, who nodded back with a tear in his eye. "… Orla for riding it so well…".

"Ach well like I was sayin… it was eeeeeasy!" She stated, sending the room into a state of laughter.

"Gerry… words really can't express what you've done for us…". He put his hand in Erin's again, her face lighting up, though with some confusion etched into it. "… with the house and getting everything together".

"For you son, any time". Gerry grinned, never being happier.

"Ye… ye organised all this… without me knowing… how?". Erin couldn't quite understand it all.

James could do nothing else but smile at his beloved's confusion, and her realisation that he'd somehow managed to plan something around her so craftily, when she believed Derry to be the worst place on earth for the concept of stealth.

"And to you Harriet…". He then addressed the blonde across the room. "… thank you for Erin's last present".

Catching the glances of Gerry and Joe, the time had come for James. He'd experience so many important moments in his life since he'd been left in Derry, some being good and some leaving him dangerously close to losing that life. They all led to this moment in the front room of the Quinn house, none of them coming close to topping what was about to happen. Erin's frown returned, creating a ripple effect of frowns around the room, except from Harriet, Gerry and Joe. Because they knew…

The two men knew because he'd asked their permission. Harriet… for the use of the family business…

Usually, you would only have to ask the father for the hand, but in this family, if you consulted Gerry, the decision needed to be accepted by Joe too. That was the way it was.

Tick Tock

"Erin…". He squeezed her hand, shifting away a second later and taking the hand away.

She stood there, still perplexed by whatever he was about to say. To him, it didn't seem like she had any idea of what was to come.

Harriet hadn't provided Erin with a final present… she'd provided James with the last question to complete the quiz that was the future. He just needed the right answer from Erin.

"You… you stayed by my side every night, from the first nights where I was hanging by a thread to… well… last night… where I was hanging by a thread…".

"And… and I'd do it again". She sniffled, tears of joy already falling.

Erin wasn't the only one tearing up around the room. Light bulbs began to flicker on through the ranks of the family. Clare was one of the first to realise, her jaw dropping open as she stared at the couple in the middle of the room. Her own heart jumped out of her chest in joyous celebration at what was about to come… they were so perfect for each other. It was always going to come to this.

"But…". James spoke again. "… I lost a few weeks of my life with you… and I never want to lose you again".

The light bulbs were all on at that comment, with James reaching into the pocket of his new suit jacket providing the concrete evidence to all suspicions.

Erin's brain was the last one to latch on, even behind Orla's, but when it finally entered her radar on what he was about to ask, her heart soared to new heights that were never before imaginable.

The little box was in his hand, and he carefully opened the lid to reveal the most perfect ring… a ring to say that they were going to be together… forever.

"I… I can't do this properly because of the leg… but…".

"Erin Josephine Quinn… will you marry me?"

There were gasps around the room, Mary practically falling apart with glee when the question was put to her daughter by the wee English fella.

Sister Michael and Michelle both chose the same moment to utter the same words, 'feck's sake', the Sister looking at the young Mallon with a face of thunder for copying her.

"YES!"

Erin leapt up to kiss him. Tears were falling from them both, but in those few seconds, nothing mattered to them outside of their own little world. The most important person in her life, the one that she thought she'd lost less than twenty-four hours earlier, had just asked her to marry him.

In the following minutes, there were hugs and kisses aplenty between all of the family. Kathy could not be prouder of her boy, shocked by the scene, but ultimately over the moon for her son. These were the moments she prayed for when she was first allowed back into his life a few weeks earlier, now having the most beautiful daughter in-law to spend time with.

Like they had done when James returned on the day of Clinton's visit, the gang formed a huddle, though Orla respectfully refrained from diving on James due to his injury. The dynamic of the group may have changed now that James and Erin were engaged, but they would still be the pack animals. They would still get into classic scrapes along the rest of the journey through school, frustrating the hell out their teachers and fellow students. That could never be taken away from them.

The gang was truly back together.

Derry Girls.

That night, Erin was safely tucked up under the covers of her own bed for the first time in weeks. She'd missed the warmth of her duvet in that time, having spent the majority of it stuck on a makeshift bed on the floor of various rooms of the Altnagelvin. If there was one place in Derry that she hoped to never see again, it was the bloody Hospital. The whole family shared that view too.

Despite having left the catering partly to Dennis, which would have been a disaster if Mary hadn't insisted on only genuine goods, the family had a brilliant afternoon. Church would stuff off for the day, even Sister Michael couldn't be bothered, though that was partly due to her being intoxicated by two o'clock, being driven home by Gerry in the end to spare her blushes with a taxi driver. She'd done one good thing for them though; drank Michelle under the table. Deirdre decided to let it happen so that she could berate her daughter the next day, fully aware that Sister Michael may have been a nun, but knowing no one could outdrink her. Deirdre tried once and failed.

