Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Morning

Even for James it was bloody early.

The ferry journey from Liverpool across to Belfast was always a bit of a pain overnight, and this time was no different. He’d nearly missed the damn thing having had quite a day of it trying to get from London all the way up to the port, having been on the go for what felt like twenty four hours, even if it wasn’t quite. His beloved Doctor Who faced multiple enemies of varying species, but even the Time Lord would be unable to answer the ungodly power of a lane closure around junction ten of the M6.

That stretch of road wasn’t made for humans.

Horrific traffic jams and the rush to actually get to the port aside, the journey over itself was fine until his brain decided to wake up just an hour short of the few hours sleep that he wanted. He could get pretty moody when he was tired, so the girls told him anyway, which meant what was already going to be a challenging day today, was about to be made even more so.

A couple of hours to kill, in mostly the dark, meant parking up in the safest place it was possible for an English fella, and getting something to eat. There were barely any places open at that time on a Friday morning, but all he was after was a bacon roll and a cup of tea, which he safely managed to obtain. Constantly looking around him and hoping to hell that his accent hadn’t led to anyone to deciding to introduce his teeth to the pavement one by one, he made it back to the Volvo unharmed.

Listening to the relatively average early morning radio whilst he ate, James found himself able to settle into some sort of peace for a few minutes. Peace that would be shattered in the not-too-distant future, therefore he knew he would have to relish it.

A couple of hours or more with Michelle, without any support, was bad enough in the open but in the small space of a moving vehicle it was going to be hell on earth for him. She always criticised his driving without failure for being too slow, yet whenever he did anything remotely reckless, she would scold him. That was before all the normal insults about his accent, his mother or his life in general were uttered, a chorus of what would be unacceptable hatred from anyone else accept her.

Hatred was too strong anyway; tough love. As much as it could wear him down at times, he did at least have the solace of knowing she cared a lot about him deep down.

It made sense that they would go back to Derry together when she was studying in Belfast, and it was on his route home. Towards the back end of her course there, it wouldn’t be long before she was taking her final exams unlike James who still had another year to go. The decision to go back made a lot of sense though too, with neither of them having classes again until Wednesday, a rare alignment of their time. The rest of the girls weren’t so fortunate but given that Clare was living back in Derry and Erin and Orla still lived at home, they were going to see them.

And get absolutely steaming.

Friday night’s activities were signed and sealed the moment Michelle rang Erin. Saturday’s too for good measure when they’d probably be all left boking at the end of the night.

Still, Derry and getting lashed were a long drive away, and before James could even think about getting out onto the open road, he had to wake his cousin up first. Michelle’s flat, if it could be called that, wasn’t too difficult to find, the early rays of the morning sun being the only obstacle between him and getting there. The imposing tower could hardly be missed anyway, especially when he’d already seen a picture of it over Christmas just a few weeks back.

Flat was in fact a poor description of the place when he got to the front door of the block. Expecting to have to ring her door number, forty-seven, he instead found it wide open. Wearing gloves because of the nip in the February air, he found himself doubly glad when the door handle looked like it hadn’t seen a clean palm in years.

Squat would be the accurate way to describe what could be found when one stepped into the block, the walls looking just as depreciated as the door handles, some loose paper flapping in the wind, haphazardly pinned to the one surviving noticeboard that was mandatory.

Comparing it to his own flat back in London would have been stupid anyway when there were certain economic factors that gave his place the advantage, but he could have stripped the place bare, and it would have still narrowly edged it. The block he lived in was much smaller but never had he walked into it to find what he did at the bottom of the stairs. Over the bottom banister, a discarded purple bra dangled loosely, the accompanying knickers lying in a large pile of boke just underneath the bottom step.

“Charming…”. He muttered to himself.

Taking one look at the lift and deciding that there was more chance of his dad being Fatboy Slim than there was of it working, he deftly stepped over the previous nights droppings and continued on the walk up. There were a hell of a lot of stairs between him and Michelle’s door, but after sitting in a car for hours on end, the sensations of his legs shuffling forward became a welcome blessing. He was a little early too, which always helped.

Some might have hoped that the higher they climbed, the better the place got, but that was never going to be the case with her block, nor did he expect it to be. A couple of floors up saw him having to negotiate some curiously placed syringes, which were definitely not there for legal medical purposes. The disheartening sight of cold, ripped pizza slices also filled another block of stairs, which was bound to bring a tear to the eye of any nearby takeaway connoisseur. The cleaners of the building would have a job on their hands, that was for sure.

Reaching Michelle’s floor didn’t take too long at all, and glad of the walk, James arrived with a smile on his face. That smile extended to the girl who he held the door to the floor for too as she exited, one that she returned with thanks. A little confidence boost for the morning, he’d done well not to speak and thereby ruin the blonde’s impression of him as she passed. Not that he was in any way getting his hopes up when Michelle either already knew her and made her well aware of him or would do so the second she did. The English accent would have long destroyed any chance by then anyway.

Inconveniently, her flat was on the end on the left, though luckily the floor was remarkably clean all the way to the door. Other than what was either mud or dog shit on the other side, which was thankfully a little too far out of the way for him to be bothered by. Just as he expected, the seven on her door was hanging nearly completely off, the four looking like it had seen better days too.

“Why am I surprised”. He shook his head, lightly chuckling.

Knocking the door was the most logical thing to do when he was not blessed with her spare key, but that would have been so for those who did not know the occupant. It would have been a concern if the door was locked, and when he pushed it to find the inevitable, James could cross any worries for Michelle’s safety off the list.

Inside his expectations were once again met. Michelle’s place was small but more than a dorm and was not tidy at all. Other than the space around the small television in the corner and the desk with a computer on next to it, there were a mix of abandoned clothes, a turned over washing basket, the cases she arrived with and textbooks, amongst other things. The adjoining kitchen didn’t look too much better too, pots and pans piled high alongside empty bottles and stained plates, evidence of food eaten days ago still left on the surfaces. A hygienic nightmare that made him squint, James turning his head to look out of the window, eyes scanning over the landscape of more student accommodation and general cityscape.

Huffing under his breath at the state of the place that, though he admittedly thought he would find, was still disappointed to do so, he wasn’t quite sure what to do first. Michelle evidently was not awake and on time and the place needed some serious tender loving care to become worthy of being called accommodation.

That decision was quickly made for him though, when one of the two wooden doors at the bottom of the kitchen opened. For a change, when expecting Michelle, he instead found a shirtless fella wandering out of what he guessed was the bedroom, carrying said shirt in his hand while looking rather asleep still. James didn’t have any doubt as to the reason why the bloke was there, but when the bloke clocked him the same could not be said.

“You the… boyfriend?” The fella asked, in a tone that screamed dazed and confused. “Shit, she never said there was a boyfriend…”.

James could only scoff at his cousin’ latest conquest’s vague attempts to wake up to a day following what must have been a heavy night.

“No no, I’m not her boyfriend”.

It took the fella a few seconds to process his reply but when he did, his veins started to pop throughout his body. A reaction that James knew too well, albeit without actually ever seeing the vein popping rage before, normally just hearing it.

“English? THE FUCK!” Predictably the explosion came. “The fuck you doin’ in here ye fuckin’ pasty shitehead, get the fuck out!”

Another time he might have legged it at those words, but the wee English fella stayed planted when he heard the other worldly groan from behind his aggressor. That brought a smile to his face, a completely different reaction that flummoxed the Irishman that looked ready to kill him if he thought it necessary.

Which it wasn’t. To James.

“For fuck’s sake James, why did ye have to get here so early!” Shouting, she began the moaning from inside the bedroom. “Its only just light ye massive dickhead!”

“You said half seven, Michelle. Its…”. He stopped, pulling back his sleeve to check his watch. “Twenty-eight minutes past”.

“When I said half seven, I meant eight ye dick! And another thin-”.

Michelle was finally up and in her bedroom doorway but stopped short of criticising her beloved cousin any further when presented with a bare back in front of her. Breathing on a fella’s skin was for the night before not the morning after.

“The fuck you still here for!?” She challenged him. “What part of a comin’ back to mine for a shag wasn’t clear?”

“I want some fuckin’ breakfast!” He retorted, as James was left shaking his head again. “And who’s he!?”

“He’s me cousin! Oh and ye want breakfast, do ye? Well, there’s a fuckin’ café round the corner, why don’t ye piss off down there before it gets too busy!?”

“What the fuck!?”

“I’m not a fuckin’ waitress, ye ungrateful bastard! Get out my fuckin’ flat!”

In a half second the atmosphere had gone from cold to deadly, and the look that her bit of fun from the night before gave Michelle was chilling at best.

“You fuckin’ bitch!”

“OI!”

Suddenly, without realising it, the Englishman raised his voice.

“You treat her with her respect!”

Most unwise that decision was, when the fella, still with shirt in hand rather than on, marched towards him. All of the potent venom in his words quickly beat a retreat without leaving any sort of a rear-guard, James trembling when he was very evidently outgunned. The only six pack he could relate to was of the Muller Rice variety that he’d bought at Tesco the prior Sunday.

“Or what, English?” The fella spat into his face.

“Well… Or… erm… or-”.

“FUCK!”

Saved from being tossed out of Michelle’s flat window, it was his cousin that James had to thank. The fella’s shout could have probably been heard around the block when her foot connected with the one organ of his she’d became more acquainted with overnight. An all-encompassing howl of pain ripped itself out of his lungs, almost tearing the paint off the walls as his hands moved to clutch the affected area.

“When I say fuck off out me flat, I mean fuck off out me flat ye great feckin’ eejit!” She yelled at him, smacking him round the side of the head for good measure. “And don’t you think about comin’ back either, yer the worst shag I’ve ever had!”

“Fuck you!”

Pride irrevocably damaged, testicles possibly too, all the fella could do was swear and grumble as he reluctantly trudged out of the place. For good measure he slammed the door behind him, taking his tales of woe back to his mates, who would be ready to rip the piss out of him tenfold for his troubles.

“Thank you, Michelle”. Rapidly, James turned his head to her.

“Can’t have an arsehole like that beatin’ my dickhead cousin, can I?” She smirked back. “Not before I do, anyway”.

Playfully slapping James across the face, she skipped away from him happily. He wasn’t exactly angry either, sighing under his breath but retaining a somewhat cheerier outlook than the cacking one he’d held only a minute or so before.

Focusing on Michelle showed the wee English fella that he wouldn’t be leaving the flat anytime soon. If the state of the place had been anything to go by then he knew it already, but without a case or holdall in site, it was abundantly clear that there was still a lot to do. That and the fact she’d only just got rid of the fella she’d spent the night with of course, an image and further thoughts that he was very quickly trying to rid himself of.

“How are you then?”

“Fine”. Replying, Michelle walked through to her kitchen, opening the door of the large fridge in the corner. “Haven’t been kicked off me course yet and I’ve not got chlamydia so aye, not bad”.

“Is that really the barometer you judge with?” James enquired, eyebrow raised.

“The what? Stop usin’ fancy fuckin’ English words, James, it’s half seven in the mornin’ and I’m still fuckin’ steamin’”.

Literally throwing orange juice down the back of her throat, Michelle’s strained voice betrayed just how far from perfect she was. The evidence of her night was not exactly difficult to find but getting in at two and having to be out for half seven was a drag too far for her. She couldn’t remember agreeing to the time with James, although since the moment she heard him arguing with the fella, she decided to concede they probably did. James wasn’t necessarily a good timekeeper, but she knew that the likelihood of her being pissed to all hell was high.

“You all ready for the exams?”

“Eugh, jesus James, don’t mention the E word”. A groaning Michelle uttered. “I phoned home last week and that’s all Mammy was on about, so it was. Like, what the fuck, I know how to sit a feckin’ exam!”

“She’s only doing it because she loves you”.

Once again, James soon realised he’d picked the wrong thing to say.

“I knew you’d say that. Dick. And for the record, I’ve done really fuckin’ well with this, so it’s a bit fuckin’ unfair you’s all think I’m not ready!”

“Everyone’s proud of you, Michelle, we just worry because… because you do have a habit of losing focus. No one doubts your ability”.

“Yeah well, I’m dead focused so I am, so ye can drop it!”

Hands in the air, James mouthed his acceptance of her wishes back to her. What she did not know, and probably would not ever know, was he was already aware of the call she made back home. He’d made one of his own since and when Deirdre told him about how she’d reacted to the prodding about exams, he’d defended her newly found focus. When they’d last met over Christmas the positive change was delightfully noticeable and the quality of her work impeccable.

Informing Michelle that he’d been considerate would have been a terrible idea when she wouldn’t take him seriously, and so his mouth would forever remain shut on the matter.

The break in the conversation his surrender made was unnatural, the air awkward for a moment before she returned to the fridge and not only opened it, but her mouth too.

“Get here alright then?”

Michelle poorly tried to hide her lack of interest, question far too chirpy. Another side effect of a heavy nights drinking, and definitely not concern for him travelling so far alone.

“The traffic was an absolute nightmare around Birmingham but other than that, all good. I didn’t get any chips thrown at me this time”.

“Ha!” She burst out laughing. “I remember ye tellin’ us now. That was fuckin’ class, that wain deserves some fuckin’ heroes medal or a street named after her”.

“One of them hit me in the eye!” He protested.

“Ach shut it ye massive fanny!”

Inching his way into her kitchen, the two of them were stood in front of each other for a moment until James leaned on the outer pillar. Interestingly, to him and him only, it was the only wall in the main living area that appeared to have all of the paint left on it. A minor detail he’d done well not to point out when he would have been heckled royally for it.

“The fuck are you wearin’ anyway?”

Noting his attire, Michelle was a mixture of bemused and amused. The gloves were an understandable choice given the weather, but when matched with dark black leather shoes, dark jeans and a long, comfortable looking black trench coat, he looked incredibly out of place in the flat block she called home. He was only missing the sunglasses to complete the, what she thought to be, bizarre look for someone who was about to drive for a few hours across the country.

“Just my normal clothes”. James, brows furrowed, responded. “Its cold out, and I know we’ll be in the car, but you’ll need a thick coat too”.

“Ye, I know that, but look at ye!” She snorted. “I don’t know whether yer about to flash me or make me an offer I can’t refuse!”

“Oh for… I’m not about to do either! They’re comfortable and warm a-and I like them!”

“All I’m sayin’ is that yer prolly goin’ to be givin’ grannies heart attacks dressed like that. Creep”.

Rolling his eyes with a touch of offence, he didn’t have anything left to say on his fashion choices. One of the last things he expected to be talking to Michelle about was what he was wearing, leaving him totally unprepared for the occasion.

“Come here, then”. She said to him, arms open. “I do miss ye around, ye know”.

Softening at her considerate words, James pivoted off the pillar to close the short distance into her arms for a rare hug. She did give them out to him from time to time, and when they hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks after years of being in each other’s hair day after day, a warm embrace was welcome.

Failing to remember he was her cousin however, he saw the knee driving up to his groin far too late to be able to do anything about it. With similar ferocity to the kick she’d delivered to the same region of the shirtless fella, her knee slammed into his nether regions, quite literally taking the wind out of him. Backing out of the hug that was never intended, cackling to herself proudly, Michelle side stepped the keeling over James.

“I… should have… seen that coming”. He wheezed out.

“Aye, you absolutely fuckin’ should Dicko!”

As she walked off, voice dipping away, he began to turn around despite his predicament, to see where she was going. Only the second that he did, a white mist descended upon his eyeline, the gentle sound of fabric meeting fabric in his ears. What he recognised as the dressing gown she’d been wearing was thrown onto his head, preventing him from being able to see anything.

Quite rightly so, when she was stark naked just metres in front of him, at the entrance to her bathroom door.

“Fifteen minutes. And no peeking ye perv!”

Nodding under the dressing gown at her demand, James heard one last chuckle from his cousin before the bathroom door shut behind her.

He’d missed her.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Getting out

Fifteen minutes later, twenty by the time she’d finished if truth were to be told, Michelle walked out of her bedroom to a very odd sight indeed. Odd wouldn’t be the way that most people would describe it but given what she was used to looking at, everything was very much out of place. James being the culprit.

“The fuck you been doin’?” She questioned him more softly than he expected.

“Tidying up”. He replied from the kitchen, back turned as he reached up into a high cupboard. “I used the time wisely”.

“Aye I can see that but why?”

“It needed doing”.

Shrugging as he looked at her, James continued to put away the last of the plates that he’d washed up. A shellshocked Michelle didn’t really know what to say in return, stood silently watching him work on as if he owned the place. After a few more seconds, a cursory glance towards her told the wee English fella that he was probably going to have to shake her up a bit or risk them being stood there forever.

“Did Medusa get you?”

“W-What?”

Successful in his attempt, James smirked at her confusion. Normally he would be shouted down for trying such a trick, but Michelle was still too stunned to be able to berate him.

“I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to but-”.

“I’m not angry, James”. A mentally re-checked in Michelle responded. “I mean… thank ye. I-… I erm… I let it get a bit…”.

“Messy?”

Endearing as ever, James smiled as he finished the sentence for her, his cousin nodding back to him. Less than half an hour earlier she’d been kneeing him in the groin in her usual brash manner, but now he held the upper hand with his typically kind actions. However, no matter how much abuse she might have thrown at him down the years, he would always step up to the plate for her no matter what. In this case, step up to the plate and wash it.

“I was goin’ to clean up, I swear, but I’ve been revisin’ and… and ye know, ye saw the fella”. Brightly curving her lips up, she noted his theatrical eye roll. “It’s not always like this ye know, I keep the place in good order!”

“You don’t have to tell me, Michelle, I believe you”. James stopped her rattling, a hand on her arm. “This time it just got a bit much, but that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

Questioning lovingly, James knew he was getting through when she didn’t shake the hand off her arm and grinned back at him once more.

The shower must have really woken her out of the mood that she was in when she was willing to indulge in him, though she could hardly be angry at someone for doing the housework for her. She really wasn’t lying about how well the place was normally kept, having added cleaning up the flat on a Sunday to her to do list for the week, every week. The perfect job for when she was hanging out of her arse after a rough night out.

Not that she was going to let him know the levels of her appreciation.

“Aye well, even you have to be useful for somethin’, Dicko”.

“Ah there she is”. He joked.

“Oi, less of the cheek, you!” Firmly replying, she growled. “And ye better have washed up properly, not that fuckin’ English washin’ up I’ve seen from you before! Different standards you’s have, feckin’ wrong so it is!”

“I did it to Derry standard. I wouldn’t dream of doing any less!”

“Good. Because when I get back next week, I will be checkin! If I find dirt, then ye’ll be owin’ me, let me make that clear!”

Rolling his eyes more seriously this time, James ignored the threats and proceeded to walk past her towards the case she’d dragged out of her room. They weren’t going away on a typical holiday, but it was still a good few days’ break, therefore she’d filled her suitcase to the brim. When at least one set of clothes would be destroyed by boke, she needed to be prepared.

“Just this one?” He enquired, intending to carry it for her.

“Aye, the rest of me stuff’s in me ba-”.

As soon as she took her place next to him, Michelle had made the mistake of taking a look into the living room. The reason for her sudden silence was that; James’ hygienic cleanse wasn’t exclusive to the kitchen. Previously a trashed space full of her work, another suitcase and what looked like a wardrobe’s worth of strewn clothes, it was completely transformed thanks to him. Everything was either packed away where it should be or stacked neatly to be sorted through, order shining on after the previous chaos.

“James, what the fuck!?” She exclaimed loudly.

“What?” Defensively answering, it wasn’t until he looked up that he realised why she was having a pop at him. “Oh, that. It wasn’t just the kitchen that needed doing”.

“I knew that, fuckface! Why the fuck are ye really doin’ all this!?”

Lacking an ulterior motive other than caring for her, James’ smile became a crestfallen giant reduced to a midget. He could understand why she might have thought that way, but deep down a crisp disappointment fluttered in his stomach from her inability to know him differently. Selflessness was one of his most prominent traits, the complete character opposite to his mother who was completely and utterly selfish.

“You… You said it yourself, Michelle, it needed doing”. He argued back after a moment, a little gingerly. “Like I said, I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to but I couldn’t leave you living like this!”

“Fuck off, it wasn’t that bad!” Properly arguing herself, Michelle further turned the atmosphere toxic. “Since when did I say ye could touch all my fuckin’ stuff! There were some of me clothes there, me fuckin’ bra’s and me knickers! Ye been smellin’ them haven’t ye!? Dirty feckin’ perv, we’re cousins!”

“I HAVE NOT!”

James hadn’t realised he was going to bellow, from the bottom of his lungs no less. The sudden burst of aggression and adrenaline didn’t go away immediately either, rant continuing.

“As I said, I only did this to help you, not me! Clearly you don’t want my help and you won’t get it again, but for god’s sake we have a long drive ahead of us, so can you lighten up and stop fucking moaning at me every five minutes or I swear, I’ll make you take the bloody train!”

So used to being the one dishing out the threats, Michelle was moved by his passionate explosion and instantly her expression changed. Backing down and accepting he’d done nothing wrong wasn’t her normal method but this time there was no choice. She’d been unnecessarily hard on him, especially when she wasn’t bothered whether or not he’d been touching her stuff or not. Despite her prior words, he wasn’t a pervert like some lads his age might have been with such an opportunity, cousins or not.

The job he’d done was a brilliant one at that too, which left her without a leg to stand on. Her attitude was incorrect, and she was going to have to change it.

A long sigh left her, before Michelle lurched forward and threw her arms round an unsuspecting James. Taking his turn to be surprised, he did not hesitate to wrap himself around her too, rapidly deducing her honest intentions with the hug. Any doubt of the sincerity was quashed too when she pulled back slightly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

James really didn’t know what to say to that.

“I’m sorry, James”. Luckily Michelle did know what to say, her lips by his ear as they remained embracing. “I do appreciate it, I really do. I’m just… I’m not used to someone lookin’ after me now. Most the time it’s just me a-and I forget to look after the place sometimes. I know ye wouldn’t be a weirdo about it”.

“It’s okay”. Whispering, he held her a little tighter. “I shouldn’t have just assumed you would be happy for me to clean it up. I was inconsiderate, should have asked”.

“It’s done now, aye. And yer right, I don’t wanna sit in the car sayin’ nothin’ so let’s just move on and get goin’”.

Gently, they let go of each other.

“Ye do need anger management lessons though, James”.

“Probably do”.

Tension completely evaporated, the cousins were left beaming at each other. It was only then that James noticed that his wisdom wasn’t completely unappreciated, as Michelle had a thick coat on and gloves, mirroring him in ideas if not image. Not in her puffer jacket like she would often be in, the coat was a sensible one that he recognised as coming from a mountaineering shop. Built for purpose and not for style, which he believed rather well described him too.

“How about we get out of here?” He suggested. “Unless you want some breakfast, but I didn’t see a lot in the cupboards”.

“Ach no, all grand, I’ve got some in me bag, so I have”.

“All good to go then?”

Michelle’s hesitation amused her cousin for a moment, watching her look change frame by frame from an initial confidence to a blind panic. A Michelle Mallon cack attack came around like Halley’s comet.

“Shit did I shut the bedroom window!?” She asked herself. “A-And the bathroom window… fuck, FUCK!”

“It’s alright, calm down, we’ve got time. I’ll go and check the bathroom”.

Reassured by his assistance, she raced off towards the bedroom whilst he went to the bathroom, where they found the inevitable. She’d remembered to shut both and there was absolutely nothing else to worry about at all. Michelle was only human, with understandable worries that he could relate to when he’d done the same last minute checks the day before when he left London. Without anyone to help him either, albeit with the exact same result.

The two of them soon returned to the living room with thumbs up to each other, James retrieving her case to carry being his usually gentlemanly self. With two bags over her shoulder, one handbag and one stringbag, where he assumed she was keeping the previously discussed breakfast, Michelle took a final look over her now tidy flat. Clean and well organised, what was a pokey space suddenly seemed a lot bigger, with James solely to thank for the stunning transformation. Keeping it presentable would be the challenge for her, but those battles were for the weeks to come, with her focus now solely on getting hammered with the girls that evening.

Keys in hand, she held the door for him as he lugged the suitcase out. Despite the fact that it could be dragged when there were wheels on it, the stairs forced the Englishman into carrying the heavy load. The decision he made the prior summer to start working out and exercising more was finally having its glory day.

“I don’t ever lock this, feels weird”. Michelle commented as she turned the key. “I bet you lock yers all the time”.

“I mean… that is the point of having a lock, Michelle”. He dryly retorted.

“Nerd”.

The rebuke, for a change, confused him rather than upset him.

“Nerd? What’s nerdy about not wanting to get robbed or have someone walk into your flat drunk in the middle of the night?”

“Ye won’t get robbed, it’s London!” She scoffed. “Everyone’s drinkin’ tea with the Queen!”

Putting on an abominable English accent to the point it actually felt criminal, Michelle’s high pitch equally knifed his eardrums. James chose to ignore the poor attempt at mockery as they walked down the corridor towards the stairs, instead choosing to focus on the lesson he was going to teach about his birth city.

“There’s a hell of a lot of crime in London, Michelle. It’s not all Coldstream Guards and Corgi’s. Someone on my street got shot last week!”

“Fuck off”. Snorting, she checked back to find his serious look whilst holding the door for him. “Wait, yer serious!? Holy fuck!”

“See, that’s why I lock my apartment door”.

“Flat”. Michelle bluntly corrected.

“Apartment”.

Huffing with an agreement to disagree, the two of them started down the stairs with Michelle in front. Constantly looking down to watch his step not only due to the added weight of her full to the brim case but for the added hazards that he’d discovered on the way up, James knew he was in for quite the uncomfortable trip down. The early Soviet era décor of the flat block hardly made it any better.

“Anyway, what’s so bad about someone random walkin’ into yer flat in the middle of the night?” Returning to the prior point, Michelle continued. “Sounds like a fuckin’ stroke of luck if ye ask me. I wouldn’t mind a drunk fella walkin’ into my flat”.

“You wouldn’t mind?” He asked, voice strained from the effort of caring the case, yet still showing his utter confusion. “What if he attacked you or started destroying the place? That should be telling you danger not opportunity!”

“Jesus Christ, keep yer feckin’ tights clean, James! The fella’s dead steamin’ at this point, I could beat the shite out of him, so I could! Where’s yer sense of adventure, ye borin’ dick!?”

“Forgive me for having safety concerns when someone breaks into your home!”

“What if it was a woman?” Michelle turned the tables on him. “An absolute fuckin’ ride breaks into yer flat one night, off her fuckin’ face and its just the two of ye? Fittest girl ye’ve ever seen… except me obviously”.

He couldn’t see her wink of clarification but didn’t need to in order to know if she’d done it or not. Michelle would always add such a disclaimer when talking about beauty, and as the script always went, James would not try to correct her.

“I’d get her a glass of water and see if I could get her home”. The answer was assertive, if still done whilst straining. “It’s not like I could do anything else but… but I guess if I couldn’t find out where she lived, I’d let her stay for the night and I’d sleep on the sofa bed”.

The audible, snort or huff, or combination of the two, from Michelle was enough to bring them both to a complete standstill. They were only one floor further down than from when they started, but she was peeved enough to halt their progress. He would have been thankful for the rest as he lowered the case, that was until he spotted the look of sheer disappointment across her face.

“What?”

“What do ye mean, what!?” She spat out at him, gesticulating wildly with her right arm. “Do ye know how much of a borin’ model citizen, fuckin’ prude you are? A hot girl walks into yer apartment drunk and yer not even thinkin’ about ridin’ her!?”

“I wouldn’t dare! She’s drunk, Michelle, that… that’d be rape!”

“Not if she says yes, it wouldn’t”. His cousin nonchalantly stated.

“That doesn’t mean anything if she’s drunk! I’m not some sort of lowlife scumbag who thinks its alright to prey on drunk women! And why the hell do you think drunken consent is ok!?”

“I’ve given it”.

“Just because you haven’t got any regrets about it doesn’t mean someone else wouldn’t”.

Aware that he was most definitely right, again, she sighed another defeat. Wouldn’t be the first time she was guilty of not thinking beyond herself and most certainly wouldn’t be the last. Worst of all, yet again she was growing more and more fond of her cousin’s nature and approach to situations. James was maturing the fastest of their group and it showed, although it did come across at times as if he was eighty-one not twenty-one.

“Alright fine, yer a gentleman and it’s grand! I get it”.

As she conceded, she pointed the instruction for them to get moving again, James’ briefly recovered muscles once again being put under pressure by the heavy case. There were still a good flew flights of stairs to get down before they were on the ground floor, the syringes and the boke still to come.

On the other hand, whilst he was concentrating, she was not giving up so easily.

“Yer also a borin’, sexless gentleman, but if that’s what makes ye lurred then it is what it is”.

“Thank you, Michelle”. Aggrieved, he feigned his thanks.

“Ach, dry yer eyes, James! Ye do realise this is the exact reason why Hayley left ye, ye know”.

Slipping on the stair he was on, the wee English fella just about managed to divert enough weight onto his shoulder to be able to stay upright whilst leaning into the wall. In front of him with her back turned, Michelle could only grin in the knowledge she’d been able to force such a reaction by mentioning the name.

It was only natural for him to do so, given the bitter terms James parted with his ex-girlfriend on. He didn’t like to even think about her, which was nigh on impossible when he’d been left so upset by the collapse of their relationship. A relationship he’d put so much into, only for it to blow up in his face when he least expected it and without any chance of reconciliation.

“Can we not talk about her please?” His request was firm, a feint growl accompanying it.

“Why not? Bitch or no bitch, you were obviously borin’ the shite out of her and that’s wh-”.

“Michelle!”

His plea was entered again, a beg replacing the growl in the follow up. For the second time, such protests fell on purposefully deaf ears.

“And that’s why she started ridin’ rings around ye with that absolute ride of a fella from Mexico”.

“He’s from Paraguay”.

“Mexico, Paraguay, what’s the fuckin’ difference”.

“Well, for a start Mexic-”.

“Fuck me, take a fuckin’ hint, James! Santo doesn’t give Hayley a feckin’ geography lesson every night! No, he takes her to bed, and he shags her fuckin’ brains out! That’s why he’s getting some and you ain’t!”

Though far from a new feeling when Michelle was involved, James was left mightily pissed off by her lecture. One of the reasons he didn’t want to discuss his ex was because of the manner of their breakup, when she’d less than politely told him that Santo was everything he wasn’t. The humiliation of not even getting into her apartment, roughly handed his few belongings there whilst a shirtless Santo stood behind her gloating, that day was one of the lowest of his entire life.

Michelle not backing off when politely asked did not help matters.

“I’d rather not talk about Hayley or Santo, if you don’t mind?” A miffed James was completely rhetoric.

“Catch yourself on! She broke up with ye before Christmas, stop fuckin’ mopin’ around and move the fuck on! She’s not comin’ back!”

“I know that”.

“Then shut the f… hang on, watch yer step, the druggies have been here again”.

Michelle instructed him, interrupting herself, allowing him to look and see the syringes that he was able to step over. Getting pricked by one of them would have gotten him out of the conversation, yet even a frustrated James knew it wasn’t worth the hassle that would arise in the long term.

“Where was I…”.

“You were about to change the topic before I made you buy those train tickets”. James snapped at her quickly.

“That’s right, yer sexless, dull life…”.

Grumbling, James saw his hopes of her dropping it die in front of him. The nights spent crying about what might have been with Hayley were creeping back up the withered vines of his conscience and the upfront, uncensored way in which his cousin dealt with things added blow after blow.