As bedtime drew closer, Erin yawned, exhausted from the exhilaration of the day. But she wouldn't end it alone.

She'd told her mother on the night after he'd been attacked that she wouldn't sleep in her bed again until James was in it. That statement rang true on the evening of Good Friday, as her head was next to his, his arm around her shoulders. The couple together in bed… as they should be.

She sat back up, placing the book back on the side table, on top of the diary she'd neglected to write in for some time. In truth, she'd grown out of it.

His eyes watched her all of the way, even when she switched the light off and plunged the room into darkness. They found each other in the dark again, Erin curling up into his side, capturing his lips within an instant.

"I'm not sure my leg's well enough to withstand any funny business". He snorted a laugh into her ear as they pulled apart.

Her own giggles filled his in the next few seconds, bringing her back in to kiss again. His future wife. Wife… what an odd thing to contemplate at seventeen years old…

"I just want you to hold me tonight". She whispered to him in the darkness. "… just hold me".

The tone she spoke to him in was the one which was for his ears only, the little voice that sent his heart into overdrive. The loving voice of his Erin.

"Yes Mrs Maguire".

He dared to say it… dared to dream of the day where he could, when in law it was recognised.

"Not yet". She playfully slapped his chest, their noses coming to graze against each other.

"Oh but you so are…".

Asleep on his chest, with wide smiles on both of their faces, Gerry watched on from the doorway. They'd forgotten to shut the door before going to sleep, leaving a beautiful view for anyone else in the house to witness. Trusting them not to conduct any funny business, he was unsurprised to find them wrapped up in each other. He'd have done the same with Mary had they been in that situation… because that was how the two men both loved the important women in their lives.

"Goodnight you two". He whispered into Erin's snore-filled bedroom.

The agonies and ecstasies of the weeks gone by drew to a close as he shut her door. From the highs of Orla's racing exploits and the scenes of the afternoon just gone, to the lows of James's attack and his near death the night before… it was finally over.

As Good Friday itself came to an end, Gerry's final look over the happy couple turned his mind to thoughts of peace. They looked so peaceful in bed together, cuddling, with the reality of a life to be lived in matrimony in the years to come no doubt inhibiting their dreams.

He hoped it would be the first of many Good Friday's that were lived in peace.

Tick Tock

Chapter Text

Chapter 32: Hope 22^nd December 1996

Tick Tock

The date was a significant milestone in the story of James Maguire and Erin Quinn. It was a year to the day that they admitted their feelings to one and other in her bedroom, the start of the eventful journey that led to the morning of the day three hundred and sixty-six days later.

The day of their wedding.

On paper, a year together didn’t seem like much, but the events of the year that they’d had seemed like a lifetime already. On becoming a couple, they’d found the missing pieces of their own lives that they did not put their fingers on being absent before. Though they’d known each for well over a year before becoming a couple, instantly they could not do without each other once they had done so. Having it nearly ripped away from them on more than one occasion that spring only served to strengthen their relationship, and when he proposed on Good Friday, there was only ever going to be one answer.

In the weeks that followed their engagement, they’d carefully planned out a wedding, both wishing to hold it on the anniversary of their relationship beginning. There was something poetic about it, which Erin made sure to stress adamantly a number of times, and also something so right. It was the perfect start to the Christmas holidays too, a Christmas they would be spending as a couple in their own home. Once the exams were over, and school was finished, they moved straight in at the start of the summer. Piece by piece, they were furnishing their home, bringing items from their own homes as well as buying new things too. It was far from complete, with the dining room only receiving one or two new acquisitions entirely, but it didn’t need to be rushed.

They’d enjoyed their first holiday together in the summer too, with James having passed his driving test and, thanks to some help from Antony Scanlon of all people, purchased a nice car to own. The mechanic used his connections in order to get James a rather large discount, not hesitating to do so when he found out James had passed. A two-week adventure from Derry to England in August involved a lot of driving, giving James a lot of time to practice as well, but it was perfect for them. Setting off on the 10^th, they incorporated a visit to see the girls at their new base at Harriet’s home in the Cotswolds a couple of days later, before moving down to Devon for the main part of their holiday. That included watching Orla race at Newton Abbot racecourse on the 15^th, where she won the last race of the evening meeting. After a beautiful week or so, where they’d stayed at a luxurious hotel at the small coastal resort of Dawlish Warren, they met Kathy for a day in Oxford. She’d travelled up from London to see her boy and his soon to be wife, participating in a day of merriment before the couple returned to Derry. A perfect summer.