“I’m tryin’ to help ye here, give me a break!”

“And I’m trying to tell you I don’t want to hear it. I’m perfectly fine and I’m sure they are having the times of their lives, so can we please talk about something else!?”

“Fine”.

Another backing down forced with a sigh, unexpectedly James found himself victorious once more. Almost certain that they would be talking about it for a good ten minutes or more, he was pleasantly surprised to hear her think better of it. The pained breath he’d been holding within forced itself out too thanks to the relaxation found in the subject being dropped. Whether she meant well or not he did not know, but as long as they weren’t talking about his ex then Michelle’s opinion became completely irrelevant.

Quiet did descend on them while they descended the stairs, comfortably enough. Only a few seconds later, he realised they were on the first floor by the numbers indicated on the plaques outside each set of double doors on the floor entrances. The weight of Michelle’s case was telling but could have been much worse, another indicator to him that the weight training was paying the intended dividends. Then again, as soon as they got out of the block, he’d be wheeling it to the car anyway.

“Are those yours by the way?”

Knowing of the discarded garments at the bottom of the stairs, he decided to amuse himself by asking the question. He didn’t need to see them or her for it to be amusing.

“Shit…”. Michelle muttered ahead, moving over to the banister side. “Pff, maybe I can save me bra but fuck me am I not gettin’ near me knickers. I can’t even remember who’s boke that is, mine or his”.

“That was a joke…”. James limply added behind her.

“I’ll have to wash the bra but…”.

“FECKIN’ DISGRACE, ISN’T IT!?”

A third voice added itself to the fray, the pair of them recognising it as coming from behind him them to the left, by the block entrance. The orator must have been an older lady, vocal cords sounding of the hardships of many a year gone by, not an ounce of youthful exuberance in it. A check over their shoulders confirmed it was the most likely candidate; the cleaner assigned to the block. Michelle knew it without the uniform as guidance, having seen her around before.

“Aye, absolutely!” Thinking on the spot, Michelle started walking again to meet with the woman. “Thought I’d take this out to the bins for ye. The fuckin’ state of things, aye!”

“Disgustin’, so it is!” The raging cleaner nodded. “Thank the Lord for a sensible girl like you and yer fella there, don’t see you’s up to this”.

“Not me fella, me cousin!” Michelle leapt into clarify, not wanting that to be spread around. “I tell ye, he’s a massive dickhead and even he wouldn’t leave his boke all over the place!”

“Too right! Fuckin’ animals some of you wains in here, fuckin’ animals!”

Humming her agreement, Michelle allowed the woman to get on with her job and conveniently allow them to slip away. Mouth shut through a combination of intelligence and disbelief, James followed her like a dog, only speaking to say thank you when she held the rotting block door open for him to escape into welcome fresh air. Additional relief was granted a moment later too when he was finally able to put the case down, lifting the handle to wheel it.

It also allowed him to look at the flaming red cheeks of his cousin. Michelle was highly, highly embarrassed.

“I genuinely can’t believe you sometimes”. He freely admitted.

“Let’s just get to the car”.

Unable to disagree with the sentiment, he took over and led the way into the small car park in front of the flats, hoping to forget the display he’d witnessed from her.

A pace behind him, so was she.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: A fork in the road

Loading the car wasn’t too difficult, not when the Volvo’s rather spacious boot allowed for their belongings to fit snugly, without the need for anything to go on the back seat. James’ rucksack, a practical carrying arrangement for his camera, was the only item in the back, resting behind the driver’s side on the floor. Putting it out on show around Michelle’s flat block was asking for the car to be broken into, the floor the safer bet.

The journey to Derry was probably a couple of hours at most, especially once the worst of the traffic receded as people settled in work for the day. They would be in Derry before lunch with time to kill, giving them ample opportunity to unpack back home and enjoy some fresh air, in James’ case at least. A trip out into the city with a chance to record the daily goings on was part of his plan for the visit as well. Deciding to use the city he called home as much as he did with London, as part of his coursework that went towards the degree, the additional time gave him more time to get it right.

He was also blessed with having a decent idea of the way there, having driven both ways in the past when coming back over from England. Still, there was a road map of Northern Ireland in the glovebox; it didn’t hurt to be well prepared in case of emergency. With such a straightforward trip though, it was unlikely there would be one.

“Which way we goin’ then?” Michelle asked, shutting the passenger door behind her.

“The quickest way, out through the M2 and through the country”.

“Right… aye”.

Perplexed by her answer, Michelle’s tone appeared to indicate some discomfort in his decision. She might have passed her test, but it was his car and he planned the route, so as far as the wee English fella was concerned, he picked it. However, as he’d reminded her inside the flat, they were going to be spending a lot of time cooped up together and the potential of an argument seemed to be on the cards once again.

“What now?” James, frustration shown, sighed.

“Yeah… we can’t go that way”. She quickly answered, not looking at him.

“That’s a shame, because we are going that way!”

Rubbing her eyes and muttering something under her breath, Michelle finally turned to look at him as he awaited her response to his firm command. A larger sigh left her than it did him before she elaborated the point further.

“We need to make a stop… somewhere else, like”.

“This isn’t a bloody taxi, Michelle!” He stood his ground, raising his voice. “You can’t sit down and start telling me where to go! We’re going home the way I know, with no stops and no detours and we will be there on time!”

“No, we need to make a stop”.

Staying true to her wishes but without the usual verve, Michelle’s eyes did the pleading that her mouth could not. Blindsided, James’ annoyance turned into concern. She was usually assertive, succinct and cold when she wanted something but this Michelle was worried, insistent and needy. The two characters were poles apart and when she was not vociferous about her wants, he knew something was up.

“Why? What’s happened?” Showing his concern, he shuffled in his seat to directly face her. “Michelle, what is it?”

“Look I’m sorry I didn’t tell ye before but…”. She shyly began, until he cut her off.

“That… that doesn’t matter, just tell what it is?”

When she continued to be anxious around him, he was becoming even more concerned. Whatever it was she’d hidden well from him all morning so far, certainly when she was being affected so badly. The hairs on his arms began to stand to attention, the cool breeze of his cold morning breath swooping like an eagle over the tops of each wisp.

Opposite him, Michelle’s breaths were irregular, dishevelled even, her right hand crossing over her body to scratch the back of her neck.

“There’s a girl I met at Uni… same course like”. She began to explain, swallowing hard, tears in her eyes. “And she… she had to stop comin’ and quit b-because… because her Mammy, her mammy died…”.

Bawling openly in front of an unsuspecting James, Michelle’s sobs rang loudly around the interior of the vehicle. It took him a couple of seconds, but her cousin soon leaned over to capture her in a warm, loose hug, that allowed her to finish the story whilst feeling comforted. The gallant gentleman shone through in him as always.

“We were good friends and she had to go a-and I… I couldn’t go to her Mammy’s funeral and… and I’ve got her a card and… and I just want to… see her and…”.

Although it was not intentional, he was thrown into a corner of overwhelming guilt at his prior actions. The proper way of asking would have been to have said something earlier, but he could hardly blame her when she was clearly stricken with her own dose of regret from not being able to be at her friend’s side. This friend wasn’t someone that he could remember her mentioning before, yet it would have been remiss off him to think she told him about every other friend she’d made in life. Within their pack, very little was hidden; outside of it was much different.

“Please James? I know I should have said somethin’ but I thought ye might say no if I did and…”

“Of course we can make a stop”. He told her softly, circling her arms with his thumb. “Where does she live?”

“Ballycastle”.

Of all the places, his first, very ungentlemanly thought was. If there was one direction that his route plan firmly did not take him towards, it was Ballycastle. Ballycastle wasn’t just a stop, it was a complete and utter detour, nowhere near the route that he knew. His immediate petulant reaction might not have been audible, but the contours of his face gave it away to Michelle.

Slowly he pulled out their embrace, prompting her to react.

“I know it’s far, James but ye… ye did say ye would and I do apprec-”.

“It’s fine, we can go”. He interrupted briskly. “It means we’re going to be much later in getting to Derry and I don’t really know the way, but I can’t exactly say no, can I, given the circumstances!”

“Well if it gets that late I’ll erm… I’ll pay for ye lunch”. Michelle tentatively volunteered. “We can stop anywhere where ye want, like and ye can have whatever”.

“That isn’t necessary, Michelle”. James sighed, running a stray hand through his copious curls. “I don’t want you to buy me anything. I just… I wanted to be able to have some time to myself for my coursework and now I’m going to have rethink it because the rest of time we’ll be with the girls and I’ll have lost my chance. But it’s fine, your stop’s more important”.

His selflessness might have been one of his most appetising characteristics, but it hindered him just as much as it helped at times. The whole point of the trip back was to reunite with the gang and make more memories together as a group and that still excited him more than the filming. His secondary objective was perhaps more important though, and now missing the precious time to film what he needed to for the coursework, his whole plan for his studies turned upside down. Everything would have to be London based and the whole theme would have to change from the blended narrative of both cities that he was trying to create.

“Tell ye what, Monday mornin’, I’ll take the girls out and leave ye to yer film stuff. Anna’s off school, so she is, I’ll convince Mary to let us take her shoppin’. Have a trip with the big girls!”

“Come off it, that would never work! Clare and Erin would be too suspicious!” He fairly reasoned.

“Maybe they will but I have the numbers of a couple of hot lezzers here so I do, so I might let our Clare have them. And just for you, I will endure that absolute shitehole of a bookshop Erin loves just to keep her happy!”

“I… I suppose…”.

“That’s a yes then?”

As deals went, it wasn’t a bad one and to his annoyance, he knew it too. If anyone could successfully manage to placate both Clare and Erin, as well as convincing Erin’s Ma, on the same day, then it was Michelle. He wasn’t going to get a better offer anyway and being stubborn just for the sake of it was a lot more trouble than it was worth when a whole project was on the line.

Michelle’s Neville Chamberlain impression had worked.

“Yes”. He begrudgingly gave in, Michelle squealing with delight. “But you’ll have to give me the map, I haven’t got a clue where I’m going”.

“Simple, just follow the Antrim coast road and ye’ll get there. Piece of piss”.

“I need to know how to get to the coast road first, don’t I?”

Chuntering her displeasure about having to give in, Michelle opened the glovebox he was pointing at, shoving the map into his hands for him to paw over. Another hold up in their attempt to leave Belfast, this time it was her that was annoyed, crossing her arms like a wee girl throwing a tantrum. He paid little attention to that though, concentrating on running his fingers across every road that would have to be taken, trying to form an idea of a route in his mind.

The thought of having her navigate for him entered and very quickly left his mind. Knowing his cousin as well as he did, it would be a trap to let her take them the wrong way just for kicks whilst retaining the knowledge of how much stress she would be putting him under. Sometimes there was a limit to how much change a man could cope with in a day. Or an hour in his case.

“Jesus Christ James, we’re drivin’ to Ballycastle not tryin’ to get to the North Pole, how long does it take ye to find the road!”

Predictably, her patience lasted no more than a minute or so. The upset, teary side was well and truly in retreat, her normal colours once again raised as the standard.

“I’m familiarising myself, Michelle, it takes time! Long drives are easier when you know exactly where you’re going”.

“Can ye not familiarise faster?”

To that, he shook his head. She was not best pleased, shaking her head too.

“There, all done”. James said, handing her the map back. “You best keep it handy in case we get lost”.

“How can we get lost on the coast road? As long as we can see the fuckin’ sea, we’re goin’ the right way. It’s not hard…”.

“And if there’s a diversion or if the road turns in land for a couple of miles?” He countered, somewhat peeved by her questioning. “It’s called taking precautions, Michelle. You’d be more pissed off with me if we ended up in the middle of nowhere not knowing where to go”.

“I’ll be pissed off with ye whenever I want, Dicko! Now let’s just get goin’, then maybe we can still get home around lunch”.

“Suits me”.

Resisting the urge to run through the proper procedure of belting up, because testing ones luck before the engine was even revving would be suicide, James instead settled into focusing on the trip ahead. The Michelle imposed diversion was a bit of a pain but when it was for the right reasons he could accept and work with the additional unfactored travelling time. Providing they could clear Belfast’s early morning traffic, they could reach the quieter coastal road and push on to get to Ballycastle by later that morning. The day wouldn’t be completely lost at least.

He turned the key and…

*Tap tap*

“HOLY SHIT!”

Jumping out of her skin as she screamed, Michelle’s heart was just about visible on the dashboard. James’ head shot up at the same time, without the dramatics, following the source of the noise to the passenger’s side window. Although she blocked the majority of his view, he could make out the slender figure of a lad their age, wrapped up for the cold with a bobbled beanie atop his head. A few unshaven wisps adorned the cheek that the Englishman could just about see.

After a couple of seconds of recovery, Michelle hastily rolled down the window to talk the newly arrived fella.

“Joel…”. Slightly breathily, from the shock, she addressed him. “Ye scared me out me skin!”

“Oh… oh geez, I… I’m sorry, Michelle. I-I… I…”.

Under no illusions to what he assumed the fella would be, James’ ears suddenly pricked up when the soft, unsteady and uncertain voice drifted through the air. Joel definitely wasn’t a Derry man, he could tell, but his nervous temperament struck a familiar chord with the often bricking it wee English fella. More so from how quintessentially different he seemed to be to most lads who his cousin would associate with.

“No bother”. She mumbled, managing to look up at him and pick up a smile. “What’s up?”

“I erm… I-I…”. Continuing to fall over his words, he didn’t see the amused grin James bit back from the seat beyond. “I was erm… I-I… sorry, ye must have… have plans”.

Gesturing between the two cousins, the fella edged out to his left, allowing James to get a better look at him. The thin beard he’d seen the side of stretched all the way round, no more than a bit of fluff really, along with an even thinner pencilly moustache. The most striking of his features were his bright blue eyes, clear as the ocean. The posture with which he leant back indicated that he must have been roughly the same height as himself if he were to guess though his frame was much less developed. Joel’s shoulders were like newly implemented construction sites, just a couple of heaps piled up on an otherwise flat playing field.

“No, no…”. Abnormally chuckling, Michelle corrected the insinuation she believed him to be making. “That’s me erm… me cousin, James.”

Waving respectfully from inside the car, he shared a respectful nod with the fella outside. At least this one seemed decent compared to the one from earlier, he contemplated quietly whilst Michelle finished.

“We’re goin’ home ye see”.

“Oh… yer g-goin’ home? Joel flatly replied.

“Not forever like. It’s just for a few days ‘cos we’re both free and ye know, it seemed like a good time”.

“R-right… right, aye, yeah. Did ye… did ye need me to watch ye flat or… or anythin’?”

“No it’s alright, Joel… I’ve locked up now, aye”.

Very little of their interaction was escaping a fully dialled in James, and Michelle wringing her hands as she answered was quite the revelation. All the while it looked as if he was uninterested and waiting for them to finish, but with the opportunity to watch on virtually unseen he was making some intriguing discoveries. Another gleeful round of lip curving was halted before it became too difficult to hide.

Feeling proud of himself, he listened on to the awkward exchange.

“Aye that’s erm… that’s a g-grand… grand idea. I-I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t k-keep ye then… b-but I-I wanted to return this to ye…”

Joel took his rucksack off his shoulder and began to rustle around in it, prompting James to sneak the tiniest glance he could at what he was trying to find. Within a second the offending item was out in the open and in around the same amount of time or less, he’d fastidiously deduced exactly what it was.

“Ye-ye… ye left it in me… me erm… me livin’ room. Ye know after the… the other night”.

“Ah… right… right…”. Michelle matched his hesitance, accepting her property back.

“Yeah”.

“Yeah. I… I didn’t realise I’d left it. Thanks”.

“No bother”.

Nodding joyfully, Joel wore a look of pleasure that the wee English fella caught once more as he leant forward an inch or two to check. She didn’t seem to know how to react, the driver, passenger to the conversation, duly clocked and made note of. In the end, his hand was over his mouth to cover the devilish smirk, worried she might turn around to see it.

“I’ll… I’ll see ye when yer back then”. Joel spoke up after a couple of seconds. “I hope you and yer cousin have a… a good time, like”.

“Aye. Thanks Joel, I’ll erm, I’ll see ye next week”.

“Aye. See ye Michelle”.

Happily going on his way, Joel turned and walked off, presumably off to his lectures at University. Yanking the window back up and thereby stopping the cold seeping through, Michelle started to store the item away that had been returned to her but stopped. Her brain seemed to have caught up a few seconds later than it normally would, and she consequently cleared her throat oppressively loudly. Interpreting it to mean she wanted him to get moving, James started to pull out of the parking space, having reversed in when he got there.

The interpretation was a little off, as he found out when she suddenly started to monologue.

“We had a film night!” She blurted out, pitch higher than needed. “When I say we, I mean some of us in the block not me and… and Joel. Joel likes films and shit, and he invited a load of us! Christ but you’d have loved it”.

“Sounds like it”. A concentrating James replied, turning out of the block. “So?”

“So… I got hot while we there like cos’ like Joel had his heatin’ on. I don’t know how he affords it but aye it was proper bakin’ so I-I I took me hoodie off. I didn’t even think about it, ye know it’s… it’s not one of me better ones and I haven’t needed it back at mine”.

“Given the state of your place I’m not surprised you didn’t notice it wasn’t there. No offence”.

“Prick”.

Michelle’s mumbled insult wasn’t meant to be heard but his ears cottoned onto it, leaving James incredibly more amused than he already was whilst she finally put the hoodie into her stringbag. Using the mental excuse that he was focusing on driving, he chose to remain silent, forcing her to speak up again, continuing the incessant rambling.

“It’s not a regular thing, like. I-I only ever see Joel in the corridor some mornings or down by the bins or-or sometimes between lectures when I’m goin’ to the loo or… or gettin’ lunch”.

“Right”. Answering curtly, he couldn’t hold his nerve any longer. “You didn’t have to explain all of that. I didn’t ask”.

“No but... but I didn’t want ye to think… I know… fuck… I know what it looks like and wh-”.

“You think I thought you’d slept with him, didn’t you?”

James tilted his head for effect, rubbing it in somewhat.

Shifting hers to the side, Michelle poorly disguised a blush that he caught a half second of. Her only saving grace was the car coming to a stop as they tried to turn left out onto the main road, James falling silent to be able focus. However, with a lucky break in the traffic, they were soon able to be on their way, by which time she was mentally capable of being able to answer him.

He got there first.

“Don’t worry, it’s clear you haven’t. I mean, he’s hardly your type. He’s more nervous than I was when Mum le-… when I first came to Derry”.

“Exactly, he’s a right nerd like you. Bigger nerd than you actually. Massive, massive fuckin’ nerd, reads books, loves films and knows… knows lots of stuff”.

“Such a nerd, he knows stuff!” James confidently mocked.

“About like Latin and shit! And history”. She justified, fidgeting. “We moved in at the same time so ye know we talked once and then we just… see each other sometimes”.

Glancing slightly left, the Englishman raised a brow.

“Fuck off, not like that! I said already just around. Ye know that actually happens when ye live near people and not in fuckin’ mansions in London like you!”

“I don’t live in a mansion! There’s another apartment below mine in the same building if you must know”.

“Flat”.

“It’s an apartment! That’s what it was marketed as!”

Passionately, James defended the description of his living arrangements, to the unamused Michelle, who still looked unsettled from the unexpected meeting with Joel.

“I’ve not been in his flat other than for film night. I don’t really know him that well and he’s always studyin’ so he is, a-and I wouldn’t want to disturb him. Not that I would cos’… cos’ I-I I don’t have any need to! He's doin' a different course”.

“I get it, Michelle. He’s a neighbour, you talk to him, and you accidentally left your hoodie in his flat after a film night with your other neighbours. There’s no need to make a drama out of it”.

“Pfft! Catch yourself on James, yer always makin’ a drama out of everythin’! ‘Oh poor me, me Mammy left me in Derry’… ‘Oh no Michelle, we can’t drink that, Mammy’ll kill ye’… ‘Oh take pity on me, because I’m a fella but I’m actually a massive fanny’!”

“My mum abandoned me, that’s not being dramatic!”

“Yes it was, ye were a right whimpin’ dickhead about it, so ye were. I tell ye, ye need to learn to get over yerself, so ye do! I bet Santo wouldn’t cry if his Mammy left him”.

Resigned to a solitary huff, James recognised how the conversation had been turned on its head thanks to her subtle diversion. Using the past trauma of Kathy’s diabolical parenting against him was unnecessarily cruel and bringing his ex’s new boyfriend into it, an added dose of poison, yet he could tell she was cutting into him so deeply to avoid introspection of her own.

Eyes on the road, they were forced to slow down as they joined the inevitable traffic jam on the main road, all the time eyeing the signs for coastal route. The need to ensure he was in the right lane wasn’t going to stop him from picking at the subconscious wound she’d opened on herself. Rightly or wrongly, while there was nothing to do at the wheel, he took his chance.

“So what did you watch with Joel the other night?”

“Well, I wanted to…”.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Bad signs

“Joel does love his history, but he is not a fan with Dances with Wolves, let me to tell ye! He thinks it’s a wee bit shite”.

“What!? The cinematography of that film is legendary!”

“Ach well, he didn’t mention that, so he didn’t, but he’s just not a fan. Doesn’t think it’s a great film about the tribes people, ye know”.

“It’s a brilliant film!”

“Well when ye drop me off, ye can come and find him and argue with him! Don’t shoot the feckin’ messenger”.

Twenty minutes of sitting in thick traffic was wearing at the best of times, but as James was discovering, trying to force the issue with Michelle was backfiring. Their little flat film club, as he liked to think it was, seemed to be of a different mindset to him when it came to judging the credibility of films and his irritation only seemed to grow.

“I can’t believe one of your neighbours said Goodfellas was average!” James’ bemoaning continued. “Average! It’s a bloody masterpiece!”

“Keep yer feckin’ knickers on James! It’s not great…”.

“WHAT!?”

The car was inching through the last of the early morning holdups, but he was nowhere near driving through the frustration that consumed him. Even though the girls would frequently say that certain films he enjoyed were shit, it always felt as if they were teasing him and nothing else. The set of opinions presented by Michelle and her neighbours were serious and, from the detail he’d received over the last twenty minutes, highly critiqued.

Buttons were pushed.

“Goodfellas is a brilliant film! Next you’ll tell me Joel hates The Godfather!”

“Actually…”. She teased, smirking. “No everyone thinks that one’s grand, so it is. Anyway, why do you care, ye don’t even know these people?”

“Quality films should be respected not… dismembered by people who clearly don’t know a good film when they see one”. James complained once more, head shaking.

“Oi, leave them all alone! If Joel thinks Dances with Wolves is shite, he thinks its shite! Not everyone has to like the same films as you, Dicko!”

“I’m not saying they have to, but-”.

“Yes ye are, you inconsiderate prick! Christ ye want to get into filmin’ and shit, that doesn’t make you a film expert! I mean, Orla likes dancin’, it doesn’t make her Michael Flatley!”

Finally getting out of the line of traffic and onto the open road gave him a chance to take a breather, ignoring Michelle’s annoyingly accurate words. Aware that he was probably making more of a fuss of it than he needed to, James chalked it up to the insufficient progress they were making on their already elongated journey. Failing to factor in the likelihood of holdups with his plan for the day was a tactical error on his behalf and having had a rough night’s sleep and a frightfully early start, he’d been on the backfoot since before first light.

Deciding to mend the error of his ways, he soon resumed the discussion about films with a much more levelled tone.

“So what’s Joel’s favourite film then?”

“The Exorcist”. Michelle, surprisingly, answered without hesitation. “He’s dead into it aye, wouldn’t shut up about it the first time we talked about it”.

“That’s your favourite film, isn’t it?” A curious James spoke his mind as it searched memories.

“No! Well, aye, maybe… I dunno. It’s a cracker film, anyway, you it like don’t ye?”

“I think it’s a good film. I wouldn’t say its one of my favourites, but it was well made and the cinematographer did a good job”.

“Good. Grand. Cracker”.

As the traffic petered out, so did the conversation, an amicable silence settling in the Volvo. They’d been talking almost nonstop since setting off, so the break was welcome, Michelle producing a bottle of water from one of her bags to take a sip of. The road was going to be mostly dual carriageway until they got further out towards the eastern coastline, but outside of Belfast, their side of the road was mostly clear in both lanes. James would never dare go more than the speed limit, but unlike his early days of crawling along at snails’ pace, he kept it on the limit, wanting to get a bit of distance into the journey while it was still early.

The weather was, thankfully, holding firm too, which was a bonus. Having to drive through torrential rainfall along a coast road that he barely knew would have probably sent him over the edge, but despite the cold, the sky was clear other than a few harmless clouds high above. Michelle’s needling would be very unwelcome if the weather was to take a downward turn, and neither of those forces of nature were easy to stop.

“So…”. Drawn out in her annunciation, Michelle filled the air once more. “Why aren’t ye over Hayley yet then? I was bein’ serious earlier, it’s been fuckin’ ages! The peace process moved quicker than you”.

“I said I don-”.

“Hoho no, we are talkin’ about this James. This is free fuckin’ therapy for you, god knows you fuckin’ need it, so you do! Ye lost out to a Brazilian who’s probably hung like Shergar, but yer not out the game forever. Ye gotta get back out there”.

Michelle never picked the right time to be right, a realisation he’d been living with for longer than he wanted to. The breakup stung him more than a swarm of wasps could and more than anything what little pride he felt he had, was damaged. London wasn’t just Hayley, there would be more opportunities to connect with people if he reached out and committed to doing so, but still it was all far too early for him.

“I’m fine on my own thank you, Michelle”. He spoke dismissively, barely acknowledging her.

“No you ain’t!”. She bit back. “All you do is mope around and dress like a fuckin’ undertaker! Ye’d started gettin’ confident as well, I was actually gettin’ some respect for ye…”.

“Yeah and its says gullible on the dashboard too…”. James rolled his eyes, brushing off her scoffed protests. “And he’s not Brazilian. He’s Paraguayan”.

“Jesus Christ! If I was yer girlfriend, I would genuinely be puttin’ on another pair of knickers not takin’ them off! Why is it so fuckin’ hard for you to not be such a borin’ dick!”

“I’m just stating a fact”.

“James, women don’t like facts at our age! We like fellas and we like shaggin’! Facts are for… married people and… fuckin’… researchers and nerds and shit!”

Sticking to his guns, he didn’t respond to her vociferous arguments and pretended to focus on the road. In his head, a far different tale was playing out, the Englishman questioning himself over and over about whether she might well be completely right. He wasn’t naïve to being uninteresting at times, he understood why people thought he might not have a lot of personality about him. Hayley was a bit on the wilder side like Michelle, wanting to travel the world rather than staying to complete her studies, only to end up staying after he reminded her of the importance of achievement during one rare moment of weakness and uncertainty from her.

Sadly, she’d started her own tour of the world from her apartment, tasting the fruits of Paraguayan labour over the steady regimental Englishman.

And rather typically, Michelle wasn’t going to let him win.

“Ye know, yer not that bad lookin’ compared to some fella’s”.

“I thought I was minging”.

“Oh aye, to me yer an absolute minger, that’s not changed!” She uttered a loud clarification. “But ye’ve got our family’s good looks in ye. I mean, bitch that she is, yer Mammy’s a bit of a ride and then there’s me-”.

“I get the point”.

“Then stop fuckin’ cryin’ about Hayley! She’s already probably ditched her Costa Rican and’s gettin’ off with a Frenchman called Jean-Pierre in his patisserie! Get back out there for fuck’s sake! A shag’ll do ye the world of good”.

Michelle hated to sound even the slightest bit as if she cared, but she absolutely did, which was why she was saying it. The wee English fella that she once despised, believing him to be a replacement for the brother who walked out of their lives, held a special place in her heart. He was a friend and he was family, and English or not, he was there to be looked after.

His confidence remained somewhere, she’d seen it in flashes throughout the morning and at Christmas, but far too often the depressed, repressed James ruled the roost. Unable to be content with allowing him to trundle along thinking of the past, she would beat the upset out of him if she had to.

Stagnating was not an option.

“He’s Parag-“. He began his normal retort, only to have a change of heart. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not interested in just throwing myself around like you do”.

“Oi! I don’t throw myself around!” She chastised, slapping the left wrist that gripped the steering wheel, a soft ‘ow’ drawn from him. “I just enjoy myself! We’re only young once and I’m not wastin’ my time cryin’ over someone who means fuck all to me!”

“Well there’s the bloody difference!”

Notably angry, James assessed the dangers of the road ahead before turning his rageous stare over his equally angered cousin.

“She did mean something to me! I don’t just do a quick bit of fun, I have to get to know people! I like getting to know people and… and sharing my life with them a-and connecting. I’m not just going around trying to shag every girl I meet!”

“Not what I saw in Donegal…”.

The comment was a throwaway, but its meaning was momentous.

He’d been horrifically bitter when she first mentioned Hayley, but Donegal not only crossed the line but sailed over it with an armada behind it. They’d not spoken about that morning for a very long time, the last proper time likely to have been when they were still at Our Lady Immaculate. Her words were like mustard gas across the trenches of heartache that were long dug and always, always open, frequently shelled upon.

Finding it so difficult to get over Hayley shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he’d never quite shaken off what happened in that house.

Next to him, the persistent Michelle was not going to throw in the towel but could tell from the milliseconds pain on his face that she’d hit raw nerves. Going down that road given the participants involved was too dangerous to think about let alone execute, calling for a change in approach. Although that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to be upfront and unashamedly herself about it.

“Alright then, fine, ye like to drink tea and talk about yer day to a girl. Whatever, some girls like it, I suppose. But did Hayley really like it? Did ye ever ask?”

“I-I… I don’t think so. But she never complained!”

“Of course she fuckin’ didn’t, that’s not how it works! Christ yer clueless!”

Again left huffing by her cousin’s lack of understanding of relationships, she was more disappointed by how ill-prepared he was, after a few years under her wing. Not that those wings were often spread for him to express himself, mind.

“If she didn’t tell me she was unhappy, how was I supposed to know!”

“Fuck’s sake, yer not blind, James! She would have been puttin’ out signals, so she would, so clearly ye don’t pay fuckin’ attention! So much for that wantin’ to connect shite!”

“We were happy!”

“Happy!? You were with her for what, six, seven months?” She asked, without response. “And she’s been ridin’ like a fuckin’ cowgirl ever since, she must have been bored shiteless! Did the two of you’s even do it once!?”

Hurtling along in her berating of him, she only realised what she’d asked him after the words flew out of her mouth. Unfortunately, that was too late to stop a James at the end of his tether, without the patience to wait.

“Yes, if you really must fucking know, yes we did!” Finally giving in, James unleashed his anger, shouting. “On the night we met, against the cubicle door in the gents in some club! Is that enough or do you need more!?”

“Fuck off!”

Believing him to be completely rinsing her to get back at her teasing, a cackling Michelle could only look on to see a completely deadpan James. At a red light, he allowed himself to hold the expression, finding shock in her eyes when it became clear that he really wasn’t joking.

“Well in, Jamesie!” A smile lit up, curving her lips, striking him again but out of congratulations on his shoulder. “That respect’s comin’ back! I mean, you English have absolutely no fuckin’ standards, ye dirty feckin’ dogs but ye’ve actually lost yer virginity! I’m dead proud!”

“Great…”. He mumbled, pressing his right foot down as the lights changed to green.

“I am! Finally, I’m not the only one of us, it’s been too fuckin’ long, so it has!”