Kathy had stayed in Derry until a few days after Easter, returning home to London to continue running the self-adhesive labels business. Business ran smoothly throughout the year, profits increasing as the year drew to a close, with the run up to Christmas especially busy. She was never going to stay in Derry, having made it very clear in the past that living back in her home city was off the cards. But back she was again for the wedding, having made the trip over the day before and spending the evening with her son at his home he shared with Erin, Erin herself spending the night before the wedding back at the Quinn house. She’d visited once between meeting them in Oxford and that weekend, having made a trip over one weekend early in October. She’d promised to make more visits over the following year as the business settled, though some were going to be out of necessity more than social calls…

Standing at the altar that morning, with Erin just a few minutes away, James took a look out over his family and friends. And to the thought of the one person that he wished was there, but sadly was not.

His father.

On Easter Saturday, James spoke to his father for the first time.

But also, the last time.

After the miracles of surviving the multiple attempts to kill him, James could not produce another one in the form of being accepted by his biological father. Ronan made it clear to him that he could not bring James into his life, wishing to focus on the rest of his family ahead of the son he never wanted in the first place. He’d always believed there would be a chance that Ronan didn’t wish to open his heart, so he accepted it, but it upset him deeply. Finally finding the father he never thought he would find, and then finding himself unwanted by the man, hurt. A lot. But with the love of Erin and, from back in London, his mother, he didn’t stay depressed for long. He already had father figures in his Uncle Martin, Joe and Gerry; if his own father didn’t want him, then he had three others that did.

That should have been the end of it.

The trial of Moira and the Scanlon’s kicked off not that long after Easter. James attended as much as he could, always with Erin by his side, Sister Michael having understood the need for him to do so and granting them the odd morning away from school. It was tough for him to sit and listen to the pure unfiltered hatred and contempt that she held for him, not that it did anything to dampen his resolve to one day reconcile with her. One night in May though, it proved to be even tougher for his biological father. Moira’s remorseless testimonies proved a breaking point for a marriage that’s foundations had been shook for a second time by the name Maguire. Aine and Ronan would row daily, with his unfaithful actions of years before ensuring that she could no longer trust him, making it a deadly combination with the stress of their daughter’s trial. The night of the 29^th May, sandwiched in the middle of the exam period, became a night to forget for James.

There were only rumours about what had happened at first, but by the time the late-night news aired that night, it confirmed the grim reality of the rumours. Aine and Ronan O’Keefe were both found dead at their home. With the children staying with some of their older siblings for a couple of days, the two of them were trying to use the break from parental duties to rebuild their marriage. But Ronan couldn’t go on, the guilt over his own mistakes from the past having driven Moira to a lust for blood, that was unable to be shaken, causing his life to boil over again. Waiting for Aine to return from a trip to the shops, he’d killed her in the kitchen whilst she was putting the shopping away, bludgeoning her to death with a hammer. Having already written out his own note for the cops to find, he found his father’s old pistol in the loft and shot himself in the head with it, his body crumpling down next to his wife’s. Knowing that the noise would alert the neighbours, they’d called the cops, the RUC men stumbling across the brutal scene a short while later.

James cried himself to sleep in Erin’s arms that night, mourning for a father who he didn’t know, but still held affection for. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for the children, his half siblings, who’d lost both of their parents that night. As Erin did her best to comfort him as he lay sobbing into her chest, he told her of the difficulty it was causing him. James wanted to go to his half siblings, to share in the grief with them, yet felt guilty because he still had Kathy to love, whereas they no longer had either parent. She’d told him that it wasn’t irrational to feel that way, soothing his pain in the early hours of the following morning until he eventually fell asleep. The rest of the exam period became a true struggle for the Englishman, but with the support of family and friends, and his own steely determination, he got through them.

That was as much thought as he was willing to give Ronan on his wedding day though. It was supposed to be a happy day, so he wiped the tears out his eyes.

“You alright son?” Joe checked in with him.

“Y… Yes”. James stuttered but curved his lips into a smile. “I’m about to become the happiest man in the world”.

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Tick Tock

Erin Quinn was living her last minutes of going by that surname. By the setting of the sun that afternoon, in the eyes of the Lord and in law, she would be Erin Josephine Maguire. If someone had whispered that in her ear on the first morning James appeared from behind Michelle’s shoulder, she’d have viciously rebuked them about wising up. Michelle owned the fella then, by ways of being stuck with him, but within the next hour, that ownership would pass to her.

That would be the first of many experiences shared with the wee English fella, who over time, grew to become her wee English fella. After having been so convinced she’d lost him to, in her eyes, the far more beautiful Harriet the prior Christmas, the evening exactly one year before her wedding day started the best year of her life. A strange title to give to a year which saw James beaten within an inch of his, subsequently coming close to being murdered by his own half-sister, as well as nearly also being killed by a ghost from her Granda Joe’s past and then losing his biological father. All great stories held sad moments though, but it was the happier ones that they were going to remember the year by. James daringly stealing her mother’s wooden spoon… Valentine’s morning when they’d first made love to each other… becoming Grand National winning owners and then James proposing to her on Good Friday in front of all of their family and friends. The best times of her life.

Tick Tock

Sat in her wedding car, Erin could only think of those happier times. Those absolutely fantastic days with James. Returning to school after the Easter break also turned out to be a wonderous time for Erin. Amazingly, considering Derry was… Derry… not one other student had any idea about their engagement until they looked at their hands and saw the rings. Near enough everyone was happy for the pair of them too, barring Moira’s loyal friends, though they were quickly silenced by other students who were more than happy to defend the couple. James still struggled for a few weeks with his broken leg, but with the help of her, the girls and the teachers, getting around school was no problem at all.

Mr Flanagan proved, as he often had done, to be a valuable ally.

The History teacher was delighted for the young couple on Good Friday itself, unsurprised that they would get married, albeit not expecting it so soon. Teachers weren’t really supposed to have favourites, or show any kind of special treatment to students, but there was something about James Maguire and Erin Quinn that drove him to like them above all. The rest of the gang too. His moral support to the gang did not go unpaid either; every single one of them passed their History exam with flying colours to honour him, Orla again smashing the Cromwell exam out of the park. For Robert Flanagan, that was the greatest award of all. However, it wasn’t to be his only award. Miss Mooney decided to leave the school for a job with far better pay and no Sister Michael, her loss in the head mistress’ eyes, rendering the deputy position vacant. He’d not even been teaching a year at the school and was unveiled as its new deputy head. Quite the achievement, but one the girls believed to be well deserved.

Tick Tock

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Tick Tock

TICK TOCK

“Da! Yer watch is so loud, can ye take it off… yer ruinin’ my wedding day!”

“Alright love”. Gerry put his hands up in a mock surrender. “Christ, I knew yer mother bought this from Dennis…”.

Erin rolled her eyes at her father’s grumbling antics, Gerry leaving the watch on the backseat of the car in between them. The watch would be one less guest at the wedding. The church was going to be packed full, as even people they didn’t know wanted to witness the wedding of a girl of their own city to a wee English fella, also of their city. Having offered to act as the main planner alongside her daughter, Mary was flustered by the sheer amount of people that would need to be seated in the church and then have food provided for them at the reception. Dennis wasn’t going to be catering, that was for sure. She was awash with panic that morning too, with Erin and Gerry lucky that they were not having to share a car with her.

Unfortunately for the bridesmaids, they were…

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What if there weren’t enough seats?

What if the priest was suddenly taken ill?

Did the caterers know what time to expect them?

Shit! Was enough Champagne ordered?

Mary was firing questions at the three bridesmaids in the back of the car, two of whom were trying to calm her down, whilst the other looked out the window and waved at people.

Orla being in a world of her own whilst waving at whoever might be walking past the two-car procession was at least one distraction less for her not to worry about, but Mary wanted it to be the perfect day for Erin and was terrified it would all go wrong. Making matters worse, Clare was joining her in the panicking rather than trying to give her reassuring answers, which left only Michelle to pick up the pieces. Michelle and her gutter mouth.

“Fucks sake, can ye both calm down!”.

“Calm down… CALM DOWN?!” Mary spat fire at Michelle. “You aren’t the one who’s been puttin’ all this together Michelle… you aren’t responsible if my Erin doesn’t have the day she wants!”

“Hmph! Can’t be that good…”.

“Excuse me?!”

“She’s marryin’ my fuckin’ ballbag of a cousin, what’s perfect about that?” She snorted.

“Wise up Michelle!” Clare shouted at her in her fretting state. “It’s perfect for Erin and ye know it!”

Michelle was spared from having to defend her opinion by the ringing of her mobile telephone. Deirdre finally caved in for Michelle’s eighteenth birthday, buying her one of the fancy phones, making her job as Orla’s agent far easier. It did cause a problem for everyone else though, as the phone would rarely leave Michelle’s side, ringing at all hours of the day and being answered without fail. She’d often phone James and Erin at their house from her landline phone in England, only to abruptly hang up on them a minute later in order to take a call on the mobile.

“Michelle Mallon…”.

She answered like a hotshot businesswoman, only missing the sunglasses to complete the look. The three of them were then treated to a typically Michelle the jockey’s agent conversation.

“Ach hello there Mr Moore…”.

“Not bad thank ye….”.

“Aye she’s at Down Royal on Boxing Day…”.

“Give me a second, let me get me planner out…”.

Mary wasn’t best pleased when Michelle got into the car with a handbag full of diaries and race fixtures, as well as the phone, and glared at her as she proceeded with the phone call. Clare was equally angered by her lack of respect for the situation they were in, given Mary’s panicking, though Orla was listening in intently. It might mean more rides!