“How do you know? I don’t think any of the girls would tell you… I didn’t want to until you practically made me from the fear of death!”

“Wise up, James! Clare likes munchin’ carpet but keeps findin’ fuckin’ laminate and Erin’s so fuckin’ frigid, I don’t think she’d let a fella pat her on the arm let alone shag her! And I don’t even think Orla knows what sex is!”

Accepting her fair explanation, he could only hope his red cheeks were hidden during the middle section of her reasoning. Old ground was being trodden on not for the first time, and just the mention of her name made him feel awkward.

“But I tell ye what I don’t get”. Unfinished, she addressed him whilst rummaging through her stringbag. “You and Hayley were at it the night ye met, you bein’ completely different to this borin’ prick ye are every day and ye didn’t keep bein’ like that? She must have been thinkin’ yer a right one and she’d been gettin’ it good and proper but then ye went back to bein’ a massive fanny!”

Smarting, biting his cheek to avoid another outburst, he shook his curls furiously at her relentless delve into his personal life.

“Don’t get pissy with me, eejit! Hayley thought she was gettin’ Steve Irwin and she ended up with David Attenborough!”

“There’s nothing wrong with Attenborough!”

“He’s borin’ as fuck!”. She grumbled gruffly. “Irwin fights crocodiles, Attenborough talks about plants. She wanted her croc man not a daffodil dickhead!”

“I’m not… We were happy when we met up and spent time together! I looked after her a-and I tried to keep her ha-”.

A noise caused him to stop, the clicking open of a lid.

Turning his head for a glance, a container sat on Michelle’s lap, what she must have been rifling through her bag for, he thought. Confusion came from the contents rather than the object.

“What’s that?” He enquired in a high pitch.

“Me breakfast. Don’t you remember, Dicko? I said I had some breakfast ready back in the flat”.

“They’re brownies, Michelle. Brownies aren’t a breakfast food, they’re a snack or a pudding! You can’t eat brownies for breakfast!”

“Here we go again, Admiral dull ballbag reportin’ for duty, Sir!” She mocked, far from pleased. “Hayley might have liked brownies for breakfast, James. Ye should have asked instead of readin’ the calories thing on the back of the coco pops boxes!”

“I don’t read the calorie intakes!”

“The fact that you know exactly what it’s called, shows that ye do. Dick”.

It was becoming increasingly harder for him to focus on the road as they bickered, though thankfully he was granted some clemency by needing to slow down to let a large lorry finish turning ahead. The last thing they needed was to get into a tussle with a heavy goods vehicle that the Volvo would lose ten times out of ten.

“I could have got you a proper breakfast if you asked”. He complained, whilst getting back up to the speed of the road. “Its not healthy to eat brownies for breakfast Michelle, you need to be eating cereal or porridge, something useful for your body”.

“Oh aye, ‘cos Coco Pops are so much better for ye”. She replied, then taking her first bite.

“They’re better than brownies!”

“F-fuck-k offff”.

Chewing her food with her mouth open to annoy him gave James as good a reason as any to keep an eye on what he was doing. Michelle’s usual lack of manners were not a surprise when she was always going to try to get a reaction from him, though he was recognising that he’d reached his limit, backing off.

It would be a heavy if not healthy breakfast though, with around five or six massive slabs in the long, deep container. Chocolate was going to be the first enemy of the day for a body that was going to be taking a hammering from alcohol later, as well as whatever greasy delights her lunch would leave as a foundation before the night truly began. Such a mix was the stuff of nightmares for the wee English fella.

“Anyway, they’re not normal brownies”.

Out of the blue, the first one finished, Michelle bestowed some new information upon him.

“What? Why?” Intrigued, he questioned her.

“I didn’t buy them from a shop, like”.

“You baked them? I used to love baking brownies with mum in the school holidays. She’s got this brilliant recipe for salted caramel, and I used to get everything prepared and then we’d spend the day baking together before my stepdad got home and he tasted them”.

Becoming lost in wonder for a moment, James was able to recall a rare happy memory from his childhood. In recent years, despite the front he put up to absolutely everyone, all of the interpretations of his mother’s love were negativity and disinterest. It hadn’t always been like that, as he began to remember, back in the days when they were a settled family of three in his stepdad’s place in London.

Recognising his needs, Michelle gave him a couple of second’s grace to enjoy the moment, god knows he deserved it. She might have hated him at times, but her Aunt Kathy was Cruella de Vil tenfold in her eyes. That was why she never allowed his thoughts of positivity about the vile piece of work to fester; she cared too much to let him keep hurting himself.

“Oh aye, the crafty bitch would give him a brownie whilst she went next door and dropped her knickers for the next fella. Absolute slapper…”.

“Hey, that’s my mum!” As always, James went into battle for the maternal side. “We used to enjoy that time together!”

“Course she did, she kept you and yer step dad happy and got herself what she wanted at the same time! It’s an absolute miracle that there ain’t more than just you the way she put herself out. On and off like a light switch that woman”.

“Michelle!”

Too pleased by how well she’d riled him up, she called it quits when it looked like he might actually start crying if she didn’t. Kathy didn’t need to be discussed any further either, already getting too much attention for the horrible mother that she was.

Instead, James turned the topic back to her breakfast choice.

“Why aren’t they normal then? You didn’t finish”.

“Not a problem I usually have”. She sniggered, James groaning. “No, they’re not normal ‘cos there’s a wee little something extra in there. Ye know, a bit of added… what do ye call it…”.

Running out of the right vocabulary to be able to complete the story, a problem that she did often face, he meanwhile was perplexed. If they were chocolate brownies that weren’t from a shop or weren’t ones she baked, they could have only been a gift from someone. Perhaps from Joel or one of the others in the film club. Then again, if they were from a friend, they could have still come from a shop without her knowledge, if said friend was to be loose with the truth. Or…

Or…

“Oh please tell me they’re not?” He groaned again, only this time in true frustration.

“They’re not what?” She smirked.

“Drug brownies! You… you…”.

“Aye there’s a bit of weed in there if that’s what yer askin’, James”.

Chuckling, she found it to be amusing when he found it horrifying. He wasn’t about to break out into a Clare-inspired rant about the dangers of using drugs, but he didn’t like it at all. Evidently his cousin wasn’t practicing the same level of caution and avoidance.

“Don’t bloody eat anymore!” He scolded as she reached for another. “You don’t know what effect they might have on you! They might be dangerous!”

“Relax! I’ve had plenty of these so I have, never ever felt a thing or gone funny!”

“I thought after what happened with the scones you’d think twice! Seriously I don’t want you eating any more of them!”

“I’m in the car with you, not at a wake. But if yer goin’ to keep rattlin’ on about it then fine, I’ll put ‘em away, so I will”.

Shoving them back in her bag with a huff, Michelle sat back with her arms crossed, pouting. Earning a double victory in keeping her quiet for a few minutes and stopping her from eating a second laced brownie. She would probably spend the rest of the journey reminding him of how he’d stopped her but it was worth it. Following the signs for Carrickfergus on the road, he was dead chuffed.

At least he’d prevented any incidents by only allowing her the one.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Taboo talks

The sourness between them didn’t last long and soon enough, Michelle was giving James the sort of lessons she kept telling him to stop giving others. There was many a sight along the coast road, before it even got out into one lane roadways, and she turned narrator for the journey. Hearing all of the history behind Carrickfergus Castle came as a surprise to the Englishman, left wondering whether or not her flat friend Joel had something to do with her knowledge or not. She did say he liked his history, though James decided that reminding her of that would only cause more trouble.

They’d already had enough trouble for one morning. He was determined to not allow any more to come to pass.

After another half an hour of light talk, history and sport for a unique change, the progress James wanted to make was finally happening on the road. They were not too far away from Larne, no more than a few miles, with the Larne Lough filling the view off to their right hand side. From there, he reckoned it would be no more than an hour and half or so up to Ballycastle, perhaps shorter, and with any luck they’d be in Derry somewhere around lunchtime or just after. It wasn’t going to be the worst detour after all, although it still required his cousin to keep her end of the bargain.

That was far less certain.

Conversation about football was only going to last so long though, and soon enough Michelle’s willpower was enforced upon him.

“Anyway, I have somethin’ else I need to ask ye”.

“If this is another detour…”. James huffed, trailing off.

“Let me finish… prick! What happened at Christmas? Ye were great company for a few days and then that mornin’ ye just fucked off home, no explanation, no nothin’”.

“I already told you when you rang the next day, I wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want to be a burden, so I went home”.

“Aye ye did but here’s the thing, James. I do not believe a fucking word of that”.

She was right not to believe a word of it; he wasn’t that bad. He didn’t feel ill in the traditional sense at all, but he couldn’t stay in Derry around the girls. However, the last thing he was going to do was tell Michelle why he really left so suddenly and if he was going to have to tell a different tale, it would be another full of falsehoods.

“Do we really need to discuss this?”

“Aye, we do”. An insistent Michelle folded her arms again. “Yer English James, ye can’t be trusted when yer not tellin’ someone the whole truth”.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I’m actually probably more Irish than English, accent aside”.

“Yer more dickhead than anythin’ else! And yer half at best. No one knows who ye Da is, probably never will, yer Ma’s ridden more than a champion jockey, so she has”.

Insulted by her again about his mother and even his very existence, he swallowed the anger. The tests to his patience were becoming more and more frequent, and without the detour, he would have turned back in Belfast. Yet his caring, kind soul stopped him from kicking her out because the journey to Ballycastle and the meeting with her friend was for the right reasons. It tugged at his heartstrings, prevented him from losing his cool completely. As usual, he’d have to roll with the punches she threw his way.

“So?”

James sighed. He would have to say something, though could at least wait as they went round a particularly sharp bend that required his concentration.

“I know it looked like I was enjoying myself a-and I did have a good time when we were out but… but when I was on my own I just…”. Sighing again, he tried to be as convincing as he could. Some of it wasn’t exactly a lie. “This whole me not getting over Hayley thing. I couldn’t stop thinking about it and there was only so many distractions that you could all make. There was no point in me talking to any of you about it because you’d all tell me to man up, so I just took off and bought a ticket for the ferry when I got the port. I’m sorry it was all so sudden but staying felt wrong when I was only going to make the atmosphere worse”.

She seemed to take in his words rather than jump down his throat, a welcome change in perspective from a usually forceful Michelle. Probably picking apart the lies, he glumly thought, lies that he was going to have to stick by. Outside the car, despite the clouds, the Larne Lough looked beautiful as it stretched along the coast, the Islandmagee peninsula jutting out opposite where the land truly met the ferocity of the Irish Sea.

“That’s it?” She eventually queried inquisitively.

“Yes… what were you expecting?” He retorted curtly.

“I don’t know James… but that night before ye left, me, Clare and Orla go out to get some cheap booze from Dennis’ and yer left alone with Erin. Next day, ye’ve ran off and she didn’t say shit about anythin’. What am I supposed to think?”

“Nothing like that happened, if that’s what you’re implying! I wouldn’t dar-”.

“Donegal!”

Another swipe was taken about that morning, more pain for him to contend with. Glancing away, pretending to check his wing mirror, he hid the worst of the reaction from her but the smirking face he saw a glimpse of when he checked back told him she knew she was getting somewhere. It was as far as he was going to let her get though.

“Donegal was a long time ago, Michelle”. Bitterly, he began. “All we did while you were all out was talk about our courses and some of Erin’s poetry. There’s nothing more to it than that”.

“Christ, I can see why ye left, I would if Erin started readin’ her poetry”.

There was a well-known dislike of Erin’s poetry from all quarters other than a respectful James and the loving Mary and Gerry, who didn’t quite have the heart to tell their daughter that she lacked talent in that sphere. Erin could write, it would have been a crime to suggest she couldn’t, but journalistic work seemed to be a better fit for her rather than creating a new set of classics.

“That still doesn’t change how absolutely fuckin’ disgustin’ what the pair of ye did was. Thinkin’ about it makes me want to boke!”

“Then don’t bloody think about it”. He crisply returned. “You don’t have anything to worry about, I… I’ve moved on”.

“Really?”

“Are you forgetting the cubicle door?”

“So what? Ye shagged Hayley once. Doesn’t mean yer not still thinkin’ about ridin’ one of yer best friends, one of my best friends, I might add!”

Playing with his emotions was a particular skill of Michelle, and when one was so skilful, one did not fail to put those skills into use. Vexed at her continual pressing, James briefly contemplated driving them all the way into the Lough just to shut her up, until he remembered the fallacy of doing something so rash. If he survived, he would need to save up to buy a new car and then if the Police worked out it was deliberate, there was the cost of the court cases and a potential spell behind bars. It probably wasn’t worth risking dropping the soap over.

Maybe.

“Me and Erin lead different lives, Michelle. I’ll always love her in the same way you do, like friends, and I love you all like that. But I know my place, you made that very clear”.

“I can always ask her, ye know”. She cheekily interjected.

“Michelle! For the love of all that’s bloody holy can you just listen to me for once!? I’m not the same person as I was back then. Time changes and so do…. so do feelings. What you saw in Donegal… that won’t go any further”.

Nodding her head hesitantly at first, she started to accept his words with a much more solid attempt a second later. Speaking with such fire and such passion told her that he was not trying to fob her off or lead her astray. What she’d seen between them was so long ago, he was right, and he was definitely not the utter sap that he was then. He would never shake the drippy nature but there was more of a spring in the step now, a sharpness in the tongue that was not there before.

The only person that didn’t believe James in that car was James. His words might have come from deep, but they might not have been a fair reflection. Donegal wasn’t forgotten that easily, not for him.

“Grand, so yer not pervin’ over Erin now. Fuckin’ relief, I say”. An audibly thankful Michelle breathed out.

“It was never like that!”

James felt ready to combust as more buttons were pressed. Not pressed, crushed. Michelle was like a seasoned boxer, working him over relentlessly but still holding back from throwing the decisive punch, although the jabs were getting harder. He wouldn’t stand for her misinterpretation of his feelings, beginning to pour out the contents of his mind to her.

“At that time, I-I felt something. You know, some people value others for more than just their body or their looks, Michelle. Is there any wonder I started to feel that way when Erin was so nice to me when you weren’t!”

“Prick, don’t you put this on me! I gave ye what ye needed. Tough love. Ye were such a goody two shoes Mammy’s boy, ye wouldn’t have lasted if I hadn’t been rough with ye!”

“I’m not saying I didn’t need it! But it was too much sometimes, and she recognised that when you didn’t! So yes, I started to have feelings for Erin, but it doesn’t bloody matter. That’s over… finished… finito!”

Banjaxed by his counters, Michelle took a couple of jabs in return, the wind truly ripped from the open sails she’d been carrying. One thing he could never know was how many times she’d often regretted the lengths she’d gone to make him so uncomfortable when he arrived. At the end of the day, he toughened himself up because of it, yet there were occasions when the ground became more hatred than nurture. In another life there wouldn’t have been the added heartbreak of Niall’s prison sentence, though there also might not have been James.

Tiresome as he could be, he was a positive addition to her life. A positive addition to the lives of all their friends and family, the outgoing character that he was.

Deciding it to be beneficial in skirting away from getting into another shouting match, she backed off from that tangent, into safer, calmer water waters. The velocity of their talking might have died but the curiosity was still there.

“Fine, we went a bit off topic there anyway, aye?” She looked at him for a response; none was given. “What did ye do at Christmas? When ye got back to London, like?”

“Worked”. Measuring his answer carefully, he spoke sharply. “For a couple of days it was so busy that I didn’t think about Hayley. Took my mind away from it all”.

“That’s not depressin’…”.

No dignification of a response was received from her latest barb. The union jacks flying above one of the houses as they went through the village of Glynn catching more of his attention, along with the distant structure of the Ballylumford Power Station over the other side of the Lough.

Undeterred by his restraint, Michelle wanted to know more.

“Where is it yer workin’? Coffee shop or somethin’?”

“Yep, same place. I have to afford the apartment somehow”.

“Flat”. She corrected him yet again, though this time without a fight back. “I thought yer Mammy paid everythin’? Part of this massive fuckin’ tryin’ to care by buyin’ ye what ye want thing”.

“She found the place for me, but I pay most of the rent. And can you stop criticisin’ my mum, please? She’s not perfect, but she tries her best!”

“Yer right there, she’s far from fucking perfect!”

The grip on the steering wheel got tighter and tighter. Every single conversation seemed to be going the same way. An innocuous, if annoying start, building up to her taking pot shots at various aspects of his life while he had to sit there listening to every word as well as drive the car, focusing on the road and not how to properly respond. Luckily, like each time she knew she was spearing on into a minefield, Michelle had the guile to back off leaving only dents and not fissures.

“If you really have to know, I worked for the last couple of days of the year at the coffee shop, took new years day off and then worked a few more. Since then, I’ve done weekends and the odd day here and there when I’ve been free”.

“Bit like me then. I’ve been doin’ three nights a week at Tesco’s and Sunday afternoon’s. Sunday’s a right head melter after a night out, fuckin’ hate it, so I do, but if I don’t do it, I can’t live there”.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but your flat doesn’t strike me as somewhere with a massive rent bill”.

“You’d be fuckin’ surprised! That heatin’ only goes on only if I’m near frostbite! That’s why I have so many fuckin’ hoodies! It’s cheaper”.

Students’ way of life was not one that bestowed inspiring short term financial rewards and both of them lived on a tight budget in their own ways. Forging their own paths away from Derry brought opportunity but at the cost of losing the bonus of living at home, where they would only have to make contributions to the overall budget of the household, not live by it. Erin and Orla were getting a much better deal for themselves by staying put, aside from the freedom of having their own places.

“Hang on, I thought you worked at Asda?” His memory had kicked in, cogs turning back to prior chats. “We talked about it at Christmas. You hated going in because of the constant Christmas music being played!”

“Oh aye well, I ended up quittin’, so I did”.

“You quit? Why?”

The boot on the other foot, it was Michelle’s turn to growl at having to rake over old ground. She’d already explained this to Erin, Clare and her Mammy over the phone on various occasions, and it really wasn’t a series of events that showed her in the best of light.

“If I said it was because of the injustice of the place, would that do?”

“No”. James was blunt.

“Feck’s sake… alright, I quit ‘cos I was told to, or they’d have to get rid of me. Might have let the manager have a feel of me baps as well”.

Unsurprised and unimpressed, he could already tell that she hadn’t covered herself in glory. It bore all the signs of one of her ridiculous, poorly thought-out escapades.

“Look, ye know me, I don’t like soppy people bein’ all soppy in front of me. This absolute bitch of a girl called Annie worked in frozen and she and her fella Cian were all over each other in the smoke shed every day, so they were. I couldn’t enjoy one smoke without watchin’ them shiftin’!”

“Okay… but that doesn’t explain why you quit”.

Fully engrossed in her tale of woe, James dismissed the sign saying roadworks ahead whereas his normal, concentrating self would have been dismayed to find more delays. Michelle’s narrative held far too much potential for amusement than the roadworks could bother him.

“It really got on me tits, so it did. Cian had this really long, thick fuckin’ moustache that he didn’t shave, so I started spreadin’ that he didn’t shave it ‘cos he was tryin’ to hide his herpes and Annie wore shiteloads of concealer to cover hers”.

“Let me guess. Neither of them had herpes?”

“No. And the manager found out that I was the one behind it when some fucker snitched on me! He told me that he’d let me resign and he’d give me a reference if he could cop a feel or if I said no, no reference and I was fired there and then”.

“What an arsehole, taking advantage of you like that! Are you… are you alright, Michelle?” A considerate James asked, glancing across.

“Ach, I’m fine. The dirty old perv could have wanted a lot more than that, I can live with a wee grope if it means I don’t have to go through tryin’ to explain bein’ sacked to some prick in an interview”.

“That doesn’t mean you should have had to. I’ve half a mind to find this bloke and… and have a bit of a pop at him!”

“A bit of a pop? I’m sure he’d be dead quakin’, James”.

Snorting at his attempt at overt masculinity, she tried to ignore the warm sensation of his care that flowed around her. He just had to keep being so endearing; it was infectious. Perhaps with more thought it might have bothered her or made her uncomfortable, but at the time it happened, she was more worried about being jobless than anything else.

James should have then foreseen the next move.

He’d been lured into showing the enormous level of care he had for her, as he did for the rest of the girls, his flank open to the prickly outlook she’d shown all morning.

“Talkin’ of fella’s, I nearly forgot. Erin’s got herself a fella”.

“What?”

Paying no attention to his surroundings, James whipped his head round to her, consequently feeling the car shudder and turn a little as his left hand slid down the steering wheel a fraction. An advantage that a sniping Michelle would always utilise.

“Eyes on the road, James”. She joked, producing a chuckle. “Aye, Erin’s got a new fella. She told me when we spoke on the phone last. I can’t actually believe she’s tryin’”.

“Right…”.

Attempting to seem disinterested, he gazed ahead to see the previously signposted roadworks in the distance. A set of temporary traffic lights proceeded them, which were on green, though he knew his own luck meant that by the time they got there, they would have turned to red. Belittling his own luck was a far easier prospect than getting what she’d just told him into his head.

“She was proper lurred about it. Jesus but does she need it, maybe she’ll finally stop being a frigid fuckin’ mess and put herself out a bit! Give that kissin’ pillow a fuckin’ rest, aye”.

“That’s all come about rather sudden”. A still pretending to not care James responded.

“Ach not really, James. This fella’s been on her course since the start so he has, but ye know Erin, it’s taken her more than a fuckin’ year to get within five metres of him! Apparently, he’s dead keen on her and was just waitin’ for her to admit it too”.

“I don’t remember her mentioning him before”.

“Pfft, as if she’d tell you! She only told me ‘cos she was so fuckin’ buzzin’ and needed to tell someone. Showed me some pictures of this fella too, cracker of a body on him. Erin’s punchin’, so she is, but he’s really got the hots for her. Get this, apparently he encouraged her to keep writin’! Must be absolutely mad for her to do that, no one else has ever said that!”

Clenching the steering wheel and biting himself harder than before, he could barely resist the urge to correct her. He’d supported Erin’s dreams more than his own realities. Arguing back would have ruthlessly exposed his prior lies and showed her how far from moving on from what happened in Donegal he really was. Between a rock and a hard place, he could only sit through the relentless storm she was battering his conscience with.

However, he couldn’t help himself when details were strung together in his mind.

“How can she have shown you pictures when you haven’t seen her since Christmas?” He raised his query, frowning.

“Ever heard of the fuckin’ post? They came yesterday”.

“I didn’t see them in the flat”.

“That’s cos they’re in me room, Columbo”. She teased back, eyes rolling. “What do you care anyway, I thought you’s were finished… finito”.

“I don’t”.

He answered so quickly, she’d barely caught breath when he made his stance clear. Having rolled to a stop in front of the red light he predicted further up the road, he decided not to elaborate, instead reaching into the footwell to open his own bottle of water. A bottle planted in his mouth also meant he could offer a fair distraction from having to engage with his cousin on such a sensitive topic once more.

James’ clammy forehead was an indication of just how terrifyingly uncomfortable he was.

Michelle didn’t take the hints.

“Thank fuck ye don’t, couldn’t be dealin’ with you bein’ jealous and mopin’ around him”.

“Does he have a name?”

Being a complete fool as normal, he did re-engage, passing through the narrow roadway created by the barriers, the temporary light having turned back to green. If curiosity was a killer, he was a serial victim.

“Max. His mammy’s German or somethin’ so he’s actually a Maximillian, but no one wants to be sayin’ that so he’s just Max”.

“I look forward to meeting this Max tonight then”.

“Why? Ye thinkin’ about ridin’ him too? Greedy English bastard, battin’ for both fuckin’ sides!”

“For the last time Michelle, I’m only interested in girls. I’m not gay or anything else!”

“So you keep sayin’…”. She mumbled with a huff. “But aye ye’ll meet him tonight, so you will. Best behaviour from you, mind”.

“Ditto”.

As they cut through Larne, joining the queue of traffic at the massive roundabout they came to a few moments later, James ceased their chatter to focus on getting the right lane.

Something still didn’t feel quite right about the appearance of a boyfriend at Erin’s side, without him being able to conclusively say it was fictional. It boiled down to a question of whether or not Max did exist or whether he did not want him to exist, his clouded thoughts unable to show him the way therefore stopping him from calling Michelle’s bluff.

It was fair to say his excitement for the evening was dampened…

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: It gets bad

“See, those brownies, no fuckin’ effect whatsoever”.

“Yet”. James added the stipulation.

“Yeah well, they’re not havin’ any effect, so ye were wrong. Just admit it”.

“I’m not admitting anything”.

Their bickering had become lighter as they crawled through a fairly busy Larne, not helped by a further set of roadworks on the other side of the town. The cousins were no strangers to being at each other’s throats, but given the favour he was doing her, Michelle certainly was pushing all of her luck when teasing and aggravating him. Talk about Erin’s new boyfriend had ceased thankfully, a blessing for the wee English fella.

Had ceased.

Sadly, he was driving along the coast road with only Michelle for company. The most emotionally damaging woodpecker in Ireland kept on nipping.

“Oh I tell ye another thing about Max, he’s had some tragedy in his life, aye. Brought a tear to my eye, so it did. Me, cryin’! Don’t see that often”.

“What happened, did his dad invest their life savings in a shoe factory in Sri Lanka that was mysteriously burned to the ground by a gang of eighteen century pirates?”

Spitting the words with such disdain, James’ tongue lanced into his cheek, almost feeling as if it would break through the skin. Max’s life was of no interest to him, and it shouldn’t have been to Michelle, yet he was still having to hear about the intricacies of the young man’s life. Knowing how she liked to exaggerate everything too, such an elaborate story wasn’t too much of a stretch to make.

“Oi, have a bit of respect! Just cos’ yer only tragedy is that yer Mammy doesn’t care about ye, doesn’t mean ye can shite on other people! Ye know, yer such a prick sometimes, James!”

“Can you not talk about my mum!?” He reiterated stronger than before.

“Can you not be such a dick about Max?” She countered. “Yer soundin’ like yer bothered…”.

“I’m not bothered! But how do I know this isn’t just another one of your pranks and when I ask him about it, he wonders what the hell I’m talking about!”

“No one would joke about this, James. It’s serious. The fella’s been through a lot”.

Defeat was going to have to be conceded, because Michelle’s tone was drifting into the same area as it was when she’d told him about her friend in Ballycastle. When she was being that serious then there must have been legs in the story, even though he did not want to hear it. Wrong of him it was to already begin to measure himself against a man he did not know, he was doing it anyway. Unwittingly, Max was disrupting the waiting game that began outside the house in Donegal and if he was every inch the fella that she was painting him out to be, perhaps ending it.

James was threatened and could do nothing about it.

“Alright…”. He sighed his yield. “What happened to him then?”

“Oh it’s terrible, so it is”. Michelle wiped at her eyes, James catching the movement out of the corner of his own. “When he was a proper wain, like three or four, his Da got into trouble with some rough lads from Sligo over some bettin’”.

“Gambling addiction, my heart bleeds…”.

“Let me finish! Christ, what’s wrong with you!? Other people go through shit other than you, yer not that fuckin’ special!”

“Okay, I apologise. Carry on”.

A clear road ahead allowed him to put his foot down again, the pressure from his right foot also releasing some of the pent-up frustration in him. Until he realised he was two miles per hour above the speed limit, easing up immediately before he got into a cold sweat about breaking the laws of the road.

“His da was a bookmaker, not a gambler. And these fella’s, they tried to get him to fix a couple of races, but he wouldn’t do it. Had some class about him”.

“Oh”. Overwritten with repentance, James turned downcast.

“Ye see, he wasn’t some fuckin’ deadbeat like ye thought. These fellas broke into their place one night and kidnapped the family, so they did. Took them to some fuckin’ place and told his Da that they’d kill him and his Ma if he didn’t join them”.

“Jesus!”

“Aye they could have done with him an’ all! His da kept sayin’ he wouldn’t so they took him and his Ma away and locked them in a fuckin’ storage container. The ones that go on ships, like”.

“What happened to his dad?”

“Max and his Ma heard the gunshots from the container. The Sligo bastards killed him just ‘cos he wouldn’t fix a couple of races. Shockin’ so it was”.

Shocking was an understatement. Taking a hand off the wheel to pinch at his eyes, the Englishman was embarrassed by his earlier comments. His own insecurities about the sudden arrival of Max into the fray prevented him from being his kind, caring self and regardless of who the fella was to Erin, it was wrong to brutally reject such a horrific tale.

Of anyone, he should have had more respect for a young man living without his father, when he’d never known his own. Arguably to him, it was even worse for Max who also must have kept some memories of the man from his first few years.

Literally red-faced, he could only ask his next question in a mumble.

“What happened to him and his mum? It must have been horrible living without him”.

“Hang on James. Just take a look at that view”.

Michelle’s switch came from nowhere.

He couldn’t exactly stare when at the wheel, but as James took the advised cursory glance to his right, he noted that the trees previously blocking the shoreline were gone. Instead, the Irish Sea opened up for as far as could be seen, the distant coastline that they’d soon be traversing rendering afar. Rippling tidal waves whipped into the coast, the calm air not replicated across the tops of the deep blue sea yonder. It was postcard beautiful, a joy in a land that was still adjusting into a new life where such colour and marvel could be celebrated rather than relegated behind the worries and the hatred of years gone by.

“Wow, that’s… that’s…”.

“Pretty good, aye. Now ye see why I said to come this way. Ye don’t see anythin’ this beautiful in Ballymena!”

“It’s incredible”.

The sights truly were incredible, more so than any seafront he could remember. It put Blackpool to shame that was for sure, though how difficult that was could be debated. The moniker of shithole was one that the wee English fella had given the place long ago, his mother having first described it that way and upon further exploration, one he could not disagree with.

“Black Arch up ahead, what a fuckin’ tunnel that is!”

Her finger jabbed at the tunnel a couple of hundred yards ahead, through which the extended coastline could be seen once more, despite some intermittent fog in the distance. Michelle becoming passionate about history was most unexpected, but it was definitely welcome.

“Been there since the eighteen hundreds, so it has. Dynamite’d the fuck out of the cliffs to make it so but they did a grand job of it”. She narrated cheerfully.

“It’s nice to see you taking an interest in history”. James commented, the tunnel edging closer.

“Yeah well, I do listen to people when they tell me these things. I know you’s English couldn’t give a fuck but I’m proud of me history, so I am!”

“Joel’s clearly a good influence”.

“What do ye mean, Joel!?” Rapidly, she jumped down his throat. “It’s nothin’ to do with Joel! Some old fella at Tesco told me, not Joel. Why would it be Joel? I don’t talk to him that much, why would he tell me that?”

James resisted the smirk. Again, by the thinnest of margins, proving his impeccable self-control to be intact after all the damage his pride had taken that morning.

“You said he liked history, I assumed he would have told you. Obviously not…”.

“No, he didn’t. Ye’ve gotten really fuckin’ judgemental today, James, ye know that!? God knows where yer gettin’ that from”.

“The mind boggles…”.

His muttering was not entirely caught by Michelle and she decided not to pick him up on it, to both his relief and surprise. There was no doubt in his mind that she was about to take another swipe at his mum, an annoying though true characterisation of her. His own insinuation would have been more troublesome…

Predictably, Michelle returned to Max.

“Max and his Ma, anyway, they couldn’t get out of that container”.

“They were trapped? For how long?” A surprised James’ pitch rose at the initial continuation of the story.