“So yer man’s injured then… Christ, that’s a nightmare…”.

“No, she’s with me back home. It’s her cousin’s weddin’, we’re just on the way there now…”.

Putting the phone down for a second, Michelle looked to Mary.

“Arthur passes on his best for Erin”.

Mary nodded, still too panicked with the thoughts in her head to give a sensibly worded answer, even if a simple ‘Thank you’ was all that was needed.

“Right then…”. Michelle picked the phone back up. “… so which races do ye need her…”.

“Aye she can do that one in the first… good on the weight front as well…”.

“No the two o’clock she’s already ridin’ one for Frankie…”.

“Tell her to get off it? Catch yourself on!”

“Yeah… that’s what I thought, shall we continue?”.

“She can do that one in the fourth as well… just the two then…”.

“right, I’ll speak to ye on Boxing day mornin’…”.

“Happy Christmas aye…”.

The phone finally went down, just as they entered the road down to the church with Michelle excitedly then informing Orla of the additional rides on Boxing Day. With four rides at the course, which was just a stone’s throw away from The Maze prison, the family would all spend a day at the races after Christmas, hoping for Orla to win a race or two.

Which they knew she would.

Winning races was becoming something of a norm when it came to Orla. She’d only rode sporadically through the exam period, taking advantage of her amateur status to continue to ride Frankie’s horses on the amateur circuit. Combining that with riding in the normal National Hunt races, the successes staggeringly kept coming. She’d won the Irish National on Easter Monday in a comfortable fashion, kicking off a week that ended with four winners under professional rules and a winner for Frankie at the hunt track on the Friday. With two Nationals under her belt before her seventeenth birthday, she was already garnering a reputation for being a National specialist, encapsulated once again at Ayr racecourse later that month when she put the others to the sword in the Scottish National. She was only missing the Welsh one to add to her collection, a collection that she was aiming to complete before the year was out. The Welsh National was held the day after Boxing Day, so she would be hotfooting it from Down Royal to the airport, flying over to Wales’s Chepstow racecourse for the ride. Although, it was not set-in stone that she would do so, as the weather forecast was not looking too good for the days to come in Wales.

Once the exams were over, and school was finished for another year, Orla had made her way to England. It wasn’t her first trip back either, having gone with all of them to visit Queen Elizabeth II herself in April, and Her Majesty even let her have one of the Corgi’s, after she’d said how ‘cracker the wee dogs were’. The opportunity to ride Harriet’s fathers’ horses was meant to begin in the winter, but Orla’s Grand National success changed everything. Catching the eye of the world usually led to an opportunity, one which an English trainer gave her after a phone call with Michelle at the start of May. Orla became the apprentice to trainer Nigel Twiston-Davies, spending around a month or so settling in to work at his stables in the Cotswolds, having her first competitive ride for him at Worcester racecourse in July. Which was a winning one. Being an apprentice allowed her to claim weight in races, something which the other jockeys believed she didn’t need. Starting off being able to take seven pounds off a horse’s back, any trainer or owner who held an entry at top weight in a handicap race, would be on the phone to Michelle begging to have Orla. The talent of Orla McCool plus the additional weight off the horse was legal cheating, and it didn’t take long for the claim to be worn down. By the morning of Erin’s wedding, she’d ridden fifty-three winners in England that season, eradicating her claim down to just three pounds. At ninety-five winners, she could claim no more, and there was a real chance that she would achieve that figure before the end of the season.

Her success wasn’t limited to England either. She couldn’t ride in the amateur races once she’d accepted the apprenticeship position in England, but if Frankie ever needed her to ride a horse under professional rules, then Michelle knew to clear her schedule. Even if it clashed with a ride for the Twiston-Davies team, they understood Orla wanting to go back home to ride for the trainer who first recognised her ability. Loyalty was an important concept to Orla. Her loyalty to her Grand National winning mount remained too, going over to the Czech Republic in October and steering Bogside Warrior to victory in the race she’d affectionally renamed the ‘Velcro Park Beaker’… or the Velká Pardubická as it was actually known. Since the first winner in March, she’d ridden eighty-two winners all together across multiple countries in both the professional and amateur ranks. At seventeen, it was quite extraordinary.

She owed a lot to Michelle.

Stepping up seamlessly into the role of agent, Michelle became a force to be reckoned with on the racing scene. She developed a brilliant working relationship with any trainers or owners who requested Orla for their horse, but if anyone tried to put pressure on Orla, they were met with both barrels. After having finished second on a horse for one particular owner, they rang Michelle demanding that her client pay them for a poor ride. Having watched the race herself from their home back in the Cotswolds, Michelle was aware that Orla was beaten fair and square, rather than it being a poor performance on her behalf. The owner would never be contacting them again, with ears burning from the receiving end of the Mallon tongue.

Another on the receiving end of that tongue, though in a different context, was Tom. Their relationship blossomed from Easter onwards, with the Englishman earning himself a place at the Gloucestershire University that September, moving in with her in the Cotswolds before the start of his studies. He was studying to become a physiotherapist, with the job at Aintree only being for a bit of money on the side. It was pure luck that Michelle was going to be living so close to the University, but a bit of luck they reaped the rewards of. Once he’d returned to England after the few days at Easter, they’d spoken every night on the phone throughout the next couple of months. When they did meet up again in July, he took her away for a lovely few days together in Spain, with Michelle continuing her agents role from there upon receiving the phone for her birthday. It was odd for her, considering she’d always just seen fellas as rides, to actually be in love with one, but Tom made her feel special in the same way James did for Erin. And that was more than enough for Michelle. Harriet allowing him to stay there with her too, seeing as it was Harriet’s property and she had every right to say no, was another thing she had to be thankful for. She wasn’t the only one. For when James and Erin visited in August, they visited all of the girls at their Cotswold base.

Clare moved over to England too.

After having contemplated her wish to become a teacher further, the diminutive blonde was still uncertain, and then the imminent departure of two of the group to England, left only James and Erin, who were engaged. She’d suddenly felt a sense of isolation, but wisely chose to open up to Harriet rather than anyone else. The English girl, being the understanding and supportive friend that she’d always been to the gang, made the suggestion of moving over with the other two. After all, Harriet would be at university and Michelle would be wrapped up in the business of being a jockey’s agent… so someone needed to look after things at the house. Still wanting to work as well though, she’d began to help with accounts work for all of the businesses that Harriet’s family owned throughout England and Ireland, combining it with managing the house. It was only twenty hours or so a week, but she was looked after by Harriet financially, with her father extremely grateful for the assistance. The business’s finances were of a concern until Clare stepped in to re-organise how they were managed, getting them all up to date within only a few weeks. Being able to spend her days with Michelle, and her evenings with Orla too, a normal, peaceful life had evolved in England for Clare. She couldn’t have asked for anything else.

All three of them couldn’t be happier on that morning either. As much as Michelle may have still made scathing comments about James at every opportunity, it warmed her to know that her dick of a cousin and one of her best friends were about to truly seal their future together. The two were a perfect couple; a pair of awkward and adorable teenagers that held the keys to each other’s hearts.

Coming to a stop outside the church, they exited their vehicle behind the wedding car. Mary and the three bridesmaids beamed with immense pride as Gerry helped Erin out of the car, her white dress billowing in the wind behind her. For her parents, it was one of the proudest moments of their life, one that was coming a lot earlier than anticipated, but feeling right nonetheless. James Maguire, the perfect candidate as a son in-law, was just a few minutes away from earning that title in the eyes of the Lord.

“Right then!” Michelle shouted. “Let’s get these two feckin’ eejits married!”

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The time had come.

They could hear the cars pulling up outside, and James turned to his best man and the other two groomsmen with a smile on his face.

It was an easy decision when it came to choosing a best man. He chose the best man that he could think of in his life, and though it was a tie with Gerry, Joe wasn’t having to give the bride away, so it was Erin’s Granda that served as her fella’s best man. His Uncle Martin and Tom were chosen as the two groomsmen, with James’s friendship with Tom becoming a concrete one. After all, they were two English lads who were both in love with two beautiful girls from Derry… they needed to be friends to survive the girls!

“I’m nervous”. James admitted to Joe.

“Don’t be son…”. Joe spoke softly, a typically calming hand being placed on James’ shoulder. “… ye deserve this, so ya do. I couldn’t be more contented as Erin’s Granda in seein’ ye take her hand”.

James could have cried there and then at the beautiful comment from Joe, but he held his nerve, instead chuckling to himself to ease the tears away.

“Thanks Joe”.

Suddenly the doors to the church creaked open, the packed rows of people all standing to witness the arrival of the bride. Not that it was going to be a conventional procession to the altar of course. This was their lives after all… it wouldn’t be right if one of the gang didn’t go and do something ridiculous on such a momentous day. It most certainly wouldn’t be the Queen of cack attacks, for she was still worrying that one thing or the other would go wrong. When it came to the random and ridiculous, Orla would usually be the first choice for being the culprit, but it was Michelle on that day that went and ruined it.

“MOTHERFUCKERSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!”

There were shocked gasps from throughout the crowd as she roared her typical greeting into the house of God, the shout bouncing off the walls all around them. James could only put his head in his hands as everyone else glared at his cousin, who was stood covering the entrance, a face that started to redden when she realised the rapturous laughter she’d thought would occur afterwards, did not start at all.