“Fuckin’ days. They got put on a ship, so they did and the next thing they knew they were at sea. No fucker heard them shoutin’ he said so they were just stuck there till the container got opened”.

“How did they survive? No food, no water, no air”.

“Container had a massive hole in it, so it did, only bit of luck they had. They were absolutely famished when they were found”.

James was really beginning to feel bad about his attitude. His own struggles with his mum seemed to pale in comparison to the few days of hell Max had been through as a child. All of the times he’d been ignored or left seemed trivial compared to being locked in a barely survivable container at sea.

“I can’t imagine what that must have been like”.

“Yeah, and that wasn’t the end of it”. Michelle added, James feeling his brows furrow as he looked for danger on the road. “When they were found, turns out they were in fuckin’ Africa”.

“Africa?”

Of all of the places he was expecting, it wasn’t Africa. Just the thought of the perilous voyage across potentially rough seas, sent a shiver down his spine.

“Aye, Tangier… that’s like Morocco or somethin’. They took them out this container and called the cops apparently. Cops hadn’t got a baldies what to do, so ye know what they did?”

“Contacted the Irish Embassy?” He offered logically.

“Arrested them. Threw in some fuckin’ stinkin’ sandy jail cell with some right weirdos. A young mammy and her wain! Sure he said it was dead terrifyin’ from what he could remember”.

“I imagine it was. A four year old subject to that… god…”.

“It got worse”.

At this point, he couldn’t see how it was possible for the tragedy to get worse, but Michelle’s continued vocal seriousness said it all. It rather dampened the ethereal magnificence of the coastline stretching out as far as the eye could see, to hear of such terror. However, he did clock the clouds in the distance that looked far angrier than those that proceeded it. Rainclouds if he ever saw them.

“The cops let them go but they had fuckin’ nowhere to stay and couldn’t speak a fuckin’ word to ask anyone for help. Eventually they found a fella who said he’d get them home, but he’d only send Max back and not his Mammy”.

“Why?”

Michelle took in a deep breath, leaving him wondering just how much more tragic it was going to get. Clearly emotional as she had been earlier in the morning, she revealed the glum twist.

“The fella wanted his Mammy for… for…”. She stopped, choked up. “He was goin’ to make her a prostitute. Course she… she wanted Max to be safe, so she sent him away and he managed to get home a few days after”.

“How long did it take her to come back?”

“Max’s never seen his Mammy again. She’s either still a prostitute or… or she’s dead”.

A few loose tears started to trickle down her cheeks as she finished the story. Across from her, James was shellshocked, barely able to concentrate on driving. How wrong he’d been to dismiss Max’s traumatic story as a child when he’d been through so much. Living without either parent, losing one to murder and the other to almost the same in time was a horrific fate that he could not relate to. Kathy might not have cared that much about him at times, but at least she was there and alive. Max couldn’t say the same.

How unsurprising it was that Erin was drawn to him, he thought to himself quietly whilst glancing over at Michelle, who was drying her eyes.

“Who’s looked after him? A foster parent?”

“Nope, just him and his uncle. After all that he’s done pretty well for himself, gettin’ to Uni and doin’ journalism and that. I don’t think I could manage it, if I was him, like”.

“He’s… he’s done incredibly. It must have been one hell of a first date for him to tell Erin all of this”.

Speaking his mind aloud rather than holding the thoughts in his conscience, he didn’t dare take another glance over to the passenger seat. The story couldn’t be questioned with the sincerity in which it was delivered, but when he was a new boyfriend in only the last weeks, it was a lot for Erin to have learned from him. Even more than that, it was told with such perfect detail by Michelle after being passed on. He’d known the girls for years and they still didn’t know certain facets of the mistreatment that his own mother had put him through as a child.

“Ach well, they’ve only been together a couple of weeks, but she did start talkin’ to him just before that. Apparently wants to be honest with her, so he told her all that”.

“Very honest”.

“There it is again, the judgement! What happened to ye not bein’ bothered about what Erin does or who she sees?”

“I’m not”. Abruptly he shut her down. “I was just making the point that he’s said a lot about himself when he’s only just started talking to Erin. I wouldn’t have expected it, that’s all”.

“Neither did she!” Michelle snorted. “But ye know Erin, she’s already askin’ if she can write about him, make it into a story, like. Reckons it could be a cracker one to publish”.

A fond smile crept out across his face, though James sensibly turned his head to the right as if he was checking the wing mirror, in order to hide it. Only the Erin he knew would see the literary opportunity in a tale of childhood trauma. He could have chastised her for wanting to pick at what must have been such a raw wound for Max, but she wasn’t looking at financial reward as almost anyone else would assume. Being able to lose herself with a story like Max’s would make her happy, and a happy Erin meant a happy James, simple as.

Michelle wasn’t quite so conciliatory.

“Not a fuckin’ ounce of respect for herself as usual! But Max’s is fine about it she said, so the fuck do I know, aye. Would you write about it?”

“I’m not a good enough writer”.

“Alright, would ye make a film about it?”

Answering her was difficult, because in a different scenario, he probably would. If Max wasn’t what he was to Erin or the story was completely fictional, he would happily be the cinematographer or even direct a film following that script. Max wasn’t fictious though, he was real and that changed his perspective.

“I-I doubt it…”. Gingerly, he replied. “I wouldn’t want to disrespect the legacy of his parents or turn it into something it wasn’t”.

“Right answer. Erin didn’t like me tellin’ her I thought it was fucked up on the phone though. Actually, maybe ye should talk to her about it tonight”.

“As we’re getting drunk? I don’t think so”.

“Tomorrow then. Or Sunday. Someone needs to tell her it’s not right. Or tell Max it’s fuckin’ stupid to let the world know about it”.

Both conversations were ones to avoid. Max was not even an acquaintance yet, just a name, and could easily take offence at the wee English fella for just knowing the story. Making Erin unhappy by questioning her motives was off the cards too.

It wasn’t his place to get involved but Michelle was almost certainly going to back him into a corner in order to.

“We’ll see. Maybe not tonight though, we are meant to be having fun, remember”.

“And we will Jamesie, we fuckin’ will!”

The thread of Max’s life story came to a sudden end, no further comments necessary. Undoubtedly, the acrimonious tale of angst that Max faced would be mentioned further during their trip, the last of it most certainly not uttered.

To keep the conversation flowing however, he decided to ask a further question. Complete silence wasn’t exactly welcome when there were still many, many miles to go before they reached Ballycastle and he was without another topic to begin with in his mind. For once, she didn’t have anything to chastise him for or tease him with, prompting the questioning.

“Is he from Derry?”

“Ballybofey”. Yawning, Michelle gave a quick answer. “That’s where his uncle lives anywhere, I think they lived in Ballyshannon before all that happened”.

“Where’s that?”

“Where’s what?”

“Bally-b… Bally-buffy?”

“What are ye deaf!? I said Ballybofey! And its over the border like, not far from where… ye know where I mean”.

This time it was Michelle who has reluctant to bring that up, a thankful James nodding along in agreement. Very few places over that side of the border could be marked on his list of having been too and she certainly wasn’t talking about the caravan at Portnoo.

“I take it he lives in Derry now then? At the university”.

“You sure yer not tryin’ to shag him?” She sniggered, James tutting quietly in return. “Aye, he does. He’d been livin’ in Erin’s fuckin’ knickers if she let him in…”.

“Honestly, Michelle!”

“Oh, bother ye does it?”

“No but… but you shouldn’t… I don’t think you should talk about Erin like that, that’s all”.

“Aye right, and if ye could let me know when the day I was supposed to start givin’ a fuck what you think was, that’d be grand”.

His defence of Erin was ephemeral in the end, as Michelle seemed to settle into a quiet stare across the scenery in front. The idyllic landscape of coast meeting land was a tranquil silencer, beating the arising argumentative, foul atmosphere inside the Volvo. Deciding, not for the first time, to vote for peace, James kept his mouth firmly shut when it was obvious that she was doing the same. No more questions, no more spats. It allowed him to pour all his attention on the journey still to be completed, which was still in its relative infancy when Derry was the final destination.

The magnificent stretch of road that they were traversing might well have been Michelle’s best ever suggestion. Her historical narration might have stopped with the continued silence, but he could still admire the luscious surrounds they passed. Eyes were supposed to be on the road, but more than once the striking treeline around the old Cairndhu House became a distraction. The sun didn’t have to shine for the gorgeousness of the area to stand out, the winding road pinching at the very tip of the land, sometimes nothing more than the natural rocky barriers separating vehicles from the cool sloshes of the Irish sea.

After ten minutes of absolutely no word from Michelle though, James’ thoughts came away from the perfect landscapes formed in front of him and went back to her. Keeping her quiet for that long was the sort of achievement that the George Cross could be awarded for, especially in the picky mood she’d been in since her rude awakening that morning. The selfish enjoyment of not having her biting his ear off couldn’t go on forever.

“You’re quiet”.

The long drawn-out sigh she gave did little to remove his concerns. If anything, it heightened them.

“Jus’ watchin’ the waves”. Her words in response were slow, distant. “Watchin’ them go wush, wush, wush… wush, wush, wush…”.

With a straight stretch of road ahead of them on the approach to what the signpost said was the Devil’s Window, another natural arch but this time with no tunnel to go through, he allowed himself a couple of seconds to look over at her. Her eyes were out on stalks, not particularly concentrating on the sea, staring out blankly.

Wryly, he grinned. Until he remembered he was in a car with her.

“Those bloody brownies…”.

“I’m hungry, James”.

Unexpectedly, she addressed him like a daughter would her father, words still somewhat slurred compared to her normal direct tone. Taking responsibility as the adult he was, the village of Glenarm around the bend, a mile or so away, was looking like a potential stop. A stop he didn’t want to have to make, yet it was needs must when he didn’t have any food to give her, and the brownies would be going into the sea.

The fish would have some surprise in store.

“There’ll probably be a shop in the village up here. What do you want?”

“The waves… they go wush, wush, wush… wush, wush, wush…”.

Her helpful answer was to be expected, the effect of the drugs kicking in. Spaced out to a world away, he would have to make the decision on her behalf.

After the morning he’d had with her, he’d be treating himself too.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: It gets worse

Parking in Glenarm wasn’t too hard, although the ever-cautious James was always going to be parking as close as he could to the road in the Marina. Taking chances with a sudden tidal surge was not on his agenda; he wasn’t going to lose the Volvo to the powerful currents of the sea. Michelle’s commentary about said waves continued in her slurred, almost lazy tone, the weed in the brownies taking a proper hold of her. The munchies too, although there hadn’t been a follow up complaint about her hunger since the original was made.

So seemingly spaced out, she didn’t even question him taking the brownies out of her bag and with him. With no intention to eat them, their sole destination would be the very waves she spoke of. Nobody would be taking another bite out of the drugged delicacies thanks to him, a civil duty to the Englishman in a way. One had been enough to really put Michelle out of it and someone else without a guiding hand like his by their side might eat too many and really get into bother.

Not now.

Checking his surroundings for anyone watching, head rapidly turned over each shoulder to make sure, he approached the walled edge of the Marina car park. If a cop or other law-abiding citizen were to catch him in the act, then he would have some explaining to do and that would have capped off a thoroughly torrid morning by being arrested.

With no one indeed around to disturb him, James launched the remaining brownies into the sea to sink to the bottom. He made sure to put some distance into the launch rather than risk them washing back to shore and someone foolishly trying to salvage the crumbs. If the fish were to get high as kites, then that would be their problem, not his.

Watching out to the seas for a minute, he shook his head at Michelle’s foolishness.

One day she would have to grow out of drugs and her recklessness. One day, one glorious day it would be.

“Right, shop it is”. He muttered to himself.

Walking out of the car park and onto the main road, the direction in which he needed to travel wasn’t exactly obvious. There were no signs for a shop, but it was a big enough village for their to surely be one, he cogitated as he continued. Crossing over the road to head away from the front seemed to be the best plan in locating one, especially when a sign for a pub flapped in the wind in the distance. Surely the pub would be towards the centre of the village and a shop wouldn’t be too far from it.

Looking out towards where he would be driving to, the dark rainclouds still hovered on the horizon. They’d be driving through the rain at some point, he was sure of it, a vicious barrel looking nimbus at the forefront of the formation. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t driven through horrendous conditions before, but the prospect always made him considerably more apprehensive than he normally would be.

Strolling past a number of fairly dated looking houses, certainly compared to the newbuild apartment that he lived in, there was a cosy feel to the place that already had started to creep upon him. Peaceful with few cars passing by him as he walked, there were a few people out and about but not many. Quiet, serene and colourful, it could hardly be believed that he was stepping foot in a country where for years there was trouble and violence, a black and white reel of pain and suffering. Glenarm, to James, didn’t seem to reflect what the history books would tell for centuries to come.

Keeping to the left at the roundabout by the pub, there was at worst a café on the other side of the road that he could sneak something back from for Michelle. She wouldn’t appreciate it as much as she would sitting inside to eat it but then when she was so far out of it, it probably wouldn’t have made too much difference.

Finally the sign for a shop did come into view on his side, after continuing on past the roundabout and up the street that lead away from the front. The roads, barring the main one, looked to be narrow but passable, and he could have probably pulled in further up if he’d have known. A longer stretch of the legs did him no harm though, having been driving for a good while after leaving Belfast to take the coast road. The fresh air was welcome too.

The shop wasn’t quite as small as a corner shop, but it was no miniature supermarket either. It was what anyone would come to expect of a sole shop in a relatively isolated village. Taking his first step inside, James looked in to find shelves that were full to the brim of all sorts of different goods, from medicines to cakes. Everything that a miniscule community would need to keep going, without the choices of a larger shop in a more populated area. Larne and Ballymena would be where the residents would have to go for variety, but to continue existence on the bare minimum, their local was more than adequate.

What became quite apparent was that the café or the pub would be the only places to buy hot food. The shop might have stocked just about everything else, but they didn’t have any warmed-up sandwiches or rolls. They did have a fridge though, and spotting the sausage rolls, the decision was already made for both his treat and her cravings. Lacking any insight into what someone off their face on a laced brownie would want to eat, the pastry-laden snack was the sensible option for him. It wouldn’t be enough to spoil her lunch and she was known to enjoy a sausage roll or two in the past, which gave him a chance to get away without an ear bashing.

A chance, not a certainty.

What was for certain was the idea of getting another couple of bottles of water for Michelle to drink when she did come back to planet Earth. Dehydration was a silent enemy, and he wasn’t going to let it defeat his cousin. She did have a bottle back in the car, but it probably wouldn’t last long, remembering how she liked to glug a bottle down rather than sip at it. The same technique was passed onto alcohol more frequently than it should have been. A lot less sensibly at that.

Turning on his heel, his attention was drawn to the display next to the fridge. So focused on the sausage rolls and waters, he’d not noticed it at first, but it was hard to miss when he clapped his eyes on it. A sea of crimson it was, a mix of various cards and gifts that were to be expected at such a time of year. It was early February after all and there was only one special occasion that called for red in the second month of the year.

Valentine’s day.

The deep, unfilled breach in his chest began to wheeze out the melancholy within as he stared at the rather literal, affectionate display. Monday was the day itself and he was heading into it without a girlfriend again. He shouldn’t have been continuing the lifelong streak and for months it looked like he wouldn’t when he thought he had a stable relationship with Hayley. So much for stability when she’d left him for Santo and without the hope of being able to resolve his predicament.

At least he would be at home in Derry, albeit being within a hare’s breath of someone who did qualify as a special someone to him. Only she would be spending some of the day with another man who, from what Michelle told him, she was happy with. Another bittersweet February the fourteenth was ahead. The only saving grace of the day would be getting the time to go out and film around the city, providing Michelle provided the promised distraction for the girls.

Sighing softly, his bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

“Ye buyin’ or ye starin?”

Picking his head up towards the voice, he looked to the back of the shop to find a man gazing intently at him. James hadn’t realised he was the only person in the shop and the man that he presumed to be the owner held the wee English fella firmly in his eye line. He looked like an absolute brute, shaven headed, carrying a piercing stare that left the younger man gulping down the nerves.

“Erm… I-I’m buying, Sir”.

The man frowned at being called sir, but the expected rebuke about his accent strangely did not follow. Too wise to attempt to guess at whether or not Glenarm was a particularly friendly place to be when carrying English vocals, he briskly closed the distance to the counter at the back, handing the burly bloke the four items he intended to purchase. Around the counter there were a wide variety of chocolate bars, but he resisted the urge to buy any. Snacking away on chocolate would ruin the physique he’d began to build.

“Yer a long way from home, then”.

Surprisingly, the man was talkative.

“Y-yes… yes that’s right. Well… no I’m not I suppose. I’m from Derry, you see”. James fumbled his way through an answer.

“Don’t sound like a Derry man to me”.

“My mum’s from Derry but she… she moved to London before I was born”. Carefully, he explained the prickly circumstances of Kathy’s departure. “I lived in Derry for a few years though, so I call it home”.

“Christ, never thought I’d meet someone from England who preferred Derry over London. Ask me, ye have yerself a death wish, fella”. The man, friendlier than he thought he would be, joked back.

“I had my moments, but I love it. The people, the places… I’d take Derry over anywhere in the world”.

Grinning at the wee English fella’s answer, the man totted up the total payment whilst James looked around behind the counter. Clearly a family man, there were pictures of what he assumed to be a wife and three children up on the back wall, all laughing whilst sat round a table at some sort of occasion. After Max, it was the second man he’d misjudged in an hour or so. He’d been treated with respect by the shop owner, not the slanderous jibes he assumed he would receive when daring to open his mouth.

“That’ll be two, ten, please. Knocked a quid off, ye seem like a good lad”.

“Oh. Thank you, there’s no need hone-”.

“Billy! Billy! Ye have to come an’ see this!”

Interrupted from a shout behind him, James turned to find another man, who must have been no more than about five foot two and sporting the bushiest beard he’d ever seen, yelling at the top of his lungs. Billy, the owner who was in the midst of giving James his discount, abruptly switched his attention to his small friend.

“See what?”

“Just come here!”

Picking his elbows up from off the counter, a confused Billy looked intently at his insistent friend and gave into the demand.

“Sorry fella, I’ll be back with ye in a minute”. He addressed his equally baffled payee.

“No problem…”. James replied on instinct, though did so quietly.

Racing around, lifting the side door of the counter up so he could get out, Billy’s long strides took him to the doorway in an instant. Taller than James and about twice as broad, he was a man mountain from what his customer could see. Envious of the man’s prowess, the wee English fella was left staring at his back for a second before snapping to attention, shoving his gloved hands in his pockets whilst waiting.

“What’s all the fuss about, Johnny!?” Billy immediately questioned his excitable friend.

“Look!”

Staring down the street towards the sea, it soon became apparent why he’d been called out of his shop. On a quiet Friday morning when there wasn’t a soul about other than a few old ladies and the English visitor who’d he’d been making small talk with, the scene down the road was a novelty. It would have been a novelty anywhere in the world, mind, except from Hugh Hefner’s rather exclusive mansion.

“WAKEY! WAKEY! RISE AND SHINEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

About six doors down from them on the other side, between the pub and the café, a young woman was banging on the doors of the house that stood there, dressed far from the norm of a rasping February day. Wearing nothing but her bra, knickers and a pair of socks, the eye of every man and woman who wasn’t blind as a bat or deaf as a post in the village was drawn to her. Even the local priest out on his morning walk was stopped in his tracks, mouth agape at the woman’s troublesome behaviour.

“Look at the tits on her…”. Johnny uttered wondrously.

“Oi, don’t be such a pervert, now!”. Billy quickly reprimanded his friend, before he concentrated on the woman again. “She does know its mid mornin’, right?”

“Dressed like that, I don’t think she knows which country she’s in let alone what time it is. Jesus, but I’ve never seen anythin’ like this before!”

Soon the woman moved on from banging on the doors of the house, skipping up the other side of the street oblivious to the crowd gathering to watch her antics. Nobody seemed brave enough to stop whilst some were so stunned, like the Priest, they didn’t quite know what to say.

“COME ON PEOPLE, WAKEY WAKEY! GET UP AND ENJOOOOOOOOOOOYYYYY THE DAYYYYYY!”

“She must be on somethin’”. Billy surmised, eyes fixed on the scantily clad woman.

“Aye, must be gone up top to be prancin’ around like that! I’d hate to be the poor fella who has to come and get her…”.

The two friends snorted at Johnny’s suggestion, still watching the dark-haired mystery merrily dance her way up the other side. She didn’t seem to have a care in the world, for the general regard of the public or her own decency. The old ladies out and about looked ready to crumble into dust at the intolerable sight of her. Only someone not in complete control of themselves could be capable of being so nonchalant about what she was doing.

In that, they were correct.

“HAS ANYONE SEEN ME COUSIN!?” Bellowing once more, the young woman looked up in the air and span round as she called out to all and sundry. “CURLY HAIR… ENGLISH… LOOKS LIKE A HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE FANNY!”

Billy’s expression dropped during the description, eyes widening as his brain seemed to go into autopilot, head slowly tilting around.

What he hadn’t noticed was that a curious James, broken free from his own thoughts, had joined them in the doorway that they stood either side of. The first shout the three of them all heard from down the street told him everything, staying planted long enough to hear the rest due to a combination of disbelief and anger. An all-familiar mix over the last couple of hours.

The shop owner nearly jumped out of his skin when he met the Englishman’s eyeline far sooner than he thought. Realising that his friend’s attention was diverted from the woman, Johnny also shifted round to find the fella in the shop he’d caught a glimpse of before, stood with them. He didn’t have the foggiest idea of why his friend was just as speechless at the fella in the trench coat and gloves as he was the virtually naked woman on the other side of the road.

James was the only breathing specie in the village who wasn’t shocked. Even the birds stopped singing.

Stepping forward, he thrust his right hand into Billy’s, handing over payment in full.

“Keep the change”.

James coldly advised the man, not making any eye contact. Billy could only nod his head, not thinking to return the additional pound he’d originally discounted the seemingly genuine English fella. To his left, the brow-raised Johnny quickly deduced the reason for his friend’s unanticipated, humble silence.

Some morning they were having.

A whole different morning to what James was.

“MICHELLE!” Storming out of the shop, he lividly addressed his wild passenger. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING!? GET BACK IN THE CAR!”

“JAMESIE!” She roared back excitedly, bouncing on the spot. “Where have ye been!? You off shaggin’ grannies again!?”

Billy and Johnny were absolutely creasing behind him. Entertainment like what they were witnessing didn’t come around very often.

“ME COUSIN SHAGS GRANNIESSSSSSSSSSSSS!”

With all her might Michelle thundered the claim through the skies, not caring who heard her. James turned a beetroot shade of red when he flickered his view between her and the villagers, to find them staring at him in disgust. Guilty before proven innocent, but there’d be no trial for him to make his stand against the outrageously incorrect statement.

“Michelle!” He seethed. “Car! Now!”

Giggling with a familiar look of bedevilment, she wasn’t going anywhere near the Volvo. This wasn’t the behaviour he was expecting her to exhibit from the weed in the brownies, but it also wasn’t that surprising that she would cause so much bother. This was the same Michelle Mallon who advocated stealing noticeboards and breaking into schools.

Trouble followed her more devotedly than churchgoers to Catholicism.

Still, there was also a worry on his part about potential Police involvement with the disturbance that she was causing. The girls would probably kill him for letting her get into so much trouble. He was going to have to act and do so quickly.

Michelle was even quicker.

As soon as he took the final step towards her, she sprang into action.

“Catch me if ye cannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!”

“Mich-”.

Lurching forward in attempt to grab her, James failed to do so, overbalancing and almost rolling his ankle as he stumbled. Squirming out of the grasp he’d attempted to put on her, she sped off like a rocket up the street, cackling into the cool and away from the majority of her audience. Billy and Johnny couldn’t help but laugh at a nearly seated James, whose fist was clenched tightly.

“Ye best get after her, fella”. Billy advised. “She’ll be in Ballymena in five minutes at that speed!”

Snarling, not at Billy but at the ever-fading figure of Michelle, the wee English fella rose to his feet to begin to give chase. Glenarm wasn’t exactly a mazy sprawl of streets, so he wouldn’t have any issue in pursuing when there were only so many places that she could go. He wasn’t the fastest runner around, but he was definitely quicker than all of the girls and had a turn of foot when it was needed. Which in this case, it was.

Soon enough he was catching her, but at the first opportunity to turn she did, hanging a right ahead of him. James barely put on the brakes in order to make it round the turn successfully, then having to avoid a man stood directly in the middle of the path, gazing mesmerised at his cousin. It was hard not to stare, dressed the way she was and running amok. Up ahead was the entrance to Glenarm Castle, the large iron doors blocking any escape for Michelle other than to go back past him.

However, her unruly behaviour was very rapidly becoming the outright dangerous. The Glenarm River ran under a bridge on the road down to the castle, an old stone bridge that she’d mounted, dancing around on the edge. The river might not have been the most ferocious around but the height of the fall and the chill in the water, given her lack of undress, opened the door to a whole host of other issues should she fall in.

“Michelle!” He shouted as he ran. “Get down from there!”

“BOOOOOOOOO!” She jeered back, throwing her arms up in there. “Yer no fun, ye big prick!”

Frustration and fury’s lines had never been thinner for James, who’d stopped running, taking a step onto the stone walled bridge himself. If he was going to get her down, he wasn’t going to yank her from the path side and risk her losing her balance and falling the other way. It might hurt her more, but he would be pushing her back down onto the path and to safety. The whole charade would be over then and she’d be back under his control when he could sweep down and grab her.

“Michelle, I’m being serious, get down before you hurt yourself!”

“Shut up, James! Yer a borin’ prick, this is why girls don’t love ya! I’M FREE AND ALIVEEEEEEEEEE!”

“Bloody hell…”. He mumbled to himself. “We are going back to the car, and you are going to keep quiet for the rest of the journey! And that starts with you coming down right now!”

Reaching out his hand to her in order to lure her in, James was confident that he might get somewhere when she appeared to come back into the real world for a second. Glancing down and back up within the blink of an eye, her face looked full of worry for a couple of moments. The height must have scared her, a swing of fate in his advantage for a change.

Or so he thought.

Before he could react, she’d yanked his arm, catching him off-guard with the force used. Off balance and with all his momentum carried to the left, he was only going one way. Over the side, into the very river that he was trying to prevent her from falling in. His yelp sailed out into the air, but he was only steering his cumbersome frigate into the somewhat shallow bed of the Glenarm River.

Landing with his hands out to break his fall, he took the full brunt of the water in his open mouth, knees then connecting with the riverbed. The fall didn’t hurt as much as he thought it might, the water just deep enough to provide some sort of break to the fall he suffered. That didn’t do much for his clothing though as he crashed into the river, his trench coat soaked through in seconds, the sausage rolls ruined. Previously smart shoes were turned into drenched mess, jeans soaked through to the underwear beneath them.

Nothing told him that it was February more by the temperature of the water, absolutely freezing cold, sending shivers up every vein he had.

“Jesus!” He screeched.

Soon enough, his predicament somehow became even more stupendous. A school trip happened to be ongoing in the gatehouse above the iron doors and a chorus of snickering children stared at him out of the window, whilst their teachers desperately tried to cover their eyes from falling on the barely clothed Michelle, peering down over the side of the bridge.

The school were getting their money’s worth and the children, memories for a lifetime.

“What’cha doin’ down there, Jamesie!?” She chirped chipperly.

In that tantalisingly agonising moment, he’d never wanted to kill her more. The anger management classes might not have been the worst idea when he was this ready to throttle her. After another second he’d calmed though, his concern for her welfare when she was in such a drugged state overpowering his immediate need to satisfy his rageous urges.

Picking himself up, he glared at her, finger pointed.

“YOU. STAY. RIGHT. THERE!”

Locked in a contest of stares for a number of proceeding seconds, when they broke off, Michelle seemed to do as she was told and did not move. Getting as far away from Glenarm as possible was his prerogative, hoping to the end the utter shame she’d brought upon them both from five minutes of absolute pandemonium.

Quite how he would remain in control of her was difficult to fathom and trying to drive already a daunting prospect when her side effects were a bit more than being stoned.

But first, before all of that, he had to find a way back up to the road.

A task easier said than done when the riverbed was banked almost vertically on either side, without a clear path back up to civilisation visible.

This was not the plan.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: It gets even worse

Dazed still from the chill of the water, it took James a couple of minutes to pick his way out of the river and up the bank. A small path fifty metres or so behind him supplied him with his escape route, shaking himself to try to remove some of the water as he trudged up the slightly steep incline. Nobody could see his face, but if anyone did happen to come around a corner and catch a glimpse, they would have seen a scowling, furious Englishman.

He thundered down the road back towards where Michelle was supposed to be waiting for him, footsteps carrying power that felt like enough to crack the very ground he walked on.

For her own sake, it looked to be best if she stayed where she was. The mood for benefit of the doubt or general care was gone. No comprises, no second chances. They were going back to the car and that was absolutely final.

To his surprise, she’d done exactly as he asked, and somehow without drawing too any sort of a crowd. Walking back down the street they’d first walked up, he spotted her pacing back and forth on the bridge, presumably to keep warm, providing that she’d come to her senses and realised she was frozen cold. The temperature wasn’t picking up at all and the pair of them were vulnerable in their own ways. Him with wet clothes and her with hardly any clothes.

Quite the pair they were.

When she saw him, Michelle started to run towards her cousin, who very quickly knew she hadn’t come around just yet.

“JAMESIE!”

Shouting excitedly, she jumped up towards him. Reacting quickly, the wee English fella deftly caught her in his arms, stumbling back a little towards the red car parked behind where he was stood. School age James would have dropped her or fell back onto the car, but a slightly more muscularly developed James was able to hold her steady, assisted by Michelle who threw her arms around his neck.

Hyper-aware of where his own hands were resting, he felt awkward and embarrassed, imaging what the scene would seem like to onlookers. Michelle, by contrast, appeared unbothered by the fact her own cousin’s hands were on her hips.

“Yer all wet, now what happened there!” Her high pitch continued, right in his ear this time. “Did ye go swimmin’ with the fishies! The lovely wee fishies!”

Looking into her eyes, difficult not to when they were only thing in his eyeline, it was only serving to make the whole situation more tense for him. To him, she could at least use the excuse that she didn’t know what she was doing because she was off her face, but he was in complete control of his actions and therefore knew just how far they’d strayed from safe ground. Without doubt they shouldn’t have been in the positions they were in.

Yet all of that was superseded in his conscience by a quell to release all of the rage she deserved to face from the sheer carnage she’d caused.

“You are going to keep your mouth shut and walk back to car, and we are leaving right now! I don’t care if your cold, I don’t care if your hungry, we are fucking going right now or I swear I will leave you here without anything! Do you understand!?”

Yelling at her like she was his daughter not his cousin, James tried to put her down, but she stayed firmly nestled up against him, arms locked tight around his neck. He growled, a deep guttural growl, removing his hands from her waist in order to clench the anger out of them. One possession he’d left in his apartment was the stress ball someone at the café bought him as part of the prior Christmas’ Secret Santa. God, how he needed it more than ever…

Still totally oblivious to the emotional wringer she was putting him through, Michelle remained all smiles and chirpy as anything. If she was feeling the cold whipping into her exposed skin, nothing about her look suggested she was going to complain about it.

“But I’m starvinnnnnnnnnnnnn’, James!” Her words were drawn out and giddy, her head bobbing further towards him. “I want somethin’ to eat!”