“I am going to kill her…”. Deirdre muttered as she stood with her sister.

Kathy may have carried an expression of shock on her face, but she actually thought it was quite amusing that Michelle would shout that into the church. It seemed to work for the organ player too, who decided to begin playing the entrance music to cover the silence Michelle created. The young Mallon was out of the way in a split second the moment that it began, to reveal the bride on the arm of her father. Gerry believed himself to be the proudest man on Earth, ready to hand his daughter over to the greatest young man he could have possibly hoped for.

From the altar, James stared down the aisle to gaze upon the presence of an angel that appeared in the doorway. He hadn’t seen her since first thing the previous morning, the pang in his heart constantly reminding him just how much he’d missed her since. When their joyfully watered eyes met, Erin’s smile put his heart right back into place again, with his classic lopsided grin sending her heart the same way.

She was his angel.

He also looked to Gerry too, and as father and daughter made their way up the aisle to the altar, there was a nod shared. Of course for Gerry, there was an extra special duty that he was performing as he led her to James’s side. Because it wasn’t just her…

James moved his eyes away from the man who was about to become his father in-law, to his bride, glancing down. His eyes were fixed on the swell of her belly, where their first child was beginning to grow. As they’d began the process of moving into their new home that summer, the two of them sat down one night to hold a conversation both had been wanting to have with the other for a while. On the night before James was attacked in March, they’d briefly discussed having children in the future, coming to the conclusion that they weren’t ready for it, one which was supported by Mary. The events of the weeks that followed had forced a change in opinion for the both of them though, and once the exams were out of the way, they could finally have their next discussion on the matter. With James having spoken his mind first, Erin was relieved that he too wished for a child. So from that night onwards, they tried for one. When they’d told Mary and Gerry of their plans, the former was against the idea, but it was Gerry who’d talked his wife around, knowing that James would do right by their daughter. With the decision being a joint one between the couple, he was satisfied that they were ready and gave his blessing, not that they asked for it.

After all, they’d conquered death together… creating a new life was a far less frightening prospect.

The day before their holiday adventure to England, Erin confirmed to him that she was pregnant, making the trip even more special in his eyes. It did also mean he got an extra earful from Mary the morning that they set off, being reminded that he had two people to look after and not one. It didn’t matter though, because James could not have been happier. Michelle was far from pleased when they’d told her during their trip to England, Clare having to place herself between the cousins to stop Michelle hitting him, but she’d eventually came around. Having proven to be so naturally suited to a fatherly role with how he was with Anna, even she couldn’t deny that he would be a brilliant daddy. The whole family were pleased for them really, with only Sarah raising her concerns in case the baby came out speaking English, which she still believed to be a problem… though James and Erin paid little attention to what she thought.

Their child was due in a few months’ time, which necessitated the plans for their own futures having to reassessed. Financially, James was concerned, as they couldn’t just live off the money he’d won on the bet, as most of it had already been spent on the house and its furnishings. Turning to his mother, Kathy reneged on her previous decision in her letter and made him an associate within the business, James then being able to work from home and help to make sales in Ireland. Being at home meant that when the child was born, he could spend the precious early years raising it and being there with Erin, instead of having to be out working all of the time. It also allowed Erin to take a year away from studying, with the aim of starting her journalism degree the following September, taking off any additional pressures in the run up to the birth. Both of their families offered their support too, with the couple preparing for the inevitable fights between Mary and Deirdre for who got to look after the baby on which afternoon.

As Erin drew up alongside him, James’s heart fluttered. She was truly stunning in her gorgeous wedding dress, Sarah having done a fantastic job with her makeup that morning too. He could see Erin’s Aunt over her shoulder and smiled over to her as a thank you for making his Erin look beautiful on their big day.

“You…”. He could barely speak above a murmur. “… you are a glorious vision”.

Blinking back the tears, Erin could have broken all traditions to snog the face off of him there and then, but she just about held back.

The wedding of James Maguire and Erin Quinn began…

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The rings were ready to be exchanged and consent was ready to be given.

Neither could stop smiling at the other in front of their captivated audience. There was barely a dry eye in the church, oddly enough Anna was probably the driest eyed and she was the baby.

“Since it is your intention to enter the covenant of Holy Matrimony…”. The priest began. “… I invite you to join your hands and declare your consent before god”.

Erin held her hand out for James, and he took it, giving her a slight squeeze, eliciting a sweet chuckle from under her breath. She could see her Granda Joe over his shoulder, who’s tears were streaming like the Foyle as he watched on. He remembered being stood where James was, marrying his Marie all those years ago, as she looked beautiful within her veil. Then the equally beautiful, apart from Gerry being the one his Mary had chosen, wedding day of his daughter. Now it was the turn of one of his granddaughters. His one fear in his later years, was not being able to see any of Erin, Orla or Anna get married. He still held every chance of seeing all three wedded and was going to meet a great grandchild before he was called to the Lord’s side. When he chose family over violence, nothing told him his decision was more correct than as he stood there watching over the young couple that morning.