“You’re not fucking having anything!” Once again, his anger broke through the filters, though he successfully removed her hands from around his neck at the same time. “Now are you going to walk sensibly or am I going to have to bloody carry you back to the car?”

Contemplating her answer for a moment, pretending to stroke an imaginary bearded chin, the grounded Michelle grinned wickedly. Her disgustingly wide smile only riled him up more, the little nails that he did have, literally cutting into his palms. If she was a bloke, he would have had more than enough courage to punch her, but as a gentleman and a family member he would never lay a hand on his cousin. Even if she might have deserved a slap for her troubles. That would have to wait until they got to Derry, where Erin or Clare would surely be willing to do so on his behalf upon learning of her outrageous behaviour.

“Fineeeeeeeeeeeeee! Yer no fun’, Jamesie, nooooooooo fun!” Sighing, she swayed around, arms gesticulating wildly. “Ye have my word, Mr President, that I dooooo solemnly swear, that I’ll walk back to yer… stupidddddddd car and I will be a good little girly wirly!”

Attempting to comprehend how to respond to the increasingly bizarre answers he was receiving, James could only stand by as sentences died at the back of his throat. His inability to think rationally for a couple of seconds seemed to reduce the level of rage within him, and in doing so, he remembered what was right. Ensuring that Michelle didn’t catch frostbite and that no more trouble was put upon the poor citizens of Glenarm were the priorities.

With a couple of deep breaths, he started to remove his trench coat, shuffling around behind his cousin to put it over her shoulders.

“Why ye givin’ me that, it’s all wet from yer swimmin’ with the f-fishies!?” Michelle moaned as she shivered, sounding somewhat coherent, as the coat was wrapped around her. “I don’t want yer wet coat, James!”

“Tough luck, you’re having it! And it’s your fault it’s wet anyway, so you’ve only got yourself to blame!” He countered, standing back in front of her and pointing. “I’m not walking back to the car with you… exposing yourself to everyone!”

“I don’t mind!”

“Well I do!”

“Well maybe I won’t go!”

Digging her heels in, Michelle looked up for a battle with him, a fight James did not have the time nor the patience for. He’d already decided there wouldn’t be compromises and if she wasn’t going to go willingly, then the second choice kicked in.

They were staring dead eyed at each other, a challenge issued from her to him but one she’d failed to anticipate how serious he was about.

Utilising the advantage of not being under the influence of drugs, he moved so much faster than she did, leaning down to almost kneel. At the same time his left hand came up behind her and pushed her, only then prompting Michelle to react and do so far too late. Her weight was all on his shoulder, but with his right arm firmly around the back of her legs, he was able to lift up off of his knees, dragging them both up.

Her squeak of shock loudly rang out, the two eyed suspiciously in the distance by an elderly couple who shook their heads.

“JAMES! PUT ME DOWN!”

She wasn’t with it at all as she shouted his name, a call he ignored in order to secure her over his shoulder. Never in a million years did he expect the night he spent at the Quinn’s watching London’s Burning with Erin and her Ma to come in handy, but executing a near perfect fireman’s lift, he had Michelle where he wanted her, where he could maintain the control that the weed, or whatever it was, stole from her.

Without stopping, he pivoted and started the relatively short walk back to the Volvo, one that was undoubtedly going to feel a lot longer. Especially when the kicking and screaming began.

“PUT ME DOWN! JAMESIE! JAMESIE!” Shouting, she also thumped his back with her free hands. “I WANT TO BE FREEEEEEEEEE!

“Shut up, Michelle!” He coldly rebuked.

Their odd, father-daughter like routine continued to play out in the ever-nippier February air. Without his trench coat that was redeployed to protect her modesty, only a thin jumper and an even thinner t-shirt stood between his skin and the wispy winds that had now added themselves to the chilling fray.

Absolutely Baltic it was, but that was the least of his concerns.

Putting distance between themselves and a village he could safely say he would never return to unless his life depended on it became priority number one.

Drug-induced, crazed Michelle, had a completely different set of priorities.

Ones that the rest of society, and more than anyone, her dear cousin, did not want to have to hear.

“HELP! HELP! RAPIST! RAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPISTTTTTTTTT!”

“MICHELLE! SHUT IT!”

Red-faced, almost choking, James’ rage returned thirty-fold. Or more. In fact, it was more like ninety-fold, his blood boiling the warmth back into his cold body.

 “RAPIST! RAPIST! HE’S A RAPIST!”

A conflict of interest arose in him, slowing his pace down tremendously. They’d not ran into anyone other than the old couple who’d turned around and walked away, but if she continued to scream dangerous lies into the air then they might have to stop completely. Running the luck of attracting Police attention went against his levelled equilibrium, worrying the nervous Englishman intently. Getting away was their best option though, so he was going to have to tough it out.

“HELP! HELP!”

Michelle continued to cry for assistance as they rounded the corner, where they were back under the glare of the villagers, who were all still out and about. Probably stopping to talk about her behaviour, he thought, a taste of which they were about to get for a second time.

“HELP! HE’S KIDNAPPED ME! HE’S TRYIN’ TO TAKE ME AWAY! I JUST WANT FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEDOMMM!”

Her William Wallace-esque shouts were heard by the villagers, firstly by Billy and Johnny who were still stood outside the former’s shop, howling with laughter upon seeing the two come back into view. As she screamed and shouted, she was thumping and kicking too, James’ back and chest the target of her constant assaults, the trench coat’s collar often poking into his eye. All the more uncomfortable he was, and now with the added audience to poke fun at his unfortunate situation.

“Got yer hands full, fella!?” Johnny, hands cupped in front of his mouth, shouted.

“Aye easy does it, son!” Billy added, chuckling.

James wanted to be angry with them or, if he hadn’t completely shrivelled, ask them for help but unable to do either left him with the choice of continuing on. Her position over his right shoulder prevented him from seeing the faces on the two blokes as they passed by them, a blessing when they were both smirking.

“Christ but that girl’s on somethin’ strong, so she is”. Johnny muttered to his friend. “Do ye think we should give the fella a hand?”

“Oh aye, I see yer game Johnny. Ye want to see if she’s up for some”.

“She might like an older man, Bill”.

“She might like a bag of Tayto’s and a Pepsi, Bill. Anyways, its much more fun watchin’ the pair of them, so it is”.

“Aye I suppose it is”.

The two friends remained focused on the backs of the two youngsters, or rather Michelle’s face as she stared back towards them. Glenarm’s moving circus act were making their way down the street back towards the marina car park at pace, but there were still a lot more curious individuals to get past before they could reach relative safety.

Only wanting to get away from the scene of Michelle’s lewd display, James hoped to avoid talking to any of those witnessing it. Temporarily, she seemed to have stopped shouting too. Unfortunately, the plan fell apart rather quickly, when they were only a few paces on from the front of the shop.

“Ye should be ashamed of yerselves, carryin’ on like ye have”.

Sternly spoken, the Priest who’d been shaken out of his skin previously, now stood three or four feet in front of the Englishman. With parked cars edging out into the narrow street, he stood directly in their path, forcing the younger man to come to a stop as Michelle continued to kick away. The kicks were becoming perilously low too, only just avoiding a region where a swift punt from her would spell devastation for him.

“Yer sons and daughters of God, so ye are!” The man continued to berate them. “Ye shouldn’t be exhibitin’ the behaviour of heathens!”

“My cousin’s unw-”.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

The whole village was utterly silenced.

Michelle, not facing the right way and not seeing who she was speaking to, was the only person present who did not understand how highly offensive it was. Telling anyone to shut it so crassly was rude, but to do so to a man of the cloth was a sin in the highest. Even the wee English fella, Catholic through association rather than through outright belief, could not believe the sheer audacity she was showing.

“Michelle! He’s a Priest!”

“SO!?” Voice still on a different cloud, she snapped back.

“So!? SO!? Yer a disgrace to yer family, young lady! What sort of devil’s spawn are ye! Only a child of Satan would dishonour a messenger of God!”

“SHUT YER HOLE!” Bellowing again, Michelle still did not care. “We all know what ye do to little boys willies! Don’t act high and mighty with me!”

“HOW DAR-”.

“THE PRIEST JUST SAID HE LIKES LITTLE BOYS’ WILLIES!”

Tables turned, the man of God turned a dangerous scarlet colour at the accusations that he was facing from her. Attention went from Michelle to him, and he started to stumble back, right up against the car to his right, looking around at the hawk eyes of all those watching on who suddenly demanded an answer. James could only stand there wishing to be somewhere else. The havoc that his cousin was causing was on a scale he’d never seen before.

And they’d had some chaotic moments. So many moments.

“I-I I DO NOT! THIS… THIS WOMAN IS… IS ILL!”

“Do ye like little boys, father!?”

One of the older women closest to the confrontation, viciously turned on the presumably innocent Priest.

The Lord sent tests to try him, but in Michelle Mallon he’d been sent a ferocious red sea that even Moses would be unable to part. A village that should have been, and was for a time, disgusted by her running through their streets in nothing but her underwear and socks, now funnelled all their pressure onto him because of something the drug-laced woman shouted. They should have all seen that she was clearly off the face of the earth on something, yet instead their ire was guided right onto the unfortunate fella.

“I do not! This is… this is an outrage, I-”.

“My grandson’s one of yer Altar Boys! Ye better not be pervin’ on my Jack!” One man shouted.

“Or my Ciaran!” Another added.

Sensing a golden opportunity to make a break for it, James didn’t hesitate. Despite having Michelle still up over his shoulders, he broke out into a sprint, through the gap vacated by the man of God who was fending off the angry residents who took her words at face value. For all they knew it might have been true, but a pissed-off James wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

Those that he did pass on the street gave them a funny look, but so drawn to the commotion with the Priest, no one tried to intercept them. A Police officer was what he feared the most, but there wasn’t a flashing light or truncheon in sight.

“I’M FLYINNNNNNNNNNNNN’!” Higher than the Petronas Towers in Kuala Lumper, Michelle screeched right into his defenceless ear. “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Ever nearer was the end of his tether, but even closer than that was his Volvo. He could see the car and not bothering to look for oncoming traffic, charged out into the road, ignoring the horn of the one vehicle that was coming towards them that had to break sharply. The driver, luckily for them, must have been in a hurry himself, the red Vauxhall soon booting off into the cloudier distance of the northern eastern edge of the coast.

Reaching the car, James used his free left hand to wrench his keys from the soaked pocket that they’d been resting in. He was still absolutely dripping from his plummet into the river, but he couldn’t worry about that now. Getting Michelle out of the public eye and safely belted inside the Volvo was the only thing on his mind.

Another difficulty faced it was going to be.

Letting her down from his burning right shoulder, his grip on her was not relinquished for long, soon reaching up to roughly tug her arm.

“OW! FUCK YOUUUUUUUU!” She leaned right in at him, to the point where he could see her red, enflamed eyes. “WHO DO YOU THINK YE ARE!?”

“I’m your cousin and you’re getting in the car and shutting your mouth!” Unleashing fury in reply, spittle left the corners of his mouth.

“Yer an angry prick, that’s what ye are! PRICKKKKKKKKKKKKK!”

Roughly gripping onto her, James opened the car door with his other hand and did not offer his normal tender care. Shoving her down into the seat, Michelle’s head was millimetres away from smacking the inner frame of the door, a displeasure she made known.

“OI!”

“Legs in!” He demanded, pointing at her bare skin. An order not followed. “IN! NOW!”

“Fuck o-… OI!”

Interrupting her dismissal, he did the job for her. Pushing forwards with all his might, her right knee smacked the internal bodywork, another shout prompted. In her completely gone out state, there was enough about her to remember she should hit him for being so heavy-handed, but by the time she could react, the car door was shut, her palm smacking off the door handle inside to rip another cry from her.

Bloodcurdling fury powered its way around James, not caring for the protests. She’d put him through hell all morning, so an unappreciated firm hand was the least he could care about. With Michelle secured, if still delirious, he could focus on himself.

Rushing around to the back of the car, he got the boot open for the next part of his plan. Cold air raced through the back of the vehicle as he did so, his passenger left unamused.

“The fuck! Whatcha doin’ Jamesie! WHERE’S ME FOOD!?”

“You aren’t getting any bloody food!” He retorted, rather vigorously ripping the shoes off his feet. “I’m getting out of these wet bloody clothes, so I don’t catch something! Thanks to you, I’m bloody soaked!”

“WHAT DID IIIIIIII DO”. Her words lurched and lunged, Michelle fidgeting in her seat.

“YOU THREW ME IN A RIVER!”

“That’s bollocks!”

Slowly but surely, the self-control he usually exerted was dying a final death. The limits of how much he could put up with were stretched too far, too thinly. He would even take help from Orla, if it could be considered help when she would go off on one of her tangents, as it would at least be a distraction.

“Ye went swimmin’ with the fishes, I saw ye jump headfirst in!” She argued. “Ye wanted to have a wee swim and ye… where’s yer jeans, Jamesie!”

Poking her head up a little higher, she’d spotted his legs, covered with the hairs of a growing young man that signalled his developmental stage. Naturally when baked, she wanted to know why.

“They’re wet, Michelle! That’s what happens when you get thrown into a river usually, your clothes get ruined!”

“Ye dirty perv, gettin’ yerself off in the middle of the road!”

“I AM NOT… I’m trying to find another pair of Jeans…”. Now hoarse with rage, he tore through the now open luggage to find them, holding them up for her to see when he did. “… These! And I’m changing my jumper and shirt and fresh ones out before I end up ill! Just stop asking stupid questions and wait!”

“But I don’t want to wait!” She whined, wain-like again.

“JUST SHUT IT!”

This time fortune favoured a brave James, his diesel delivery shunting her down the line to complete quiet. No further shouts or complaints allowed his fury to dissipate somewhat while he finished changing, constantly looking around, worried that someone might walk by and spot him. It would hardly have been the worst public indecency that the villagers of Glenarm had seen that morning, mind, though it was another risk he was not prepared to take.

Changed into a pair of denims, his old Friends over the Barricades shirt and the red and white jumper that Mary gave him for Christmas, James locked the boot, finally ready to think about driving off. Walking back to the front of the car, he tentatively took a glance inside to see Michele’s clothes strewn all over the back seat. Some mess she’d made in her delirium, jumper and shirt in a tangled mess over his camera, her jeans hanging off the back of the passenger’s seat she sat in, shoes haphazardly lobbed onto the backseats.

It was telling just how under the influence she was by the state she’d left the car in.

Opening the driver’s door, a solid white object caught his eye and stopped him from sitting down. Another sigh was forced out.

“What’s this?” He asked her. “Michelle… MICHELLE!”

Unresponsive after having been anything but moments earlier, concern raced through him for her.

Planting his knee down onto the seat next to the offending item, the Englishman leaned into the car, soon enough hearing the soft snores coming from his cousin. Michelle’s head was lolled to the side, her face scrunched up, away at peace with the world she’d turned upside for twenty minutes or so. Whatever the hell it was that was in those brownies, weed or something else, the effects had worn off and turned off her light switch.

Any immediate concerns that she’d drifted into total unconsciousness evaporated, a wistful James placing a warm hand on his aching forehead.

Finally, there was peace.

Pulling back, the item on his seat was an envelope, written to an address in Ballycastle. No famed detective was required to work out what it was for, although the envelope had been opened and when he reached inside, he found nothing. The supposed card to deliver to her grieving friend was gone, leaving only a name and address behind. Frustration wasn’t going to dissolve itself for long in James’ case.

Ballycastle was still some distance away though and an awake, alert and recovering Michelle would be able to find the card or failing that, deliver the message verbally.

What remained to be seen was whether or not they would make it there before the ever-encroaching rainclouds burst over the land. Time was of the essence, and with the keys in the ignition and a determination to make up for lost time, James reversed out of their parking spot, swinging round and heading for the exit.

In a cloud of abhorrent, undisciplined dust, they left Glenarm without a second more to spare. Distant sirens blazed, the Priest she’d hung out to dry in a wildfire of lies having to call for help when surrounded by the whole village. James could only look back ashamed, catching a glimpse of the slighted party trying to fend off the thirsty rabble that ganged up on him.

They could never, ever, visit Glenarm again.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: It gets deadly

Michelle stayed asleep, making James re-think his lack of committal to true faith. God must have existed for him to be cut such a break. Her snoring issue, the worst of the entire group, took some of the shine of the peace, but it was enough for the wee English fella to start to calm down after the shenanigans of the morning.

A second stroke of luck, or at least a provisional stroke of luck, was the lack of rain. The rainclouds were still there but mercifully stayed as distant as they had been all the way up the rest of the coast road. The roads were in decent condition, despite the odd pothole or two, but the addition of rain to the tarmac would have been worrying. They looked like the sort of roads where aquaplaning became a strong possibility and skidding along the surface into the sea was not in the plans.

With an asleep Michelle and a safe road as he calmed, James was able to take in some more of the awe-inspiring scenery. Any landscape was better when the road was quiet and could be appreciated, but the views he took in, took his breath away. There was beauty in various forms, seen through various lenses, but the innate beauty of the coast road was something else entirely. So close to the sea yet far enough away to never feel in danger of being swept away, the constant view of waves striking the shoreline was soothing.

Sights like what they were seeing on the Antrim coast road made him wonder why his mother hated the country of her birth so much. Although she might have been from the North West and not the North East, it was still her home and the landscape could melt the bitterest of hearts. The last time they’d spoken, the usual fluffy conversation that barely covered over the passive aggressive cracks of their relationship, she’d made it known that she would never make the trip back over the sea. When watching the world go by along the coast, James couldn’t fathom why she would shut herself off from such magnificence.

Due to the lack of traffic, progress up the coast was better than he could have expected, ticking off villages one by one. Carnlough, Glenariff, Waterfoot… they were all gone by in a flash, but the names resonated with him, alert as he now was. Being thrown into a freezing river did do wonders for one’s state of awareness, at the expense of the state of one’s clothes. For a moment he even considered stopping in Cushendall, but given what had happened in Glenarm, he thought better of it.

There could be no more repeats of her behaviour somewhere else along the road, or they’d never be able to enjoy the trip ever again.

A couple of miles outside of Cushendall though, he did pull into a little layby, assessing the map with a couple of turns coming up. Getting lost would have been too much stress to add on after all of it she’d gave him throughout the morning with her antics. As Michelle was slouched back, he was able to lean forward and retrieve the map from the glove box, deciding to keep it with him for the rest of the journey. She couldn’t be trusted to be awake for it, let alone him holding any trust in her if she was awake.

To get to Ballycastle a more direct way, the views of the coast would have to be abandoned. There was a smaller road that did keep the views going for a number of miles, but from how it was marked on his map, it was little more than a cattle track. If the car broke down up there it would be an unmitigated disaster, and though it was in working order, the risk wasn’t worthwhile taking compared to the reward.

The road that he did take was hardly huge either, the landscape becoming rather barren once they turned inland. It was like something out of Star Wars at times, he thought to himself, plugging along through empty lands where only a few loose sheep grazed, treating the road as nothing more than a part of their territory. Luckily for James, none of them decided to take on the Volvo headfirst.

Descending from the hills inland, the coast was in sight again and so was Ballycastle. There wasn’t a peep out of Michelle the whole way there, although every couple of minutes he would subconsciously check to see if she was still sleeping soundly. He didn’t fear her starting up shouting at him or causing another scene, concerns only for health during the after-effects of consuming whatever drug was really in those brownies. Some story it was going to be explaining it to the girls…

That was for the evening, Derry still far away in the distance yet.

Getting to Ballycastle was the easy part, but finding the address was going to be a lot more difficult. For all of the uses it did have, the map wasn’t detailed enough to give him the names of the smaller roads and therefore the street her friend lived on. The only downside to Michelle being asleep was her not being able to assist, more importantly doing the talking so he could hide his potentially grievance-causing accent. Using the same modus operandi as originally intended in Glenarm, he wasn’t going to assume that he was clear to speak freely.

Speak he would have to though and following the first signs he saw for the car park appeared to be the best idea going. With any luck there would be someone around to ask, whether it be a parking attendant or someone else who happened to be parking up at the same time. Failing that, travelling along the front, he could see shops abound where someone would be able to confirm where it was that he needed to be.

Soon enough, a victim was chosen.

Turning into the car park, there was as he hoped, a parking attendant. Checking his mirrors to see if anyone was turning in behind him, he slowed right down in front of the small gatehouse at the entrance, catching the attention of the man, who put down his mug of tea in frustration. Hauling himself out of the chair, the grey haired, wrinkle-covered old man shuffled his way over to the car, appearing at the driver’s side window after a few laborious-looking seconds passed.

Rolling down his window, James poked his head to meet him.

“Can I help ye fella?” The attendant enquired, staring with great suspicion in his eyes.

“Y-yes… yes I hope so. I’m looking for directions?”

“Directions?” The man scoffed, before chuckling. “England’s back that way ye great feckin’ eejit!”

Pointing out down the coast and out to sea, he clearly wasn’t enamoured to find an Englishman in his car park. The sort of response James prepared for every time he came home and visited somewhere he didn’t know, instinct kicked on. Unlike the times when he would be offended by the slights, a brief smile and an acknowledgment of the bitterness in front of the older generation was the right response. With skills that would make the diplomatic service salivate, he could hold his own nowadays.

“Thank you but I’m not going to England”.

“Why not?” A disgruntled snort was uttered from the man. “What’s the point of ye bein’ here? Nothin’ but troub-”.

“Do you know where this is? And how I can get there?”

Stopping the old man from drivelling on about how he was probably there to steal their land, their animals and their women, James almost threw the empty envelope at him. Begrudgingly accepting it, to get the wee English fella on his way quicker, James assumed, the man retrieved his glasses from his breast pocket in order to read it.

As soon as he did, a flash of recognition could be spotted in his eyes.

“Jesus…”.

“What’s the problem?” James asked. “Its not a made-up address, is it? My cousin here said her friend lives there”.

“Friend? More like client, son”.

“Sorry”.

“Ach forget it, ye’ll see”.

Frowning at the bizarre response from the older man, he was at a loss in explaining the reaction. The flair in his eyes suggested he knew who the people were and whilst his words gave that theory credence, they also told of a further story to be narrated. Quickly he’d brushed away from his original comment, but James’ memory firmly latched onto his words. At the same time, asking him any further questions did seem futile with his already clear distaste of all things English.

Any further introspection from the Englishman was paused though, when the attendant started to hand out the directions.

“Take a right out of here, then the next left and then keep goin’ up for a good mile or so. Then take another right and a left and its about the fifth one down on the left”.

Nodding along, without a paper and pen to add notes to, James memorised the details internally. The road didn’t seem like the hardest to get to at least, but neither did Derry and they should have probably already been there. Having checked his watch a mile or two out from Ballycastle, it was already approaching midday. The girls would soon be on lunch and they, or more rightly he, was stuck in a car park miles from where he should be, trying to find directions to the house of a friend who Michelle had never mentioned before earlier in the morning.

“Ye got that, English?” Impatient, the man grumbled.

“Right, left then keep going and another right, then another left”.

“Aye. Ye packin’?”

“Sorry?” James replied, confused.

“I said are ye pa-… forget it, ye sort yerself out English”.

“Right… thanks”.

Rolling the window up, still confused by the man’s words, James began to turn round to leave the car park, the man retreating to his cabin and his cup of tea. The passive aggressive mumblings of such conversations were often the most annoying parts to him over the scathing criticism. Missing key details was always asking for trouble and when he couldn’t understand what on earth the man was saying, it became another frustration.

At least he had the directions though, if they were correct. Albeit, given how evident it was that the man just wanted him to leave, he was quite sure they were. If he was wrong, then it would mean another conversation with someone else who probably hated him too and limiting the number of interactions was always for the best.

It was much, much safer for him that way.

Traffic remained light and following the directions he’d been given, he was soon enough on the long road in the middle of the journey. Few people were out on street at that time, children in school and adults at work, the wee English fella only passing a couple of old ladies out nattering in front of one of the houses. It would have been erroneous to suggest it was completely peaceful, but Ballycastle looked to be having one of its slower mornings.

Taking the final right and left, confirmation that the man was truthful came when the sign with the street name on was sighted. A sigh of relief was uttered, though the road also appeared to be a dead end, prompting him to swing round at the first little cul-de-sac on the right in order to face the way out. A quick getaway was necessary with the amount of time they’d already wasted, and it looked as good a place to turn round as any.

Five houses down on the left was the only incorrect information as they weren’t houses but bungalows. Relatively big bungalows, but bungalows at that. If anything, the area resembled some sort of elderly people’s residential homes, yet it was definitely the address from the envelope that Michelle had written out. As odd as it was to him, he could only proceed with what he knew and not try to complicate what was a simple matter any further.

The card being missing was the major issue.

If she hadn’t had been so unusually forthcoming with the details, then the trip would have been in jeopardy. A plan was formulated with the details received though, one involving him doing all the leg work and her doing absolutely nothing. Like normal. The strategy wasn’t broken, so there was no need to fix it.

He would go to the bungalow and deliver his own heartful message for the poor girl’s mother, albeit one completely on behalf of his cousin. Yes, he would still hold his own sympathies, but without being able to be completely invested in the life of Michelle’s mystery friend.

Examining the still snoring passenger, James could decisively conclude that she wouldn’t be playing any sort of part in the detour that she forced him on.

Ignoring the ruling of sod’s law that was cast over him, he shook his head.

“The things I do for you…”.

Springing up out of his mutterings, he exited the Volvo, locking it out of the normal caution he took in an area completely foreign to him. Even in Derry he would never leave the car unlocked; there was no point giving a thief an easy target.

Barrelling briskly down the pavement on the right, he ambled across the silent street, glancing up at his destination briefly as he did. There was nothing remarkable about it from the outside, although the grass on the front lawn looked in dire need of attention. A couple of the fences were missing their panels too, but it could have hardly been described an eyesore across the distinctly bland landscape of the local area.

An old iron gate guarded the pathway to the front door, creaking as he roughly pulled down on the totally rusted handle. At that point he noticed the pair of eyes watching him, belonging to a little boy in the front room. No more than a couple of years old, the boy was scowling at the visitor to the house, who was by no means unnerved by it.

Well, perhaps he was a little. Or a lot…

Now in the front garden, a closer look at the grass did reveal a bit more of a surprise to him. As well as being uncut, the side hidden by the bushes on the approach was also hiding piles of litter and old binbags, as well as what looked like a discarded oven lying on its side. Those were sights he associated with much rougher areas, like where Michelle was staying in Belfast or some of the absolute cesspits he’d visited on many a journey down the years.

Still, he wouldn’t judge a book by its cover. The people inside, Michelle’s friend especially, might be some of the friendliest sorts going. Gardening and waste disposal may not have been their specialties. They weren’t to everyone’s tastes so the benefit of the doubt would be given.

Under the watchful gaze of the young man in the front window, James wrapped his knuckles on the door and waited for a response. Dipping his head down, he took in the alarmingly large dent on the bottom half of the door, another detail that made his brows furrow. His strained expression gave away his odd sensations about the place, that seemed to be bordering on the line between quirky and neglected.

The door was rather abruptly yanked open, showing a very tight hallway that led into the bungalow behind it. In the doorway was a young woman, no older than he, cigarette in her mouth with messy, unstraightened hair trailing down her shoulders. Her top was ripped and stained, jeans equally ripped open at the kneecaps, in a rough way that told that it was not a deliberate part of their design. The giant earrings hanging off her lobes made quite the statement too.

James was starting to put together a puzzle in his mind, without worrying about incorrectly judging what he saw in front of him. There were only so many signs that could be ignored.

“You sellin’?” She asked, voice gravelly and worn. “Or buyin?”

Before he could let the words out of his open mouth, she fixed a brutal stare on him.

“You a copper?”

“No, no, I’m not with the Police.” Sensibly, he rapidly closed down the angle.

“Ach fuck me, even worse! An English! Couldn’t ye have been sellin!? Actually I’d have rather ye were a copper than an English!”

Her suspicion about his potential connection to the law only strengthened his worries about the errand he was on. Michelle becoming friends with the woman wasn’t much of a surprise given her history of mixing with some, diplomatically best described, questionable individuals. As much as she often danced over the moral ground of what was acceptable within the rule of law, hanging around with someone readily challenging anyone at the door if they were a copper or not seemed odd. For all of her occasional rashness, she did know to stay away from the real worst of the bunch.

Or at least, he thought she did. Physical evidence in front of him said something else. Yet he was there to deliver a message to a grieving family and while it might not have been the warmest of welcomes, he kicked himself for forgetting that they were grieving.

And that he was English.

“I’m here to deliver a message”. James explained after clearing his throat. “I-I apologise but I don’t know your na-”.

“Ye don’t look like the fuckin’ postman to me”. She snarled, taking another drag. “Ye with that arsehole Tommy O’Neill and his boys? Usin’ an English now are they, fuckin’ state of them! A fuckin’ drip of an English at that!”

“I can’t say I know any O’Neills”. James chuckled lightly, trying not to give away how nervous he was. “I… I’m here on behalf of my cousin”.

“Cousin? Poor fecker…”.

It wouldn’t have been the first time in his life that Michelle had been pitied for having to exist in the same family as he did. Another example of a chastisement that simply didn’t bother him anymore, he let the comment go with little more than a smile, retaining his focus and control of the situation. Completely out of his depth, it was all that he could do to remain unharmed.

“My cousin, Michelle”. He added, looking up to discover the woman as confused as before. “Michelle… lives in Belfast, lik-”.

“I know about ten Michelle’s in Belfast, English. I don’t know which fuckin’ one’s ur’s”.

“Trust me, you could never forget her!”

Cheerfully trying to sound humorous, the woman looked to be as unimpressed as Michelle would have been if she were to be stood there with him. Faced with an ominously dark look, his powder would be kept dry, and no more jovialities would be shared. There was not a fibre in the woman’s body that screamed jovial to him.

“She got a last name?”

As the woman asked, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Instead of putting out the cigarette she was holding normally, she held out her right arm, proceeding to press the burning end onto her skin… without even a wince.

His mouth hung open.

Michelle had fallen in with a bad crowd, no doubt about it.

“Oi!”

“M-Mallon”. He quietly replied, swallowing spikes. “Mallon. Michelle Mallon”.

Watching for a reaction, a recognition of her old friend from Belfast, James instead witnessed something that foxed him. Rather than a grin or even an accepting nod, her face scrunched up and if anything, she became angrier. Folding her previously limply held arms, if anything she looked to be smarting.

Trying to distract himself from the peculiarity, he blithered on.

“I am really sorry to hear about your mum. Michelle’s really upset that she couldn’t make it to the funeral a-and she feels really guilty abou-”.

“Me ma?” She interrupted him again, pitch raising.

“Y-yes?” He responded, unsteady and unsure. “Michelle told me about her dying and I know what apologising about the funeral means to he-”.

“Me Ma’s not dead!”

From confused and intrigued, his facial tune changed to utter horror and perplexation. He’d checked the address on the envelope so many times, definitely at the right house and in front of the right bungalow. The likelihood of her carrying two envelopes marked for Ballycastle on the same journey, in the same bag, were so low that it was almost impossible.

It had to be the right house.

“B-but… but…”.

“Ye don’t believe me?” Angrily, she growled at him. “MAMMY!”

Calling out loudly for her mother, he began to go red in the face at the scene being caused. All the while it was dawning on him that Michelle must have known her mother was alive and had therefore bought him there under false pretences. But what pretences…

“MAMMY!” She yelled again.

“There’s really no ne-”.

“WHAT!”

A biblical roar came from further back in the house. The hairs that already stood to attention on the back of his neck felt ready to march off. As always, being a gentleman and caring for his loved ones led him into murky water.

“Got an English fella here, says yer dead!”

“He what!?”

“HE SAYS YER DEAD!”

“DOES HE NOW!? WELL, YE TELL THAT ENGLISH CUNT TO FUCK OFF BACK TO WHERE HE CAME FROM! I’M NOT DEAD!”

Turning her head back to James, the young woman smirked with a wolfish grin that increased the uncomfortable beatings in his heart, stomach dropping too.

“She said-”.

“I heard”.

He interrupted her for a change, glared at in response.

“So the wee bitch didn’t tell ye why she needed ye to come? Sounds about fuckin’ right, Michelle’s a right dick, English cousin or not!”

“I-I… she… said about your mum and…”.

“Aye right, so she did. But she didn’t tell ye what she owes me?”

“Owes you?” He questioned the statement. “Sorry I don’t understand, what could she pos-”.

Then the penny dropped. Everything fell into place.

Michelle’s overreaction in the car… the pleas to go to Ballycastle… the unkempt lawn… the piled up rubbish bags… the dishevelled looking woman… her skin substitute ash tray…

The brownies… the bloody brownies!

She was a dealer. Or her family was.

Michelle owed her the money for the brownies and whatever else she might have bought off her. All of the irregularities suddenly made a lot of sense, the dead mother story a ruse of hers to get him to go, knowing he would say no if the real reason was given. She’d played him like a fiddle, leaving him to dance to her tune without a clue of how to back out before the crescendo.

“She with ye?” The woman asked, before spitting out phlegm onto the path next to him.

“No”. He lied, protecting Michelle even if she didn’t deserve it.

“Then if she’s not here, what about you? You English are always fuckin’ loaded so ye are, fifty quid’ll be a drop in the fuckin’ ocean!”

Paying her was the only way he could leave. It went against everything he believed in, violating his core principles of staying as far away from drugs as was humanely possible, but it had to be done. His hand was forced and to prevail in staying very much alive and in one piece, he would have to hand over the money for the illegal substances.

His hand was also in his pocket.

And that’s when he froze.

Every penny he had with him was kept in his wallet, the obvious place to store one’s cash. Only, his wallet had been in his dark jeans that he fell into the river in… and it hadn’t been taken out. All of the money available to him was back in the boot of the Volvo, where Michelle was too. Michelle who, as her dealer had been told, was not with him.

He couldn’t go back, and he couldn’t pay on the spot.

The only thing he could do was gulp down the bed of nerves that rested in the back of his throat.

“There a problem!?” The dealer, losing patience, asked, more rugged than before.

“Well… I-I… I don’t have any money”.

“Right!” She snapped, unfolding her arms swiftly.

“No please, I’m sure we can resolve this amicably!” He begged, trying not to sound as timid as always normally would.

“Fuck that! JACOB! JACOB!”

Shouting for someone else who he could already tell was not the little boy in the window, who by the demonic look of his stare, might have been one to avoid anyway, she did not waste a moment on his bluster. Quite how he would have talked his way out of it, James did not know. It wasn’t just his opening gambit but his only gambit, and with instant failure met he subconsciously took a number of steps back.

“JACOB!” She shouted again.

“AYE, WHAT!?”

“OPEN THE BACK GATE AND SEND THE DOGS OUT! WE’VE GOT TROUBLE!”

“NO! NO!” James protested, literally shaking. “THERE’S NO NEED TO DO THAT!”

“TROUBLE!?”

“SEND THE DOGS!” She ordered again. “AND BRING YER BAT!”

Some people carried the threat of dogs without releasing them. This woman and this family were not those people. The demonic cry of the hounds from the rear of the property said as much before the canines were even seen through his eyes.

A tactical withdrawal was out of the question.

One option remained.

RUN.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Enough

“SHIT!”

James screamed his terror into the air. The quiet, lonely air around him.

And the dogs.

There were definitely dogs.

The second he’d heard the howls he was moving, his legs taking him before his brain caught up. He’d spun without realising, darting back down the path of the front lawn at a pace he could not previously remembering possessing. He’d never been more scared in his life.

That was why, he could only assume, that rather than exit via the front gate, he leapt over the small fence to the left of it. Although that trajectory took him further away from the route back to the vehicle, it avoided a clash with the worn handle of the gate that could have stopped his escape just as quickly as he’d started it. The pumping of adrenaline through his veins was the only thing that stopped the throbbing pain in his ankles as he landed steeply before turning again.

This time he angled himself for the run to where he’d parked, a short journey that felt inexplicably longer. In fact, there was an explanation, one that could be heard behind him as the barks and howls of the hounds grew ever closer. Internally he was scolding himself for not parking any closer but without any time allotted to dwell on the decision.

All that he could do was run and run he did, the car feeling closer but the smacking of the dogs’ feet on the pavement feeling even closer than that. There were metres left to get to it, his hands in his pocket, yanking the keys out to be as prepared as he could.

His heart raced.

The lactic acid in his thighs burned.

Breaths were hitched.

First to the car he was, not daring to look back, just opening it. His hands were shaking, his whole body a mess, but he jammed the key in and turned, nearly snapping the metal extension in the process. Getting away with the embarrassment, he threw the car door open and leapt in, a trailing hand slamming it shut behind him.

The barking was muffled but it was not far, not at all. His ears provided a sentry for the rest of him, brain sending out signals to hand and fingers as the key went into the ignition too. Only then did he dare brave a look out to see his company. Four beefy Pitbull Terriers were racing towards the car with bloodthirsty fury dripping from their salivating mouths. Behind them, two equally well-built men, sporting filthy, egg-stained vests, sprinted to keep up, bats in hand.

They weren’t just rough, they were deadly.

But in the spur of the moment, their English prey appeared to be too.

Slamming the Volvo into reverse with a jolt, calm was thrown to the wind whilst he looked over his shoulder and out of the back window. Seeing the sudden surge of the vehicle towards them, the dogs broke formation and scattered, the two men forced to jump out the way too. A reckless manoeuvre it was, but he hadn’t invested all the time and money in learning to drive, just to trundle along everywhere like the girls thought he always did.

He knew a trick or two.

With his pursuers all at sea, the brakes went on, the wee English fella so fired up that he was rapidly moving off again. The dogs were no longer a true threat, running freely into one of the other cul-de-sacs off the main street, but the two blokes remained so if they regrouped. The first of the two was back on his feet as he put his foot down to accelerate away. Stood just to the right of the middle of the road, he started to retrieve his weapon, only to see the car coming right at him.

James wasn’t trying to hit him, but he was going to make sure he could get away cleanly.

Left with no choice but to attempt to avoid the Englishman again, the man took a step back, narrowly missing being grazed. Off balance though, he landed back to the tarmac where he started, an embarrassing display for a brutish looking individual complete with a frighteningly thick ginger beard.

The other of the two escaped James’ focus though and a second later...

*Smash!*

He might have gotten away from being stopped in the road by the two, but without a scratch it wasn’t to be.

The second man wasn’t going to be able to lay a glove on James himself, so in a change of tactic, the Volvo became the victim. Bat in hand as the car passed, he launched it like a javelin towards the rear of the vehicle and with precise aim, contact was made. Wood struck the car violently as the right taillight was blasted into with force, the protection of the hardened glass surprisingly weak. Nothing could be done when contact was made though, damage signed and sealed.

Hearing the smash he panicked, the car veering off to the right, with only a quick yank of the wheel to the left keeping him away from a parked car on the other side. A blood-rushed James recklessly carried on, not even stopping at the end of the road to turn right, his luck holding firm when the street was empty. Getting as far away from the house as possible was his only objective, whether it be legal or not.

He was too scared not to break road laws, far from his normal self.

Doing at least fifty as the road opened up for a while, his focus broke for a half second to glance at Michelle. Still fast asleep, not even woken by the taillight being smashed, her thick snores were still dominating the fraught atmosphere. Clearly wiped out by whatever the dealer really sold in the brownies, it was going to take a freight train crashing into them to wake her.

Trapped in an area he did not know with the concerns of a potential car chase if the dealers drove around and found him, James followed signs for the coast road. There were few of them too mind, but the less houses in the vicinity the better, and it was going to have to be completely rural for him to pull over to stop.

His heart continued to beat at an unsustainable rate, his breathing absolutely all over the place. It wasn’t the first time he’d faced near death in his life but getting hit by a van and getting chased by drug dealers armed with dogs and bats were entirely different situations.

He'd take the van any day.

Constantly breaking the speed limits of the road, he was clocking up towards eighty at times, even as the roads became narrower, and the number of houses reduced. Ballycastle was in the rear view after a few minutes, though the nerves remained. A red Corsa had sat on his bumper almost all of the way out towards the countryside, his fears of discovery at their highest. Worse still, he couldn’t quite get a look at the driver behind to ascertain if it was the young woman or her stocky brothers at the wheel.

Luckily, after turning off onto an even smaller road, the Corsa decided to continue on and finally he could breathe deeply. With bushes and green fields on either side, and no one behind them, heartbeats were wrangled back under control by his beleaguered body.

For the first time in ten or fifteen minutes he could think instead of trying to attract Police attention by driving twenty miles an hour over the speed limit. There was no need to slalom around abandoned wheelie bins either, like he had on the road out of Ballycastle, to the horror of the elderly gentleman who ended up cracking a hip whilst falling to avoid him.

One potential career as a high-speed pursuit driver for the Police was chalked off. His heart wouldn’t take another like it.

Content to assume that they would not be found by her dealers out in the middle of nowhere, James spotted a road to the right into a small, almost abandoned gravel path track and made the turn. Desperately he needed either some water or a rest, but other feelings were brewing up to the surface that he could not stop. The adrenaline was still in full flow and with it came a plentiful side dish of untapped rage that’s handle was ready to come off.

There was only ever going to be one recipient of it. In time, she’d been proven right about his need for anger management. James was raging on a nuclear scale and no amount of diplomacy nor subterfuge would be able to stop the warhead he was going to launch at her.

As soon as the car stopped, after being swung around to face the road they turned off to start with, rather than take a deep breath, he let go of the wheel and opened the door. Rushing around to the back of the car, the wee English fella was able to take his first look at the smashed taillight. It would have to be fixed before night fell that was for certain, as not only was the cover destroyed, but the light itself was in bits too.

“For fuck’s sake!” He shouted, scowling.

The funds to cover the repairs were there but at the cost of treating the girls to anything over the long weekend. Normally he would have offered to pay for a lot of their meals and drinks when they were out, a chance stolen when the vehicle needed to be roadworthy. He could do the bare basics to keep the Volvo running, bare basics which did not extend to a taillight repair. That would have to be done at a garage and quickly too, far from ideal specifications on a Friday afternoon in February when the light would fade, and motivation would go along with it.

However, that was his secondary focus. He did have some time to play with and that time was going to be used to release his anger on the cousin that led him astray. Michelle who led him into not only a trap but potential death with her callous lies and detrimental life choices.

Enough was enough for James, after one of the worst mornings of his life. She would be getting a relentless withering from him, without any mercy.

Opening the boot only to get one of the bottles of the water, he slammed it back down hard, a subconscious chance given to Michelle to wake up before he unleashed. Again, she did not stir but this time he did not show the concern for her welfare as he did previously.

On the front foot with blood still at boiling point and above, he took two massive strides towards the passenger side door. Opening it roughly like he had with his own, she started to fall out, her head having been resting on the glass window. Catching her before she could make contact with the road, he took a tight hold of the collar of his own trench coat, dragging her out of the vehicle anyway. Still she did not rouse, though he’d anticipated that she wouldn’t, given everything else she’d slept through.

A renowned gentleman he might have been, but there was nothing gentlemanly about his methodology in trying to bring her to. Downright dangerous it was too, although he was beyond the level of tether that stopped him from caring. Never in his life had he been angrier, not even with his own mother for all of the neglect she’d shown his down the years.

There were advantages to watching some of the documentaries and films he enjoyed in his spare time, the absolutely savagery he was going to display being one of them. Even the Secret Service would be described as going over the top when utilising what was considered a form of torture.

To James, it wasn’t torture. It was deserved.

Having already pocketed the cloth he used to wipe the windows with while getting out of the car, he stood over the lying flat Michelle, pressing the cloth down over her mouth. With his other hand he undid the lid of the water, tossing it aside into the field. The water itself wasn’t that cold but the temperature seemed to have dropped since they’d left Belfast, more than enough for the sensation of it to chill the skin.

Gently he started to pour it through the cloth and into her mouth, the flow kept steady to begin with. Rotating his hand over a little more the flow increased, the kryptonite that finally did it and began to wake her.

“W-wha… f-fff…f-fff-f-… the fuck!”

With a start, pimples exploding out all of her, Michelle shook back to consciousness. Opening her eyes she found him glaring over her, continuing to pour the water from the bottle onto her face, despite the cloth having been jettisoned.

“Fuck off!” She swiped at the bottle, which was pulled away before she could strike it. “JAMES! WHAT THE FUCK!?”

Normally she would take over, kicking him to the kerb and belittling him but this was not one of those days. He wouldn’t allow her to make him the guilty party.

“GET UP!” He shouted.

“The fu-”.

“UP! I SAID UP!”

He sprayed her with spittle from the corners of his mouth, a disgusted Michelle avoiding being caked in his saliva by mere millimetres.

“Who the fuck do ye think you are!?” She shouted back at him, head picked up from the rough ground. “You don’t fuc-”.

“UP!”

Against the normal order of things, it was Michelle left swallowing hard. Examining the look in her cousin’s eyes dealt a hammer blow to her nerves, witnessing a James she’d not really seen before. Yes, she’d seen him a little angry, enough to make jokes about his ability to manage said issue but not as genuinely as she did as he stood above her shouting in her face. English people in jumpers weren’t supposed to look terrifying and yet somehow, he was pulling it off.

With little choice other than to obey him, steadily she rose to her feet as he backed away to give her the space. For James, it was the only ground he was willing to concede.

“There”. She said it quietly, not making eye contact. “What’s this about then?”

“What’s this about!? Do you have ANY idea of what you’ve done, Michelle, ANY!?” He yelled at her, leaning forward, right into her face again.

His tone and attitude entered her frame of mind too. However, unlike the rageous glares that worried her, her resolve began to return at hearing something from him that she didn’t like.

“No! I reckon I was asleep, so I was!?” In return, she challenged him.

“Oh yes you were bloody asleep alright! But what about before that, hmm? Do you not remember anything!?”

“No!”

“Have you looked at what you’re wearing!?”

Being woken from a deep sleep and then going straight into a ferocious argument with James, Michelle hadn’t become attuned to her own situation. Frowning at his initial question she looked down, just as her body reminded of her of how cold she really was. Instantly she shivered, not eliciting even the slightest reaction from him.

She noticed his coat covering her at first, an oddity in itself. At no point could she remember asking for or being given the coat, but all of those thoughts were pushed aside when she looked underneath it. The reason for how cold she was became very much apparent. With only her bra and knickers on beneath it, time seemed to freeze around her widening eyes. Pale from a mixture of the cold and the shock, she hadn’t even noticed the fact that she was only wearing socks, toes curling from the wispy chill.

Wearing his coat. Only in her underwear. A burning headache.

It couldn’t have been.

“Oh… oh HOLY SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT!” She panicked, gesticulating so wildly that her right hand nearly went through the rear left window of the Volvo. “We… we didn’t… did we?”

James was left aghast, disgusted.

“NO! Honestly, Michelle! You’re my cousin, that’s… vile!”

“Well I’m sorry, James, but I’ve just woke up to find myself in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere, in just me underwear and yer coat! Doesn’t take a fuckin’ stretch to think ye’ve been takin’ advantage of me!”

“I’m not a rapist!”. A familiar defence was uttered.

“Jury’s out…”.

“I’m not! And after everything you’ve said this morning, I hardly think you can go round calling anyone a rapist!”

Confused at his words, she stared back blankly, hands on her hips. The last thing she could remember when searching her brain momentarily, was talking to James about the coast road. At some point after she must have nodded off and the utter gibberish he was coming out with was completely alien to her.

“You really don’t remember, do you?” He sniggered.

“Obviously not! So what the fuck are ye on about, James!?”

“I’m on about you and what happened in Glenarm!”

“Well what the fuck happened in Glenarm, then!?”

The cousins were furious at each other, having moved right up next to each other once again, cool breaths hitting each other’s noses. Mirrored in their actions they were, both with clenched fists, looking fit to burst.

He held the edge.

“Oh I don’t know where to start, Michelle! Running through the streets in your underwear, banging on people’s doors! Making me chase you through the streets, calling me a rapist… does any of it ring a bell!?”

“The fuck you talkin’ about!? I was asleep!”

“No you were not, not then!” He launched back, thumping his own leg. “Remember those brownies? The ones that ‘don’t have an effect’ on you!?”

“Aye! They don’t!”

“Well they fucking well did today!” Smarting, James continued to simmer. “You ate one and that’s what happened! You ran amok!”

Her continuous stare at him allowed for close inspection, and that inspection told her that he was not making it up. There was no joking in his story, no embellishment or lie. He was giving her a word for word, truthful account of what she could not remember doing. The hysteria she’d whipped up was missing from her memories, worry setting in immediately.

“No… that… that… well that doesn’t explain where my fuckin’ clothes are!?” She yelled at him, frozen hands shoved into her pockets. “And why the fuck am I wearin’ yer shitty coat!?”

“It’s not shitty!” Defending his clothes, the shouting match went on from him. “You took your own clothes off Michelle, that’s how I found you in the street!”

“As if!”

“I did! Thanks to you, we looked like a pair of nutcases! Especially when you threw me in a river!”

“I threw ye in a river?” She snorted, amused.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me! You would have jumped in it yourself if I hadn’t tried to stop you and look where it got me!”

She would dare and did laugh at him. James didn’t need to be made angrier, but she was finding a way, just as she always did. Ignoring her own discomfort from the arduous weather conditions, Michelle’s own fury at her rude awakening and subsequent chastising wavered for a moment whilst sniggering at him. A part of her was annoyed for not remembering throwing him in a river; it sounded dead class to her.

“Got ye all pissed off, aye. Jesus James, but ye should know it’s not the time of year to be swimmin’, so ye should”.

“Fuck off Michelle!” He bellowed, reaching out to shove her until he backed off at the last second. “This isn’t fuckin’ funny, it’s serious!”

“You fuck off, ye stupid prick!” She did shove him, though it did nothing to move his stony exterior. “And ye still haven’t explained why I’m wearin’ yer fuckin’ coat! Some sort of fuckin’ revenge for puttin’ ye in the river!?”

“Oh I wish! I did it for your sake actually, so you didn’t have half of Glenarm staring at your tits all morning!”

An audible gasp shot out from Michelle, not troubling him in the slightest. One of her stray hands returned to her hip as she glared at him menacingly, the other remaining in the air with a finger outstretched pointing at her victim.

Now she was the one proper raging.

“You dirty fuckin’ bastard! Don’t you DARE talk about my tits! Yer me cousin, ye filthy fuckin’ English pervert!”

“Oh I’m sorry, Michelle, did I use the wrong word?” He mockingly retorted. “Should I call them breasts, boobs or baps instead!?”

“Ye should shut yer feckin’ hole, that’s what! Just ‘cos ye’ve got some now, doesn’t mean ye can start gettin’ all confident around me, James!”

“We’re adults, Michelle!”

“We’re cousins!” Replying angrily, she was trying her hardest not to hit him. “Anyway, even if this is all true, it’s hardly like I’ve caused ye much trouble, is it?”

“You told a whole village that their priest touches boys!”

Still unwilling to back down, James recalled the unfortunate fate of the man of the collar. Watching her, hoping that it might be the trigger to her memories of the incident restoring, he was once again disappointed. She knew absolutely nothing.

Nostrils on either side flared.

“Priests do touch boys!” She argued back strongly. “Ye know if this is the fuckin’ worst of it, then I tell you somethin’ James, ye’ve really gotta get yerself sorted! And I will be tellin’ Mammy when we get back, so I will, the fuckin’ treatment I’ve had from you, Christ alive!”

“Trust me, Michelle, that’s only the tip of the fucking iceberg!”

“Ach, wise up with yer Titanic bullshit! The fuck else have I done to ye!?”

Turning around, he had to take a deep breath and a few steps, or he would have done something he regretted. They’d crashed through the limits of what was possible for them both in terms of patience, but the thermometer reading the temperature of his rage cracked compared to hers. Off the scale it was, the anger of ten thousand men all rolled into one. Having been sent to certain impending death or at conciliatory best, grievous injury, he would not allow her to stroll out of yet another episode without consequences.

“Take a guess what happened when we got to Ballycastle?”

“Wh-”.

Her rapid response was quashed as the name registered with her. Silently frozen into time, she gulped back pinecones that she subsequently shat out the other end.

Finally, he was in control. Michelle was left wrestling for a response.

“We… we’ve…”. Now she couldn’t look, let alone speak, staring at her socked feet. “Where… Where are we?”

“I haven’t got a bloody clue! Do you know how many laws I broke getting us here!?”

“W-what… what do ye…”.

“You can stop the innocent routine, Michelle! I’ve heard enough of that with the friend’s dead mother, the friend who was so dear to you! Well I understand why she was so special now!”

“James-”.

“NO, FUCKING, NO!” Erupting, he slammed his fist onto the bonnet to his left. “You’re not James’ing your way out of this one! We went out all this way for you to pay a drug dealer!”

Eyes clenched shut, Michelle felt as little as he normally did.

From somewhere she needed her usual spark, the natural rabid attack that kept him under her thumb. Except it was all her fault this time and the whole point of going to Ballycastle was for him to be out of the way while she settled her debts with the rough dealer that she knew was trouble. Her biggest mistake to date it was buying the brownies, though they were hardly her first purchase from the dealer.

As Clare once put it, drugs were for mugs. She felt like prize porcelain in front of him now.

“I was chased by two angry men and a pack of dogs! I could have died!” He continued to rip into her fairly, but mercilessly. “Did you even once think about what going there might do!? Did you consider how much trouble you might be in!? They were out for blood!”

“I was goin’ to pay…”. Tamely she responded, head bowed.

“You shouldn’t have bought them in the first place! You know what Michelle, you might not think a lot of me and that’s fine! I don’t like it, but I get it. But does that give you the right to gamble with my life as well as your own, associating with scum like that!?”

She wouldn’t cry in front of him, she couldn’t. Just like the day he nearly left for London with his Ma, her shields clung on by a thread. He was totally right; she shouldn’t have experimented with drugs at all. It felt wrong when she did, yet she didn’t try to stop herself on many occasions when she could have.

He was also wrong too. She cared about him more than he knew, more than she sometimes truly knew. Under no circumstances would she think about what she would have done if he’d have been hurt, or worse, because of her.

“Ye… ye should…”.

She fell over her loose words, crashing through birched fences, steeply banked with shame and misery. Opposite her, he waited patiently for her to finish, unmoved by her clear emotion. She’d poked his bear, and his claws were out.

“W-why didn’t… why didn’t ye wake me?”

“I bloody well tried!” He shouted again, albeit with slightly less passion as before. “A meteor hitting the boot wouldn’t have woken you!”

“I didn’t mea-”.

“What’s done, is done, Michelle”. Brutally, he interrupted her, just as her gaze met his. “Get your clothes on and get back in the car! From now on, you do as I say, and you do it when I say it. Is that clear or do you need me to write it down for you!?”

Ostentatiously condescending, he struck the wrong chord. Her way out looked doomed, and defeat seemed certain, but taking the moral high ground and talking down to her was his Andrés Escobar. She wouldn’t stand for him demeaning her, whether she’d almost led him to his death or not.

“You don’t tell me what to do, James, ye soft English bastard!”

Lashing out, she opened her palm in order to strike his rosy cheek in vengeance. The wee English fella sensed the move though and caught her by the wrist before damage could be done.

It hadn’t been enough to see him off like normal.

“Until we get home, yes I fucking do! You WILL get dressed, you WILL get in the car and you WILL listen to me!”

“Get yer hand off me!”

“Fine!” As instructed, he did. “But seeing as I’m in charge, I am making a detour of my own”.

“Aye right. And where would that be James, the massive fanny club?”

He shook his head, turned and pointed at the bottom half of the road sign, to the mostly brown box. To her dismay and disappointment, that was.

“You fuckin’ foreigner!”

“I don’t care! I’m in charge, remember? If I say we’re going to see the Giant’s Causeway, we’re going to see the Giant’s Causeway!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Causeway Cousins

A few sips of water and a relaxing drop into the driver’s seat, finally started to calm James down. For the trouble she caused, Michelle was being forced to get dressed outside in the cold behind the open boot, while he enjoyed a sit down. Their argument had been fierce, fierce enough for him to almost taste blood at the back of his throat, such was his fury. She’d put up some resistance to getting changed in the cold too, but he was sat down in the driver’s seat before she could say otherwise and with another comment about potential perversion, relinquished any claim to the interior.

Most of their bickering stayed within the manageable really, just like I had done earlier in the morning. She would always have the upper hand while he picked his moments. Except this time, it was more of a battle royale where he threw his punches just as hard as she threw hers, if not harder. An actual physical fight nearly was on the cards at one point, although even at his angriest, the gentlemanly James would not have dared hit her.

How tempting it was to a weaker mind though…

Ignoring the chuntering he could hear outside, his thoughts turned to home, which still seemed so far away. The Giant’s Causeway was just a revenge mission for him in a way, something to annoy her with to get one over on her after what she’d done. He was still eager to see it to an extent, but really it was just another sight to tick off the list on the western side of the Irish Sea. The true challenge was going to be finding a garage to fix the broken taillight before dark set in and driving became a nightmare. He hated to drive in the dark with all the lights working, let alone being one down.

Playing on his mind alongside those fears were the girls. They’d be back home before he could reach Derry with Michelle, he was almost certain of it. In his mind he could imagine the disappointed look on Erin’s face when she would find they hadn’t arrived yet. She’d been let down that way before, of which he knew too well. At least she would have her knight in shining armour Max at her side, a role he’d once performed for her comfort in the halcyon days of their teenage years. Orla probably wouldn’t even notice them being missing on the other hand, though half of the city would know about their late arrival thanks to Clare.

Unknowingly, a smile was creeping out across his face.

He loved the girls. His family. His best friends. His pillars of existence.

Even the one that continued to drive him to his wits end on what was becoming an hourly basis or less. The one member of the group that’s footsteps awoke him from his dreamy haze, reminding him that he would be focusing on the road once more.

To his left he heard the door open, a jeaned leg finally poking through.

“Done”. She huffed, climbing the rest of the way in. “Now let’s get this shite over with and get movin’, dickface”.

The accompanying door slam told of her frustrations, though they were nothing compared to his.

“As you wish”.

Time was of the essence, so he didn’t mind moving off quickly as much. What he did mind was the tone of her voice, that told him that their quarrelling was far from over. Somehow it was clear that trying to force any sort of normal, positive conversation was off the cards. Michelle wasn’t in the mood for anything other than a full-blown argument.

The quiet roads remained as they made it back to the turning, getting straight out onto the main road and away. There were only a few miles between them and the causeway, no more than a five-to-ten-minute drive away.

However, that was enough time for her to start moaning again. He could still see the turn they’d just made in his rear-view mirrors when it began.

“Yer an arsehole, James. Ye do know that, don’t ye?”

“You might have mentioned it in the past”. Quietly, he responded curtly. “Is there any particular reason for the reminder?”

“Cos’ ye are one?”

To that he shook his head. To her, it was all of the justification that she needed to continue to label him. All around them, the soupy tense air continued to sit.

“Do you remember anything yet?” He changed the topic, with considerable passive aggressiveness.

“Fuck no! Ye still could be talkin’ shite for all I know. I know yer English type, James. Waitin’ for yer chance to inflict misery on us, ye spud stealin’ pricks!”

“Oh yes because the Potato Famine was my fault. And anyway, that's not how it-”.

“Absolutely fuckin’ was, so it was!”

“I remember, because I was just a boy then…”.

“Oi! Don’t get smart with me!” She shouted back at him, turning to stare. “I’m serious, James. Yer always talkin’ a load of aul’ shite so ye are! I mean, ye think yer Mammy loves ye for a start and that’s bollocks”.

Grunting his displeasure at another swipe taken at his mother by her, James found his hands gripping tightly to the steering wheel again. In her drugged state, she hadn’t seemed to pick on his mum but back in the land of the living, Kathy was the target of her spite once more. Much deserved it might well have been at times, but the act was wearing thin after the morning they’d been through.

“It must run in the family, I can’t think where I might have picked it up from…”. Putting on a straight face, he retorted dryly.

“Catch yourself on! I don’t talk shite!” An unfazed Michelle bit back.

“Oh really. So you’re telling me all those stories about the cleaners son on the crashmats, the deliveryman from the chip shop behind the bins and Johnny Kells, are all true!? Piss off, Michelle”.

Sniggering back at her, he laughed off the thought. Countless times down the years he’d been forced to listen to her whittling on about her various sexual exploits that none of them properly believed. Often, in the moment, they would show their disgust, but he could say with certainty that he and Erin’s reflections both came to the same outcome. If anything, it should have been his cousin rather than their friend who looked into a journalism degree. She’d already mastered sensationalism…

“They fuckin’ well are true ye prick!”

“No they aren’t!” He laughed back at her, anger pouring out as laughter. “Do you really think any of us believed it? I lived with you Michelle, you didn’t get out half as much as you make out you did!”

“Aye, I did too!” She passionately defended herself, rotating in the seat to face him fully. “You were always too busy wankin’ over Doctor Who or playing with yer stupid feckin’ camera! I got about, so I did!”

“Not without one of us being with you, you didn’t”.

“Well if you’s always thought I was spoofin’, then why haven’t you’s said nothin’ before, huh?”

Virtually squaring up to him with her empowered challenge, she’d raised him a fair point. One which he could answer adeptly, without having to think too hard about it. It had been, and would have always been, one of those things.

“Because we didn’t want to hurt your feelings”. In a much more levelled tone, he began the long, fluffy answer. “As far as I can remember knowing you, you’ve always bragged about how you’d lost half of your virginity or what you’d done with other lads. It was your… thing, I guess and the girls knew that too. We never really believed any of it”.

“Well fuck you’s then! Doubtin’ me!”

Crossing her arms in a huff, Michelle withdrew her stare from him and placed it onto the countryside instead. James wasn’t to be fooled though; he’d upset her. Proof of how much her extravagant tales of sexual encounters meant to her could be found right there and then, nearly a couple of years after going their separate ways. Precisely the reaction that was to be expected was also more backing added to why nothing had been said to her sooner.

Meeting a bit of a traffic up ahead where their road met another, the two sat in silence. Every couple of seconds he would glance over in her direction, to find her unmoved and staring out of the window. Another time he might have offered an apology, but he wasn’t quite calm enough to want to offer such kindness. He wasn’t prepared to give in just because her feelings might have been hurt a little.

His resilience became verbal soon enough.

“Have you actually lost your virginity?”

Remaining focused on the road, out of the corner of his eye he saw her head pop up as anticipated. He was making her so incredibly angry, he knew, doing so on purpose to stop the awkward silence that continued to fester.

“The fuck you sayin’!?” She asked him to repeat.

“Have you lost your virginity?” Complying, he still did not look over to make eye contact.

“Have you lost yer fuckin’ mind!? What sort of a question’s that between cousins!”