“James”. The priest addressed him to begin the consent. “Do you take Erin to be your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?

He was going to love her every day for as long as he drew breath, that was a promise he’d made to himself one year to the day before. The answer was an easy one.

“I do”.

She was desperately trying not to become overwhelmed by the emotions, emotions that already had taken Clare, Mary, Kathy and Joe. All four were sobbing with joy.

“Erin”. The priest turned to her. “Do you take James to be your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?

She was going to love him for as long as the good Lord would allow her too, having already done so for so long, now revelling in the chance for it to be recognised in God’s eyes. The answer was an easy one.

“I do”.

With the melodic answer ringing in his ears, a bleary-eyed James looked over Erin’s shoulder to see Michelle, who’d finally given up trying to keep it together. Tears were streaming down her face, ones of complete and utter joy for her cousin and one of her best friends. She’d never seen James be baptised as a child, so she’d given him a baptism of fire when he arrived in Derry. Spending most of her time with him in attempts to toughen him up with ridicule or teasing, it made her heart leap out of her chest to see him so happy. James had endured a rough ride in life, with hers being navigated with comparative ease compared to his, so to see him enjoying his greatest moment was incredible. Her dick of an English cousin, getting what he so richly deserved. A most caring, loving wife.

Focusing back on the ceremony, the priest waffled about something or other for a minute, James not really caring to listen to the overly religious parts of the ceremony, not exactly being a devoted religious man himself. He did spring back into action though when the priest mentioned the rings, which were placed in front of them by Joe.

“Erin…”. He spoke the name of his angel directly to her, placing the ring onto her finger. “…Please accept this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity to you in the eyes of the Lord”.

He could feel the electric surge that their hands being on each other’s caused at that moment, the sparks flooding back around their bodies. The sparks that would often be felt as they held hands walking home from school, the same sparks when she would cuddle up next to him and the very ones when they would graze hands passing a box of cereal between them. The sparks of love.

“James…”. She almost whispered the name of her beloved, sliding the ring onto his outstretched finger. “… Please accept this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity to you in the eyes of the Lord”.

Everyone in the church was blubbering in some capacity, Kathy and Deirdre holding his hands whilst watching the young couple give themselves to each other. Gerry’s arm was around his Mary as she wept joyfully, Sarah holding her hand to the other side too.

“I now pronounce you, man and wife”.

The priest grinned from ear to ear. It was his honour to be the man chosen to perform the ceremony, for perhaps the most well documented marriage in the city’s history. The marriage of Erin Quinn and the wee English fella. A marriage that broke the laws of science and averages. One which confirmed her as Erin Maguire…

He turned his attention to James.

“You may now kiss the bride”.

Two pairs of irises locked onto each other as the words were uttered, as they had done so many times. This though, would be the first time where their lips would come together as a lawfully married couple. In the church that Sunday, there were no conventions holding them back… there was no one there to tell them that it was wrong… no Moira O’Keefe… no Danny or Brian Scanlon… nor Michael McNulty. They were safely stood at the altar, with a child growing inside of her, being seen as husband and wife.

As their lips came together, they were grinning away like eejits, like they had done the first time they’d kissed in her bedroom that night. Joe would be interrupting again too, though this time it was in unison with everyone else in the church, applauding the marriage of the two complete doses, who’d fallen so deeply in love. Pulling away from each other, they could only think to say the same thing, at exactly the same time.

“I love you”.

Their love, that started as a fleeting hope, became defined by that very word.

Hope.

Their relationship existed on hope, the hope that they would be able to be with each other for the rest of their lives. The hope that they would share the experiences that could be looked back on in the end with glee and without regret. Hope that they could involve their closest friends and share in their dreams and ambitions too. Hoping that Orla could break every boundary when it came to the view of women in sport, ripping up every script written by men who would forever be in fear of the name McCool. Hoping that Clare could find her own happiness and change perceptions in whatever she strived to accomplish. The hope that Michelle would continue to knuckle down with her job and find her own peaceful love, whether it be with Tom or anyone else.

So when their daughter was born, timing her arrival perfectly on Good Friday of the following year, to coincide with the day James had asked Erin to marry him, they named her Hope. As a lasting memory of how their story began and the way in which it would continue to exist.

With Hope.

At the end of the day, it was a message they were sending to everyone. That with hope, anything was then possible if you then dared to dream. The road to those dreams may be rocky, the summit not always being visible, but with the power of hope on your side, you can conquer all.

Hope.