“I’m curious, that’s all”. James admitted freely, lips curved ever so slightly at the corners. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I do believe you have but not when you say it was. Honestly, when was it, I won’t take the piss”.

There was enough leeway within the sigh to tell him that she would relent. A couple of twists and turns of her head might have also betrayed how uncomfortable it was, but James knew he’d won. The little grin across his face that he knew she saw when she grumbled again, signed and sealed his triumphant needling. All the while, on a more important note for them both, the tension between them eased.

“Fine”. Eventually, after another wriggling session in her seat, she confirmed his suspicions. “I’ll tell ye the truth, but you cannot say a fuckin’ word to anyone. And I mean that, especially Erin. If I find ye’ve told her or anyone else anythin’, then I will cut yer nuts off and feed them to Sister Michael, understand?”

“Crystal clear”. James replied merrily.

“Aye. Right… good. I mean it as well-”.

“Yeah, yeah I get it Michelle, I’ll never see the sunshine again, etcetera”.

Nodding to him, a shaky breath escaped her. In a million years he wouldn’t say it aloud, but it was quite cute how nervous she was about it. It wasn’t often he could couple together Michelle and cute in the same sentence.

“Ye remember the prom? The one where we got fucking Carrie’d”.

“Of course”.

That night was engrained in his memory for many reasons, some brilliant and others… not so much. Unforgettable it truly was.

“Well after we left, I didn’t come home for the night and you’s were all ragin’”.

“Raging? We nearly went to the Police, Michelle!” He reminded, though slightly distant as he concentrated on turning right. “You spent the night sleeping at that girl in the years below’s place, right? When her parents found you asleep in the road? Tara, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah I did say that but…”. Sighing loudly, Michelle rubbed at her eyes. “I paid her to keep her gob shut when you’s asked, so I did. I erm… oh fuck…”.

“That bad?” He joked.

“Oh just you wait! I gave up on those two lads I went with and then we got covered in that shite and I was pissed. Super fuckin’ pissed off, so I was”.

“That I do remember…”.

“Aye well, I don’t know why but… but I decided to go and give that John-Paul fella who stood Erin up a fuckin’ lashin’, so I did”.

“Oh… oh!”

The pieces fell together for James, who looked over in surprise. A shock compounded more from the fact she’d gone to stick up for Erin given the circumstances than the other side of the coin that she materialised with.

“So?” He enquired, when she did not start again.

“So, I went to his Ma’s place and she wasn’t in, just him. We started havin’ a right set to, so we did, but then one thing led to another and…”.

“And you?”

“Aye, I was ridin’ him, fuckin’ hell James, do ye need every fucking detail. It was shite anyway, he lasted about two minutes and rolled over and went to sleep. Thick bastard, so he is but a ride will always be a ride”.

“Yeah I didn’t really need to know that…”.

A mumbling James found himself on the end of a wicked smirk, which was enough when viewed out of the corner of the eye rather than the full pupil. He’d asked though and got what he was given, whilst still remaining curious about a different element of the tale.

“You know Erin probably doesn’t like him anymore, right? I can see why you didn’t tell her at the time, but I don’t think she’ll care now. You might as well say, she might even find it funny”.

“Fuck that! I’m not takin’ that risk, this is Erin we’re talkin’ about, James. She’ll find every excuse under the fuckin’ sun to start an argument! She could setup a duel in a phone box, so she could! And she always loses the fuckin’ run of herself, just like she did in Don-”.

Awkwardly she stopped, and though concentrating on the narrowing road, he seemed too as well. A mutual glance was shared, an unwritten agreement to cease any further talk of what happened on that particular trip again. It had already been brought up more than once during the morning and didn’t need to be any further.

“I don’t want to mention it in front of her Max, either. They’re just startin’ off so they are, don’t want him gettin’ the wrong idea when he’s such a cracker fella”.

“Heaven forbid we might hurt his feelings…”. James wittily responded, looking away.

“OI! The attitude again, shockin’ so it is!”

“Good to see your memory’s coming back”.

“Shut yer hole, James! And eyes on the fuckin’ road, we’re nearly there now”.

Right she was too, as they came across the car park before the way down. Some, mostly the buses full of tourists, drove all of the way down but he wasn’t going to be making such a trek. A walk was probably for the best anyway, certainly for Michelle who’d been asleep in a funny angle for some time before he’d dragged her out of the car. Her legs were in need of a stretch that didn’t involve Glenarm or partial nudity.

The rain was staying away too, though one look out to sea showed that it wasn’t completely a done deal. There was precipitation out there in the distance, a distance that could only have prayers lavished upon it to remain large.

Starting the path down, Michelle bounded along to walk in front of him for a moment, until the wee English fella closed the gap.

“Running away from me?”

“Aye, who’d want to actually walk with ye, James?” She scoffed. “And did ye have to bring that fucking camera with ye. Christ but it’s massive, so it is!”

“It’s an expensive piece of kit, Michelle!” He protested, matching strides, bag in hand.

“No shite! That’s the sort of thing the cameramen on the fuckin’ TV have!”

James might have had a pretty good video camera during their school days, but what he’d brought with him back to Derry was specialist stuff. Kathy’s pocket proved to be deeper than even he could have known when she forked out on it for him, knowing where to buy it from too from her many illustrious contacts. When holding it or wielding it as the case was due to the size, he looked ready to start filming a Hollywood blockbuster.

An action script wasn’t to be found with the Giant’s Causeway, but there’d been enough of a thriller that morning to write an entire classic with anyway. The chance to be able to include it in his coursework wasn’t lost on him either, even if it did stray outside the geographical boundaries of his idea.

Its use was lost on Michelle though.

“Please don’t mess around with it Michelle, it’s really expensive!” He warned. “I can’t afford to replace it if it gets broken”.

“Alright, don’t show off, Dicko! I won’t even breathe near it, if yer goin’ to have a cack attack about it!”

“Good. And please don’t make any trouble while we’re here. I’d like to be able to film in peace if I could”.

“Jesus Christ, James!” She bellowed. “Can you not be an absolute fanny!? There are actual fuckin’ people around and I don’t want you makin’ us look like pricks! Well me look like a prick, yer already lost so ye are…  and don’t you fuckin’ dare talk about peace with that accent!”

“Really?”

Annoyed by her regurgitating of the past, he was left shaking his still aching head. Their views on peace should have been put to bed by the vote, but from time to time there would be the odd niggling comment and views of the past were thrust into the light again. Most of the time it was half-hearted, though somehow this time he could sense there was more aggression in the statement.

The continued discontent between them was threatening to boil over into something worse.

Ambling along at a sensible pace with the camera weighing him down, it was another five minutes or so before they reached the bottom of the path, but a silent five at that.

Nine or ten people went past them on the way, Michelle tutting at every single one of them for not staying behind and waiting. She didn’t like being the one in the slow lane but didn’t have too much of a choice with James in tow. They were getting a few odd looks because of his camera too, which did her mood not a single favour.

As the girls always told him, the Causeway was a tourist heaven and James was finally starting to understand why. There were people of all nationalities down there by the coachload, the flags of many a nation being sported. Different dialects could be heard in the air too, even the odd English voice. It warmed him to know he wasn’t the only carrier of an English accent within a hundred-mile radius.

Blatantly obvious where it was they were going, denoted by not only signposts but the large groups of tourists stood around together, they started to slow. Deciding not to go all of the way down, James found a decent spot to do some filming from and started to undo his bag, retrieving his priceless camera.

“Fuck me, that’s a massive one”.

“I told you it’s expensive, Michelle. That’s wh-”.

“Not yer feckin’ camera ye eejit! That fella over there in the red cap. Christ but what a huge ride!”

Rolling his eyes and not bothering to look wherever she was, he continued to setup the camera as another group walked past them. If she wanted to be useful, she could have helped him. Often parsimonious with her assistance, especially when it came to him, Michelle’s attention was solely dedicated to the men in the crowds.

“Tragedy it is, ye know. So many rides but nowhere to fuckin’ ride them…”.

“The crisis of our times”. James mocked with a huff. “You could always drag someone behind the buses if you’re that desperate”.

“Catch yourself on, I’m not desperate! And unlike you and yer toilet door shaggin’, I have actual standards! I’m not a filthy English dog, that’s for sure”.

“Woof woof…”.

“That’s enough of that ye prick!”

Leaning down, she slapped him on the wrist for the cheeky barking when his hand came away from the camera momentarily. A meek cry of pain was uttered from him at it, whilst internally being thankful that she’d taken the consideration of doing it while he wasn’t handling his camera.

Minutes passed as he readied the scene, giving her an instruction that she happily complied with; to move away while he filmed. Skipping down closer to the causeway while he stayed higher up filming, she could get a closer look at some of the rides spotted from afar. Her teenage self would have been salivating at a much higher concentration level from all of the good-looking fellas around. She still was to an extent, but some sort of invisible force was stopping her.

She wasn’t ill or anything like that, she’d spent the night with a fella she still didn’t know the name of the night before. However, when confronted with fellas up close and personal on the Causeway, her usual drive was missing. From afar it had been there, but when within metres of the men it had just… vanished.

Must have been the after effect of the brownies. There was no other reason for it.

Reflective for about ten minutes, she looked back and up to near to the road to find her cousin staring back. For a couple of seconds she gazed through him, lost in a world of her own thoughts about…

About a topic she would not confront. About a force that wasn’t so invisible after all, but inconvenient to think of when out of the sanctuary of her Flat. Not that it was much better there, mind.

Michelle blinked.

Shaking herself back into reality, she took proper notice of James, whose thumb was up. Indicating that he’d finished filming, she was ready to head back too. All of her thoughts, particularly the latest one, found themselves tossed asunder as she briskly walked her way back up to him. An American fella, if the stars and stripes shirt was anything to go by, smiled at her as she walked past but she paid him no attention at all. It wasn’t often she shirked a man’s attention but for once she did not seem to care.

Getting back to James seemed more important. At least she could return to a safe bubble of having a go at him there, running from her relaxed musings.

“And cut!?” She shouted to him as she approached, acknowledged with a roll of the eyes. “Happy now ye’ve seen the Giant’s Causeway?”

“I suppose so”. He answered, crouching down to start disassembling the camera from its stand.

“What’s got yer fanny in a twist!?”

Confused by the less than positive reaction from him, she wasn’t letting such a comment go. After all, he’d dragged them out there and more than once in the past talked about going to see the Causeway. Unlike most foreigners, not that he really was one anymore, he looked unhappy. Contrasted to the group of elderly American women laughing and giggling behind them, his expressions could almost be described as sombre.

James didn’t answer at first, but not for the reasons that his cousin was probably thinking. What he was doing was measuring his answer. Getting kicked square in the bollocks in front a couple of hundred people was an avoidable fate.

“I mean… is that… is that it?”

He might have measured it, but he’d brought a ruler and needed a metre stick. In turn, her reaction needed planning permission, such was the scope of it.

“You fuckin’ what!?”

“Is that it… The Causeway? Erin always talked it up to be breath-taking but it’s just a few rocks”.

“JUST A FEW ROCKS!? That’s my fuckin’ culture yer talkin’ about you English prick!”

“Hang on, don’t start on me! You’ve always said it was boring!”

“I’m allowed to say it’s borin’, James! It’s mine, not yers! If yer lot wanted it so fuckin’ much, then you’s should have fought a bit harder!”

“What use are a few rocks…”.

Throwaway comments were dangerous.

Michelle Mallon was lethal.

Grabbing her cousin by his collar, and nearly forcing James to shit bricks, she glared at him with murder in her eyes.

“Say that again!?”

The animosity that had disappeared momentarily, was there to stay. A fun rest of the trip it was going to be, with the light still to fix and the two of them at each other’s throats.

Family at its finest…

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: An unfortunate encounter

“We can fit ye in son, but ye’ll have to wait”.

“That’s fine”. James replied. “How long do you think it will be?”

“It’s what half one now…”. The bearded man glanced up to the clock on the wall in confirmation. “We can have ye done for about five, maybe half five”.

“Oh. I… I didn’t realise you’d open so late”.

“Business is business”.

The man hadn’t made much eye contact with him from the minute he walked into the garage, not that James expected anything too different. All the usual signs of disgust, the initial hesitation and the hassle everything he said seemed to be, were there. As always, the English accent was his Achilles heel that his Irish blood could not pump a change through.

He’d not been called a prick though, that was an improvement from the norm. Or a bastard, which said the man was letting him off lightly.

“That’s fine then. I’ll come back about quarter pas-”.

“Half past”.

The correction was abrupt and somewhat unnecessary. It wasn’t worth the argument pointing it out though, so the wee English fella stood and suffered, like he always did.

“Half five, then. Thank you”. James nodded his appreciation, with the tiniest of smiles.

“Aye”.

Flicking his head towards the door, the man was telling James where to go in no uncertain terms. Pleased enough with the arrangement so that he didn’t have to spend any more time in the pokey garage reception, he promptly followed the instructions, exiting the single door out to the forecourt. The Volvo was parked up right in front of the window in the mechanic’s view, keys inside with the brusque man.

Walking out of the fenced property, he looked up to find Michelle where he’d left her, leaning up against a lamppost sulking. From the moment he gave his opinion on the Giant’s Causeway until pulling up outside the garage, they’d done nothing but argue about it. She was furious with him for not showing the landmark the respect she believed it deserved and he would not back down from his opinions on it. Back and forth they were, affecting his concentration on the road sometimes with the ever more audible debate.

Turning around to face him, she shook her head in displeasure. Just his presence was evidently angering her, without him even needing to open his mouth.

“How long then?”

“Four hours”. He breathed out, sighing.

“FOUR HOURS!? For fuck’s sake, that’s absolutely fuckin’ forever, the fuck they waitin’ for!”

Painfully aware of how well the news would go down, her prompt explosion came as little surprise to him. Michelle and patience were like Clare and calm. The two could exist together, but rarely like anything that could be considered harmonious. Almost like the two of them really, if he was to be truly cynical.

Slowly, the two started walking away from the garage.

“There are other people booked in, Michelle. It’s lucky we could get it done at all!”

“We could have been done by three if ye’d listened to me and stopped at that place outside Coleraine! But no, ye just had to have it yer way and here we are in Limavady, with a fuckin’ four hour wait and fuck all to do!”

“I’m the driver and it’s my car!” Protesting the moaning, James was more than firm. “They might not have even been able to fit my car in, Michelle, you don’t know that”.

“Neither do you, but here we are knowin’ we’ll have to wait for fuckin’ hours! Well played, dickface!”

Huffing at her rebuke, James shook his head and attempted to ignore his latest lashing. He’d picked Limavady simply because it was nearer to home, leaving a shorter final leg of the journey back to Derry. Seventeen miles in the dark was much easier than nearly thirty. Michelle hadn’t considered that part of the logic, nor had he been able to talk her round into understanding it. She was ignored when she suggested the garage outside Coleraine and that was all that mattered.

Following the signs to the centre of the town, it was only a short walk, but with so many hours to kill they were hardly rushing. Both of them were scrolling the backs of their minds to think of something to do for hours on end while they waited, neither voicing but both thinking, that waiting in the garage reception was off the cards.

“Just a bunch of fuckin’ rocks…”. She chuntered, eyes forward. “The state of you, I swear to Big M…”.

“Are you ever going to let this go, Michelle? I expressed an opinion. It’s hardly like I grabbed an Irish flag and spat in it!”

“I’ll express yer opinion’ up a fuckin’ wall in a minute! Just breathin’ is bad enough for you! It’s like yer ready to invade again every time yer heart beats! Savage English shite!”

“I’m as Irish as you are!”

“Yer about as Irish as that Santo fella is Paraguayan!”

“He is Paraguayan!”

“He’s from Mexico!”

She shouted him with a look of exasperation in her eyes, a feeling reflected by his own. Not a minute had past, and they were at each other’s throats again. Seventeen Miles, with light or not light, suddenly looked like a marathon.

“I bet he’s got more respect for his cousins as well”.

“He might not have a cousin”. James continued to argue, cutting out the shouting this time. “If only some of us could be so lucky…”.

“Finally ye’ve said somethin’ I agree with… prick…”. She growled out some of her frustration, before looking back at him with an impish grin plastered across her face. “I wonder if Max has cousins. I bet he treats them proper, so he does. Probably has some in Germany come to think of it. Sure, he wouldn’t talk shite about the Berlin Wall”.

“The Berlin Wall’s hardly something to celebrate, Michelle! His family might not even be from Berlin anyway”.

“What if they are? They might think the Berlin Wall was cracker”.

“Maybe they do. I suppose you’re going to tell me that Erin told you that he said they built it, put a cherry on top and served it for dinner as well!”

Her grin at him only grew wider, whilst he avoided a dangerous glance to his right. Max was his scab and the more it was picked at, the more he bled. Dripping red with concealed truths it was, forcing his bravest poker face to be raised. After the burning, flame-like colour in his cheeks receded, that was.

“Yer jealous, admit it!” She shouted.

“Jealous of what?” Responding as nonchalantly as he could, the game began. “I’m hardly in any sort of rivalry with him, am I?”

“He’s got Erin. You haven’t”.

Chucked a hefty test with an instant, his face gave nothing away. Michelle didn’t have the guile, on that occasion at least, to look down at his feet as they walked. The change in his stride gave him away, but only to the air around them.

“I’ve already told you, the past is the past”.

“So ye keep sayin’. But everytime I say her fella’s name, you turn into a bigger dickhead than usual. Keep fuckin’ denyin’ it whatever, but yer not foolin’ me, James”.

“I’m not jealous!” He reiterated strongly, tilting his head to look at her. “I just don’t want him to hurt our friend. She’s had enough lads turn her down and hurt her, do you want to see that happen again? Do you want to be the one having to watch her getting her hopes up again, only to be disappointed?”

“Obviously not, christ but I hate her when she’s like that!”

Testing the water, Michelle tested his patience. James’ glare could have been interpreted in many different ways, but she adeptly understood what he was getting at was a wee bit different.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love our Erin so I do, but the fuckin’ lack of respect for herself pisses me off, so it does!”

“You see why I’m not rolling out the red carpet for him, then. He might well be the person she says he is and that’s fine b-”.

“Is it?” She fished, bait taken.

“Yes! An answer too prompt, he stammered through an extension. “Y-yes, yes it would be. As long as Erin’s happy then we have nothing to worry about”.

“She is, so she is. Oh aye, I forgot to say, she also said she wants us to help her Max out after Church on Sunday with his charity work”.

“With his what?”

James turned and faced again, hoping to find a smirk or a laugh waiting for him from teasing. Yet again she was being serious, adding another layer to the mysteriously perfect character that was Max. Frowning at his puzzled expression, she elaborated on the point.

“Aye, he has some stall in the hall, so he does. Erin said she’s helped him out a couple of times now and even her Granda has as well”.

“Of course they have…”. James muttered to himself, biting his cheek.

“It’s cracker, so it is! I’d be dead broke standing up tryin’ to give a shit but he’s proper into it she says. Ye’d think a fella at Uni would have too much else to fuckin’ do so fair play to him for lookin’ after the poor and all that”.

“What does he do, feed them and let them know it’s Christmas time?”

“Here we go again…”. Shaking her head, Michelle smiled wryly. “Don’t you get all fucked off ‘cos yer a toffee-nosed shite, James”.

“I’m not a… toffee-nosed shite! Do you really believe all of this, Michelle, it’s so bloody far-fetched!”

The two nearly stopped as they approached a turn in the road, with a petrol station and shop to their left. Frowns of moments before turned to stares, hers much fiercer than his despite his shouting. His confidence in challenging her continued to grow, even if the uncomfortable gargling in his stomach still signalled his nerves when facing her fury.

“You sayin’ I’m lyin’!?” She snarled.

So lost in a mix of emotions throughout the morning, and even since they’d left the garage, the wee English fella found himself flustered momentarily.

“N-No… No, I’m not saying you’re lying…”.

“So yer sayin’ Erin’s lyin’? You goin’ to be tellin’ her that, then?”

“No I mean… I mean maybe she’s just doing what she always does. When she was chasing David Donnelly, she used to make up all sorts of stories about him. And Joh-”.

He stopped, glancing at Michelle to sort approval to carry on. With a swift nod she allowed him too, burying her own memories of the matter the best she could.

“She convinced herself she was already in a relationship with him, remember? Don’t you think this could be the same thing again?”

They’d stopped now, just at the edge of the Petrol Station’s forecourt, James’ hands in his pockets to protect them from the ever cooling air.

He watched as she began an introspection after hearing his thoughts. It was surprising that Michelle was taking Erin’s word at face value given the historical indicators of her fairytales were evidently in play. Max was probably a decent bloke who cared a lot for his friend, but too much of his story felt way too romanticised to be true. Surely, he couldn’t be the perfect, unflawed individual that his cousin was documenting him to be. If he was though…

To even think it was demoralising.

“Alright, fine, ye have a wee point, I suppose”. Quietly, she conceded some ground.

“Yeah?”

“Erin has got all fuckin’ weird about fella’s she likes before, aye”.

“So don’t you thin-”.

His point remained dead at the back of his throat, interrupted rapidly.

“But that was when we were wains. Annoying as she fuckin’ is at times, Erin’s grown the fuck up now, James! She doesn’t need to lie about how she feels for a fella anymore, so aye, I’ll say she’s tellin’ the truth about him, so she is”.

Eye contact couldn’t be kept this time, although the excuse of watching the car that was turning in to ensure they didn’t get hit could be used if he was challenged.

Immediately his mind asked him a question that badly needed answering, whilst being terrified of what the answer might be given in turn. The answer in Donegal was physical rather than verbal, the latter part of the confession being the important cog that was always missed. Well almost always, but Michelle’s statement only left him with another question to throw into the ever more toxic fray.

When exactly had Erin stopped lying?

“You really are bothered aren’t ye?” Again, Michelle pried. “D’you lie to me this mornin’? Cos’ if ye did, I swear to absolute fuc-”.

“I agree”.

The whole conversation flipped on its head, Michelle finding herself off guard, taken aback with the answer given. Especially with the cool composure it was delivered with.

“You what now?”

“I agree”. With the same firm tone, he confirmed his statement. “I still want to see it for myself, but I can’t see why Erin would lie about him. As I said before, if he makes her happy then we can all be happy, can’t we?”

“Interestin’… Interestin’…”.

“Michelle…”.

“I didn’t think the English could be so fuckin’ reasonable, I’m surprised, so I am”. She snorted. “Ye’ll see it for yerself alright, when we meet him later. And then ye can stop bein’ suck a dick about it, can’t ye?”

“I’m not bein’ a dick about it!” Replying, he raised his voice.

“Yes ye are!”

“No I’m not!”

“OI!”

Following the shout, they looked up to a couple of buildings beyond the Petrol Station. A man was hanging out of the window, sharp focus fixed on the two of them, face scrunched up with a venomous elixir bubbling.

“Some of us are tryin’ to sleep here, fella! Take yer argument with yer girlfriend somewhere else!” The sleep deprived man shouted again.

“He’s not me boyfriend, he’s me cousin, ye feckin’ arsehole!” Michelle yelled back in a half-second.

“Tell that to the Priest, ye feckin’ banshee!”

“FUCK YOU!”

“NO, FUCK YOU!”

Slamming his window shut, the annoyed bloke shut his curtains forcefully before heading off to bed. Unbeknownst to the two of them, many a curtain was pulled open watching them trade blow after blow in the middle of the street. The staff in the Petrol Station were also part of the audience, until one of the drivers walked in to make payment, depriving them of the chance to be entertained for a few more minutes.

“See, that’s ur fault, dickhead!” Quickly back to it, she jabbed him with her index finger. “That bastard up there thinks yer ridin’ me and ye’ve stopped him sleepin’! Wouldn’t catch Max shoutin’ at a girl in the street!”

“No doubt, I suppose he can only fucking whisper!” He bitterly responded.

“Yer off again!”

“I’M NOT!”

“YOU ARE!”

Their faces were nearly pressed together, having moved close to roar challenges at each other. First to realise the awkward position that they were in, she stepped back, James following suit with cheeks colouring a little.

“This! This is why yer the biggest dickhead in the family!”

“Wow, even below the murderer!?”

*SLAP*

Palm on cheek sounded like cannonball through bone, the impact coming in the blink of an eye from when he’d finished.

Between conversations on her virginity and the trip to Donegal long ago, they’d covered some taboo ground since setting off from Belfast. Now though, he’d ascended from the flatlands up to the peak of the family’s unspoken history. One person who was never at the dinner table, was never talked about at it either. Deirdre and Martin wouldn’t allow his name to be mentioned even in passing, wincing every time it was seen in a letter or a Christmas card.

He was the dark stain in their hearts.

“YOU BASTARD!” Tearfully, she screamed in his face. “You know not to bring him up!”

“Oh so its alright for you to call me a dickhead and call my mum a bitch, that’s grand! But as soon as I bring up the ACTUAL criminal in the family, I’ve crossed the line!”

“DON’T YOU FUCKIN’ DARE! IT’S DIFFERENT!”

“Is it!? For all our faults, me and Mum haven’t killed anyone! We haven’t taken a father away from his son!”

“SHUT YER FUCKIN’ HOLE!”

“NO! No, I will not!”

Finding yet another level of rage, beyond the already unchartered territory he was in, James savagely ignored her emotion. She wasn’t going to run all over him again and get her own way. He’d faced more than his own fair share of abuse, as well as that on behalf of Kathy. Normally he would at least have a crisis of conscience about continuing too, but there was nothing to stop his destructive assault. Not even a smidgen of his usual compassion.

Their prior arguments were nothing more than petty quarrels. This was the real deal.

“I took fuckin’ pity on you when ye came here, and this is what I get!”

“You took pity on me!?” He scoffed angrily. “You’ve treated me like shit most of the time, Michelle! Oh you like to pretend you care when it suits, but I’m always just Dicko or… or the English bastard or-”.

“COS’ YE ARE ONE!”

“Well if I’m a bastard, Niall’s a mu-”

“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!” She shouted, thumping the forearms he raised to protect himself. “Don’t you fuckin’ talk about Niall! Ye know what he means to me!”

Gently, he pushed her away.

“That’s fucking rich, isn’t it!? You know what my mum means to me, but it doesn’t stop you telling me how much of a bitch you think she is!”

“SHE IS A BITCH! And she doesn’t give a flying fuck about you, James!” Viciously, she spat her counter. “If you would fucking accept that and cut her the fuck off from yer life, we wouldn’t talk about it!”

“And that’s so fucking different to you and Niall!”

“HE… HE!”

A tear rolled down her cheek, that went unnoticed by them both. Michelle was defeated emotionally, her brain stalling, words no longer falling. Swallowing hard, fists balled, she stared at the ground.

“I’m not talkin’ about him anymore”.

“What a surprise!” James however, was continuing, unable to control his temper. “You know Michelle, you are such a mouth! It’s alright for you to make everyone else feel like shit but woe betide anyone hurting you back! I don’t know why I bother actually giving a shit about you, you’re nothing more than a conniving fucking brat!”

“DON’T THEN!” Her anger reawakened, she shot back. “I didn’t fuckin’ ask ye too! I didn’t fucking want you either, but I didn’t have much of a fuckin’ choice because of yer Mammy bein’ a promiscuous slut, did I!?”

His own palm was open and arm drawing back before he just caught himself in time. Below his neck he was back in control, but his mind and mouth were still wild.

“I’m finished with you, Michelle! I’ll take you the rest of the way home but you’re making your own way back next week and that’s the last I want to hear from you! We’ll see each other at home but I don’t want you calling me or asking for any fucking favours!”

“I won’t!”

“Great, good! And you can go and find something to eat yourself! I don’t want to see you until half five at the garage, understood!”

“Abso-fuckin-lutely!”

Storming past him, Michelle left her shoulder in, barging James off the kerb and into the road. Stumbling back, he kept his feet, waving an apology to the driver who braked rather sharply to avoid hitting him. Ignoring the glare the driver gave in return, the Englishman mounted the path to charge off in the direction of the shop at the Petrol Station.

The staff inside’s funny looks gave away that they’d been listening, but he paid for a sandwich and bottle of water without caring for them. Half of Limavady were probably also in the know about their family business, when they’d done little to conceal it.

Anger still flowed through his veins, urgently needing to find somewhere to calm down before combustion. His usual mile wide streak of kindness was so far gone, Atlantis seemed easier to find.

Crossing the road outside the Petrol Station, he noticed a small park just up the road, the benches in it completely empty. Off the main road, it was peaceful enough to cool off and quell the rumblings in his empty stomach. Breakfast for him, in the dark in the car park in the early hours, was a hell of a long time ago.

Cheese and pickle sandwiches weren’t meant to be devoured as if they were the enemy, but he ate like a man brimming with hatred. Chirpy as the birds were around the park, he still found his mind forcing more thoughts into his view. Contriving new statements to make to Michelle in order to put her in her place.

Ostensibly, he was not calm.

Distracted with his mumblings, he did not see nor hear the individual approaching him.

“James?”

He picked his head up on hearing his name.

“It is you!” She almost squealed. “What are ye doin’ in Limavady?”

“Waiting for my car to be fixed…”. He answered slowly, almost confused. “What about you?”

“Waitin’ out here in the cold? No, no that won’t be good for you, come with me”.

“What?”

The Englishman wasn’t angry like he was with his cousin but was completely perplexed by her sudden appearance. Both of them were out of place, albeit he seemed to be far more out of it than she did.

“Just come with me”. She held out her hand, smiling.

Before he knew it, he’d accepted the request and gave his hand, tidying up his lunch and putting it back into the plastic bag it came from.

Still he was confused.

“Jenny, where we are going?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Charges

“Jenny, seriously, where are going?”

She might have let go of his hand but still stayed silent to his questions. Such was the predicament he was in, following on aimlessly without being able to stop himself, James could only feel that the day was getting worse. Yes, he might not have been as roundly disliked by the Joyce heir, but they were hardly the best of friends. Yet here she was marching him through the streets, withholding information from him.

“Jenny…”.

He tried again, successfully so when she finally stopped.

“We’re here!”

“We’re where?”

Looking around, all James could see was a white single-level building to their left, and a few houses across the road. Wherever here was, it certainly meant nothing to him.

“I’m performing here!” She delightfully announced.

“Out in the street? I thought you were taking me somewhere warm?”

“No not out here, silly! In there”.

Speaking down to him like he was no more than a toddler, James scrunched up his nose and turned to face the building she pointed out. In his second look at the place, he noticed the additional sign that his original glance failed to spot. It wasn’t just any old building…

“A… a care home?”

“Aye of course! On me days off, I keep the old folks happy with a few wee ditties! Ye can come in as me guest and stay nice and warm!”

Some fates were apparently worse than death, and to the wee English fella, this could be counted as one. Listening to Jenny sing in countless assemblies was soul crushing and their final assembly before they left Our Lady Immaculate should have been the last time that he had to hear her butchery. He was not built for sitting around in a home for those at death’s door having his ears stung by her horrific, untalented tripe.

Scratching at the back of his neck, he tried to decline her gracefully.

“That’s erm… that’s a very kind offer Jenny, but I wouldn’t want to impose”.

“Oh don’t you worry, you won’t be”. She reached out, a hand place on his arm. “But ye are on yer own aren’t ye? I can only have the one guest or… or maybe two, but I can’t push it”.

Bugger.

Internally he cursed himself for sending Michelle away. They could have shared the torture together and it would have been apt punishment for her indiscretions during the morning. For his own faults though, he was faced with suffering alone.

“No, Michelle is… is erm… around somewhere. I’m not sure where though”.

“Ach well, I’m sure it’s not her sort of thing, is it? Not worry then, you can come in with me”. Jenny smiled sweetly at him.

“Honestly Jenny, I ca-”.

“Ye can’t thank me, enough I know. There’s no need to be so polite, James. We always thought ye were a very kind fella”.

“We?” He questioned.

“Me and Aisling!” Jenny confirmed jubilantly, then leaning in closer. “She’s always been very, very fond of ye, you know”.

Quickly drawing away, Jenny dropped him a cheeky grin as she walked around him towards the home. Left on the spot with the knowledge she’d imparted, he lacked the vernacular to reply.

Aisling was fond of him, and not just as a friend. Jenny’s insinuation could have been read by the blind.

“Come on James!”

Calling for him to follow, he shook his head out of a trance. He still needed to process what he’d heard though, pushing it away only temporarily. At no point during his school years had he noticed or focused upon Jenny’s bespectacled friend as anything other than her sometimes unwilling accomplice. Now he was given a complete curveball.

Obeying Jenny nonetheless, the sound of warmth was the only positive left to cling to.

The old folks’ home was about what he expected to find; a sort of living room at the back where around nine or ten pensioners sat in armchairs, with the odd nurse around too being their spot.

There were a couple of looks thrown his way by those nurses, but after Jenny’s explanation they all started smiling at him instead. Smiles which he reciprocated when it was so rare to actually receive them. A small space was cleared to represent a makeshift stage for her to sing, while he quickly spotted his own seat just a pace or two in front.

Sitting down, James immediately clocked the face of the old lady he’d been positioned next to. Grinning at him, her false teeth were bared to the wind.

“It’s lovely that a fella will come and support his wee girlfriend”. She mused. “Young love, so precious”.

“Oh… erm… we erm…”. Blushing profusely, he scratched at his forehead. “We’re not… we’re not together. Just old friends”.

“English!? Good God no!”

The accent that so often wronged him, did him some good. Although it was another slight, it was a positive one. Relieved to not have to awkwardly explain his way out of why he was there, he was counting his metaphorical chickens that the old woman now hated him. He could handle some abuse from those living out their final days, albeit while still retaining some sympathy for them. They were about to listen to Jenny Joyce sing after all…

If anything was going to get them to their coffins quicker, it was her.

“Hello there everyone!” Chuffed with herself, she announced her presence, an awkward ringing filling the air from her mouth being too close to the microphone. “It’s me again Jenny, ye remember me, don’t ye!”

The cringeworthy silence that followed made the Englishman’s skin crawl. A couple of the pensioners did nod to confirm their memory of her, but most of them were staring out into the middle of nowhere. Behind him, one of the nurses gave Jenny a thumbs up just to get her to start, knowing the residents would offer no more.

“Oh that’s grand, I hope ye’ve all been keepin’ tip top! Now I want you’s all to relax and enjoy a few ditties for a Friday afternoon, doesn’t that sound cracker?”

Once again there was no real response from the residents, prompting the nurse to gesture for her to continue. It was already embarrassing enough having to be there for James, but Jenny’s inability to understand her audience made him want to claw his eyeballs out and cut his ears off.

“Righty ho then, first off, I’ll start with somethin’ a wee bit more modern… My heart will go on, by Celine Dion”.

I didn’t matter if she was near, far or wherever she was, his cousin’s heart was going on a lot better than his head was.

“I actually want to die…”.

Whispering it quietly, a guarantee that absolutely nobody else would hear, he prepared his eardrums for the anguish they were about to be put through. There couldn’t have been a worse way to start, the choice of a song that required such perfection to be sung sweetly by someone who did not have any talent at all. It was meant to be the distraction to both Michelle and what she’d told him about Aisling, but instead he was left looking to the very things he was trying to avoid for the sake of his dwindling sanity.

However, all mental thoughts were pointless in the end. There were only so many points of thought to contend with and not enough to fill what was virtually two hours of singing, bar a small ten minute interval. He could have gone then, excused himself by going to get the car but he knew she’d have seen right through him. Jenny was smart, perspective… and painfully infuriating. The free cup of tea that he got was not worth the rest of the trouble he was put through, good brew or not.

By the time she’d announced she was doing just the one more song, he checked his watch, and it was nearly four. For the best part of a couple hours he’d been sat there alongside the elderly, aging so rapidly that he was sure he felt older than they looked by the end. It might have been a long way to Tipperary, but it was a far shorter distance to the end of his tether.

Finally able to extrapolate himself from the residential home, he made a beeline for the exit. There was still a good hour and a half to kill but the cold swapped places to be more welcoming, even if it wouldn’t be that long until darkness set in. It would have been self-flagellation to stay any longer.

Jenny didn’t play by those rules though.

The moment she saw him leaving she was after him, a fact he did not realise at all. Only when she burst out of the front door behind him, did his senses become accustomed to someone approaching from the rear.

“James! James! Wait up!”

Should he have wished to he’d have ran, but into his third decade, he wasn’t being as cowardly as he had previously. Coming to a halt in the driveway of the home, he turned to face her as she still ran to catch up.

“You can walk so fast so ye can!” She laughed, giggling. His stomach churned. “I have something to give ye, so I do”.

“Honestly Jenny, there’s no need, you’ve done more than eno-”.

“Oh no, it’s not a present for ye. Well I suppose it might be… now where did I put it?”

Asking herself, she was quite the sight. Fighting her own pockets to drag out whatever it was that she was going to hand over, he could only watch as the embarrassment rose. If Michelle happened to walk past, she would have a field day, the only luck he was seeming to have being her continued absence from the vicinity.

“Ach, here!” Jenny screeched into the air. “There ye are, that’s for you”.

A traditional present it certainly wasn’t; a scrap of paper with an address written on it. Dropping a most puzzled frown, her machinations concerned him. One of the rare bits of trivia he did know was her address, though quite why it stuck in his head remained a mystery. Either way, the address on the slip of paper wasn’t where she lived, not the massive eight bedroom manor they’d been to parties in. Unless they’d moved that was. Mary and Sarah were usually experts on house moves in the city though and they hadn’t mentioned the Joyce’s moving or being about to move residence at Christmas.

“Sorry Jenny, what’s this?” He had to ask.

“Aisling’s address! If yer headin’ home for the weekend, then ye should pop over and see her. Her Mammy’s really understandin’ so she is, she won’t say anythin’ about… about ye know”.

“About…”.

“About ye bein’ English”. She confirmed in a hushed voice. “Aisling would love to catch up with ye as well”.

“Oh erm… I-I…”. Panicked, he flapped around for an answer. “We’re all erm… we’re all going out tonight, I won’t be able to-”.

“Don’t you worry James, she’s in all weekend. Sure, ye can catch her tomorrow!”

“Right…”.

Whatever he said in reply was likely to be misconstrued, but he had no intention of following up on a visit with Aisling. Any conversation with her now was going to be seen differently after what he’d been told and after some internal debate while trying to focus on anything but Jenny’s singing, feelings for her were definitively ruled out. Should they be walking down the street he certainly wouldn’t avoid her, but his heart didn’t beat a rhythm of anything more substantial when thinking of her.

That was reserved for someone else, someone not as easily obtainable as Aisling was.

Friends perhaps they could be, but nothing more.

“Anyhoo… I best dash or Helios will never forgive me!” Briskly changing subject, she zipped up her coat. “It’s lovely seein’ ye, James”.

“Yeah… yeah good to see you too. Take care”.

“You too!”

Dashing off towards the car parked right in the far rear corner of the front drive, Jenny left the wee English fella in a state of daze and confusion. There were so many questions to be asked of the couple of hours or more he’d been spent with her, mostly ones of himself for staying. Added to that there was also the revelation of Aisling’s fondness for him and whether music would ever be the same again after what he’d listened to.

“Who the bloody hell is Helios?”

And there was that too, the freshest of them all.

Rubbing his eyes and yawning, a mental checking out process occurred for a couple of seconds. Christ did he need it too after the audible savagery he was forced to sit and listen to. It would only ever be a temporary departure from reality, but a few uninterrupted moments were better than none. If only he could have had an interrupted moment with-

“SHIT!”

The girls.

When they should have been in Derry, and more importantly at the Quinn’s by early afternoon at the latest, they were surely going to be concerned. From what he could remember from conversations gone by, Erin and Orla at the least were usually finished by two on a Friday and Clare sometimes could be done earlier than that. The last of the trio was the one that concerned him the most with her often overly dramatic reactions. If she kicked off, then Erin would start to panic and then her mother would find out and…

He needed to get hold of them.

Conveniently, much to his surprise, he looked down the road not thirty or forty yards and there was a phone box. Even more handily, he remembered there was some loose change in his wallet. More than enough for a quick call home.

Rushing to it and hoping that nobody would beat him inside the tight space, his luck made a reappearance. The Quinn’s phone number was implanted in his brain like a sequence of numbers from The Matrix. Punching them in enthusiastically after making his payment, he did not have to wait long for an answer.

“This is the Quinn residence, Miss McCool speaking”.

The voice on the other end of the line was familiar but not the tone nor the accent.

“Orla? Is that you?”

“JAMES!”

Returning to her normal voice, he was relieved. Even for her eccentric self, Orla sounded dead out of place in an almost Victorian brogue.

“Yes it’s me”.

“Of course it is, sure why would any other English fella be phonin’ this house!” Gleefully, she chuckled. “ERIN! ERIN!”

“ WHAT!”

A familiar voice called out in the background. James couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“It’s James! He’s on the phone!”

“What time are they comin’ over!? They were meant to have come hours ago, what’s the problem!?”

That smile soon faded when he could hear disappointment in her voice, even from a distance. Poking at his own annoyance for not being able to have spent more time back home she was and not just for his own project either, time with the girls meaning much more than any Uni coursework could ever hope to mean to him. When they’d gone from living in each other’s pockets to scant, short visits, every second with each other was significant.

“Sure, she does have a point, James. Has yer Aunt Deirdre got ye doin’ the washin’ or somethin’? I bet it’s dead easy now though aye, with just her and yer Uncle Martin?”

“No we’re erm… we’re not home yet. We’re… we’re in Limavady”.

“Limavady!? Well what are ye’s doin’ there?”

Orla’s theatrical questioning amused him, allowing him to take a breath, leaning back into the glass of the phone box. As good a question as any, he wished he could have asked himself and not found a single answer. The mess of what should have been a straightforward couple of hours journey from Belfast to Derry was a total shitshow of epic proportions. The thesaurus of vocabular possibilities ran dry when searching for a description of it all.

A farce. No two bones about it, it was a farce.

Explaining all that to Orla and at that, removing the bones analogy, would have only added to the frustration. Into layman’s terms he was going to have to put it.

“I’ve erm… I’ve had some trouble with my car. It’s getting fixed at a garage here this afternoon”.

“The car…”.

Orla started, but abruptly ceased. The reason for the stoppage became very clear when he heard a second voice ghost into the background, breaking both the sound and speed record as it did.

“The car… oh god… OH GOD… they must have been in a car accident! Is he alright!? Is Michelle alright!? Is he… is he phonin’ from the hospital… OH CHRIST ORLA, what if Michelle’s dead!?”

“No Clare, he sai-”.

“Orla, pass me over, I’ll talk to her”.

Interrupted a second time, the nature of the phone call meant he couldn’t see the dismay written across Orla’s face. She didn’t like being shunted to one side. Unfortunately, as far as the Englishman was concerned, it was for the greater good. There was no point in winding Clare up any further than she already was with the sort of unclear, ambiguous answers that she usually spouted.

“Hi Clare, it’s Ja-”.

“I know who it is!” She snapped in full cack attack. “Oh my god, oh my god, What the hell’s happened to ye! Where’s Michelle, why isn’t she talkin’! MICHELLE! MICHELLE! OH JESUS!”

“Clare, Clare, calm down”. Fighting against the tide, he tried to quell the panic. “Michelle’s absolutely fine. We weren’t in a crash or anything, I just need a new taillight”.

“But where is she!? What have ye done with her!? MICHELLE!”

“Can you’s keep it down!? This is a private house, not a farmer’s market!”

The dulcet tones of Mary Quinn also filtered through, another smile threatening to tug at the corner of his lips. Her fierce matriarchal power was a weapon of holy proportions, envisaging the sweat that would be pouring down Clare’s cheeks from falling foul of her. They might have all been in their twenties but there were few opponents more daunting than her on a bad day.

“There’s nothing wrong with Michelle, Clare, she’s-”.

“Put her on then!” Clare cut him off with the demand. “I am panickin’ so I am, I need to hear she’s alright!”

“I-I I can’t Clare, she’s erm… she’s in the shop getting a few things. She… she did say to say hello to you all, but she might be a while you see”.

Lying being the easier option, once again an act of the greater good was committed. For all he knew anyway, she could have been in the shops making a few purchases. Although he didn’t care for that matter; she was a grown up. She could do what she wanted, as long as it didn’t involve him for the foreseeable future.

“I swear to the almighty himself, James, ye better be tellin’ me the truth! How do I know she’s not dead in a ditch somewhere and ye’ve just left her to die!”

“Jesus Christ, Clare, would you calm down! It’s a minor problem with the car, neither of us are hurt!”

Four or five deep breathing exercises later, which left him bemused and unsure of whether or not to speak on the phone, she appeared to back on an even keel. He could only imagine the startled looks of Orla and Erin, if she was still there, as well as what must have been an unamused Mary.

“Alright, alright, I’m calm… I’m calm!”

“Good”. He spoke with utter relief, releasing a held breath. “Look, we’ve got to wait a bit longer until they can fix it so we’re not going to be there for a while”.

“What!? But what about our catchin’ up a-and our night out!”

“We can still go out, we won’t be that long I hope”. He dared to laugh, not the smartest thing to do. “The car should be done about half five and then we need to go home, see Aunt Deirdre and get something to eat and get ready but… but we should be there by seven-ish”.

“Seven… aye ok, seven that’s… that’s grand!”

“I wish we could have been there sooner but… we’ve had quite the day”.

Wryly laughing at the incredible understatement, he finally felt some sort of normality. The anger was gone, the frustration reducing by the second. Tiredness was a problem, an ache in the cranium under control yet still very much making its presence known. Something about hearing the voices of his friends and Erin’s ma cooled the raging blazes inside him.

Except towards Michelle. Those bridges were burnt and were not being rebuilt in a hurry, their interactions planned in his mind to be limited to the bare necessities to get home and not ruin the evening.

“What… what else has happened?”

Clare’s voice, teetering on the edge of shrieking, lifted him from his deep thoughts.

“We’ll… we’ll erm… we’ll tell you later. I’m sure you have things to do”.

“Aye ye can say that again, I have studyin’ to do and Orla has to put up a frame on the wall and-”.

“ERIN!”

Mary’s voice boomed so loudly, that she could have been stood next to the phone for all he knew. Wherever she was standing, it shut Clare up.

“Does Max need anythin’!?”

Max.

Of course, he was there. Of course, Mary was already willing to get him whatever he needed, a cup of tea or perhaps a meal if he so requested. Michelle’s description of the flawless, selfless individual that endeared himself to everyone suddenly didn’t seem so far-fetched. Mary’s judgement was basically spot perfect every single time when it came to new faces. He knew that himself, having been accepted into the fold in their household like he was part of the furniture.

Sadly, he was the old wooden chair with three legs in the corner, faded behind Max’s melodic piano. Trying to compare himself already seemed childish and daft, but those feelings were replaced with a sense of deep, dark defeat. He was the Derry City reserves, Max the Manchester United first team.

He bit back the emotion, not daring to show it in the phone box, let alone in front of the rest of the girls or her family.

Erin made some sort of reply to her mother, but he did not hear the words.

“James… James are ye still there?”

“Y-yes… yes Clare, I’m erm… I’m here”. He stuttered and stumbled into a reply.

“So we’ll see ye at seven then, aye?”

“Yep, seven. Don’t go without us!”

“’Course we won’t, yer a fella so ye’ll be buyin’ the first round!”

Surprise, surprise, he thought. Still, a gentleman he was and if that was their wishes, he would obey. The consequence of not doing so were too frightening to think of.

“Of course. See you later”.

“BYE JAMES!” Orla, who must have been listening in, shouted.

“Aye see ya James… a-and for the love of sweet sufferin’ Jesus, take care of yerselves!”

“We will Clare, don’t worry!”

A foolish statement to make when she absolutely would, he hung up, placing the phone back on its hook. His head also found a resting place on the glass, a moment of composure required. The girls could stop worrying and prepare for their arrival, and with any luck the events of the day could be put behind them with a night out to enjoy.

Apart from Max.

Painfully aware of how wrong he was to be annoyed by the fella’s presence, James couldn’t help himself. It was truly, truly aggravating, his head bumping on and off the panes to express his annoyance.

Perfection was supposed to be unachievable, but somehow Max was the master of it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Dodge… and how to get the hell out of it

Time still to be wasted, the nearby petrol station’s convenient sit in café was James’ saviour. Getting a nice warm cup of tea, he sat there for more than an hour, reading a couple of magazines that were left out. The contents didn’t really interest him that much at all but the more time it killed the better, half five seeming to take forever to come around.

Just after twenty-five past five he set off in the direction of the garage, taking a slow stroll down the road. Darkness had well and truly taken over, the path illuminated only by the streetlights. Traffic rumbled on past down the road, towards the junction at the very top of it where they’d originally came in from. His mind was already turning towards worries about driving home in the dark for miles on end, seventeen nerve wracking miles to go. Seventeen miles with an almost certainly volatile Michelle too. Once he’d found her that was.

Glancing through the gaps in the fence, there were far fewer cars left than there had been when he’d booked the car in at lunchtime. Opening late on a Friday night was never a popular thing amongst staff and he must have been the last person to come back to collect their vehicle, he assumed. They would surely be shutting up shop soon if the lack of activity said anything.

The temperature was starting to drop as well. Having swapped the trench coat for his normal jacket, the Englishman was feeling the effects of the cold somewhat. Deirdre would have chewed his ear off for being underdressed if she saw him, a lucky reprieve that she was back at home in Derry and not by his side. Then again, he would have done anything for her ability to keep Michelle under lock and key. His Aunt was a miracle worker in those terms.

The shutter doors to the garage were still open and he bypassed walking into the reception to walk directly towards the mechanics. The fella who’d spoke to him there earlier was present along with a couple of his colleagues, one of them flicking his head towards the approaching Englishman so that they all turned in unison.

“Yer back then”. The well-bearded mechanic addressed James, who’d stopped a few feet short of him.

“It’s about half five, isn’t it?”

“Aye that it is, that it is”.

The tone of the man’s answer was somewhat strange, but he thought no more of it. After all, there’d already been animosity shown from the man towards him, it was to be expected that he wouldn’t have changed his mind. A few pleasant manners and a pat on the shoulder for a job well done couldn’t erase centuries worth of trouble and hatred.

“I hope it wasn’t too much of a bother for you, I appreciate it wasn’t an ideal job”.

“Sure, the job was fine, so it was”. Scratching at his beard, the man replied. “Its nothing out of the ordinary for us, like”.

“No I suppose it’s erm… it’s not”.

“Not at all”.

Taking the wee English fella round to the back of the Volvo, it seemed he was keen to show off his handiwork. Complying wordlessly, James found himself smiling at seeing a job well done. The previously smashed to bits taillight was gone and a new one fitted, without any scratches on the bodywork around it. Diligent in their work even long into the evening, a feeling of thankfulness washed over him. Finally there was some justification in skipping Coleraine, albeit without his cousin present to witness it.

“That’s brilliant! Thank you!” He exclaimed.

“Aye it was a tough wee bastard to get out so it was, but we got there. Now let’s discuss yer payment”.

“Of course! Fifty, wasn’t it?”

Reaching into his pocket for his wallet, he began to take out the relevant notes, keen to make the payment, find Michelle and get going. Hanging around any longer in the cold of the garage wasn’t part of the plan, that was for sure. Fifty quid felt like a lot and was certainly more than he’d hoped to spend but unfortunately it was a case of needs must.

The payment handed over, the usual distrust showed once more as the fella counted the notes and even checked twice. There wasn’t going to be any funny business as far as he was concerned. He wasn’t getting himself short changed by an Englishman.

“Fifty aye… it was”.

“Then we’re all settled”. James breathed out comfortably. “Have you got the keys with you or-”.

“Not so fast, English. We’re not done just yet”.

Smiling wickedly, the bearded mechanic locked eyes with a startled James. It should have been so simple to just pick up the car and go, but like everything else, it was proving to be the opposite. Blinking rapidly, the wee English fella took note of the other mechanics taking a couple of steps towards him too, encasing him around the centre of the garage.

Trouble was most definitely afoot.

“Sorry I don’t understand”. He chuckled, his best diplomatic voice on too. “I’ve paid you for the taillight and that was all that needed doing. I-I don’t see what the problem is”.

“I tell ye what the problem is son!” The man raised his voice. “Years of yer lot comin’ here and oppressin’ us, that’s the problem! And you just waltz in here and ask me to fix yer car like none of it happened! The cheek on ye!”

“There’s no need to rake up the past-”.

“No need!? Aye ye would say that wouldn’t ye… but what about those of us who’ve suffered!?”

“Look, there’s no need for hostility”. Trying desperately to smooth the tension, James once again clocked the other mechanics moving. “I understand that you might not like me but all I asked for was for you to fix the taillight. If you didn’t want to do it, you could have asked me to leave”.

“Business is business, boy! But me and the lads had a wee chat after ye went earlier and… well, there’s some tax ye need to pay on top of that fifty”.

“Tax?”

“English Tax”.

Doing his best not to roll his eyes at the barb, he was beginning to realise that getting out of the garage with the car and in one piece was looking like a hell of a task. The mechanics grudges were more than enough to keep him in check and any physicality would leave him in a far worse position than them.

However, he wasn’t prepared to give in that easily. Not today.

“If you just give me the keys, I’ll be on my way”.

“Another fifty”. The bearded man replied with instead. “Double the price for the English, that’s what it is. Call it reparations for the years of shite yer lot put us through”.

“Don’t be ridiculous”. James scoffed.

“You fuckin’ what, boy!? You wanna say that again!?”

All three of the mechanics took great offence to the statement, not just the bearded fella who shouted back. That three soon became four too, when another who must have been in the loo suddenly appeared behind his colleagues. The physicality that James needed to avoid looked ominously more likely and he was already backing away, retreating at least a good few feet towards his driver’s door as they loomed over him.

His stomach gargled loudly as perspiration began to gather in his armpits.

“Let’s… let’s not…”.

“Typical!” One of the others piped up. “Ye see that boss, that’s an English! Wants to fuckin’ own the place but runs when ye give him some chest!”

“Too right! Now listen boy, you better get that extra fifty now or-”.

“OI!”

Booming out from the dark, barely lit exterior, another voice entered the fray.

Loud, domineering and full of anger, it was not a voice to be trifled with at all. It could have been seen by the Englishman to be another voice dissenting against him as it normally would be. The more the merrier to truly bury and compound what had been a totally miserable day of frustration and general suffering on his part.

However, the objection hadn’t been raised at him, he knew. No, it was raised at the men around him. Those who were antagonising him and trying to muscle him into handing over more money.

“Who the fuck are you!?” One of the men shouted. “Wee bitch, comin’ in here, not mindin’ yer own!”

A female voice it was that stopped them. One that none of the mechanics knew, but James knew all too well. Someone who he didn’t particularly want to speak to either.

“Leave him the fuck alone!” She argued. “Ye’ve done the job, he’s paid ye, what more’s do ye want!?”

“See that boys?” The bloke with the beard scoffed. “English here has to get his girlfriend to fight his battles!”

The four of them broke into a chorus of laughter, James’ cheeks glowing at a combination of the insinuation and his quietly brewing fury.

“OI!” Shouting again, she broke their concentration once more.

“Fuck off, ye wee whore! What we want with this dickhead is our business, not yers, so feckin’ sling it!”

Instinctively, the wee English fella’s fist curled into a ball at the derogatory way she was described. He could have described her as plenty of things that were far from complimentary, but never would he reach the desperate depths of despair to use such inflammatory language. Neither did he dare look back to see her though, still smarting from their own issues that had flared only hours earlier just a few hundred metres up the road.

At this point, she did have every reason to leave and try to find a bus or a taxi back home too. He would have to pay the additional tax and pray that there would be no further catches or clauses, and that all thirty two teeth he began the day with would still be there later.

“OI!”

That didn’t mean she was going to take up that right.

For a third time she shouted, a proper whirlwind of a howl that really got the backs of the four mechanics up. The bearded one took a step forward to lay another verbal volley back at her, but she was too quick for him this time, not allowing him the chance to land another slandering blow.

“My cousin might be a dickhead! A massive, massive fuckin’ dickhead, aye he is so!” Lecturing them, her finger jabbed in their direction, rage curdling. “But he is MY dickhead! MINE! So ye’ll be givin’ him the keys and we’ll be leavin’ right fuckin’ now!”

“Or what!?” The bearded fella mocked. “We’re fuckin’ quakin’!”

Confident as ever, she’d waited for his error. Disregarding any thought that she might have outthought them already, the bearded fella had made the fatal decision to mock Michelle Mallon. Cunning, devious and always a few steps ahead of the game Michelle Mallon, that was. On her day there was no one craftier, the Artful Dodger of the northwest.

The little smirk she gave meant absolutely nothing to them, but to her cousin, it told him all that he needed to know. He’d got used to the little nuances like that, the playful yet masterful smirks that indicated the next plot or escapade was about to take place. In turn, that also meant it was down to him, not for the first time too, to put a stop to her hellraising for the sake of them getting out of there.

“Michelle…”.

He called out limply, but she did not acknowledge it. Instead, she backed away, further out into the dark, under the watchful eye of the condescending mechanics.

“This yer Beamer?”

Pointing to the BMW tucked up against the front fence, her smirk grew wider and wider as his nerves increased ever so more. The floodgates of chaos were about to open, and he was trapped in the valley before them.

“Aye, what’s it to ye!?”

Yelling back, the bearded man took another few steps forward, now stood between the two cousins with his colleagues only a couple of paces off him.

“Shame!”

“Shame about what!?”

“Shame… I quite like the car, so I do, but… needs must!”

“Wh-”.

Confused, the man went to reply but didn’t find the words. That was because his eyes were drawn to her bending forward, retrieving an item off the ground. In the almost pitch black of his own forecourt, the boss couldn’t make out what she was holding, but Michelle wasn’t being shy with it. On the contrary, as a couple of seconds later, a flash in the moonlight illuminated enough of it for him to be able to identify the item.

Far too late at that point it was to do anything about it.

The metal bar had been a lucky find and placed perfectly in the path of the BMW that she’d hoped he owned. Out of the four cars left in the car park it was the flashiest, so one of them must have been the boss or the owner, she’d deduced. Whoever owned the Beamer was going to be the one paying for what they were trying to do to her cousin, regardless of whether they were the primary antagonist or not.

*SMASH!*

“NO! NO!”

With her aim true, in one swing Michelle had smashed a chunk out of the windscreen of the owner’s precious vehicle. The shuddering cracking of the glass splintered the man’s ears, prior expressions of menace and glee replaced by devastation. All his colleagues could do was look between themselves and him, unsure of how they were supposed to respond for a few seconds. They were caught completely flat-footed by her aggressive strategy, to the boss’s detriment.

Unsatisfied with just the one hit, she swung again as more grass cracked under the force of the metal piping, with a second hole added to the ever-weakening protective screen.

“NO! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” The boss roared, fists flailing.

“ANY FECKIN’ MORE!?” She shouted back at him, glaring intently. “Give him the keys now!”

“Don’t listen to that bitch, boss!”

“Aye, she’s feckin’ crazy, we need to deal with her right now!”

Agreeing with their sentiments, he growled himself back out of the confused trance he’d gotten himself into. He couldn’t let himself get bested by a woman who wasn’t much more than a teenager and a gobby young mare at that. Especially in front of his employees; he was meant to be tough.

Michelle had found his weakness though, his sporty looking Beamer, and as aggressive and nonchalant as ever, she was exploiting it exponentially.

*CRACK!*

“FUCK!”

His shout came after the event again, unable to stop yet more damage being done. Subconsciously both he and his staff had moved forward once again, James now behind them all but watching on with equal shock.

The windscreen was given a needed reprieve, but the drivers side wing mirror became the unfortunate victim to her deadly swing. Shorn clear off with one baseball-esque strike of the piping, it cannoned off the front fence and landed back by her feet as the car’s owner shrieked.

“STOP! FUCKIN’ STOP!”

“GIVE HIM THE KEYS!” She demanded again, the piping held aloft. “He gets the keys, I stop batterin’ yer heap of shite Beamer and we’ll get the fuck out of here!”

“Boss…”

“NOW!”

Michelle made to swing again, this time at the driver’s side window, hoping to damage…

“ENOUGH!” The boss stopped her mid strike, reaching into his pocket to retrieve them. “Here’s yer keys, ye limey cunt!”

Launching them at the still frozen James, the wee English fella didn’t have time to catch them as they caught him square on the nose instead. A timid howl of pain followed too, though he smartly ignored it any longer to grab the keys from the now chilly floor.

Ahead of him, the mechanics slowly made their way out of the garage and towards the boss’s car, prompting Michelle to move too. Bar or no bar, she wasn’t going to beat all four in a fight and more importantly to her, she wasn’t getting her arse kicked for the sake of James’ Volvo. Doing anything for him was a stretch at the best of times.

The four of them stuck to their left as she stuck to hers, circling each other, eyes never straying far from their set positions. Assessing the damage to the BMW was their intention but it was secondary compared to waiting for a chance to grab her and teach her a lesson. Justice was theirs to uphold and all of them were silently, wordlessly agreeing with each other to do so. They would make sure she got what she deserved and then move onto the Englishman too, who would get whatever that was tenfold.

Michelle was a tough customer though and their window of opportunity was non-existent. Stalking each other’s movements so pitifully slowly might have afforded such time normally but within half a minute she was standing at the garage entrance as they stood by the stricken Beamer. She’d locked eyes with the bearded boss, who was seething utter fury at her in return for smashing up his pride and joy. The hatred and contempt he felt for the pair of them in his garage was biblical.

Eventually she did break the stare first, with one final searing look to try ward off any more action on their part. Turning on her heel quickly she looked up to find James stood paralysed to the spot with keys in hand, in a completely different world on the face of it.

“Get in!” She shouted at him.

“Erm… yeah… yes… I-I I will”.

Woken from his daze, James rammed the key into the lock and jumped in, his mind kicking him back to a few hours earlier in Ballycastle. Adrenaline began to pump its way through previously frozen veins.

Running over to the passenger’s door, she ignored the shouting behind her from the mechanics who were discovering the extent of what she’d done. Their already late night looked to be getting a lot later with another repair needing to be complete, the boss being the most apoplectic of all. Their attention was diverted back to the two youngsters though and keeping them within the boundaries of the garage to teach them a lesson.

Jumping into her seat, Michelle reached out to close the door, only to be violently thrown forward, nearly cracking her head off the dashboard. Twisted at an angle, she tumbled backwards over the centre console, finally coming to rest on the shoulder of James’ seat.

“JESUS!” She roared as they shot out of the garage. “Ye could have given me some warnin’!”

It had only taken a couple of seconds, but James had gone from deer in the headlights to getaway driver, pushing her off the shoulder of the seat too, back towards the open door.

“OI GET BACK HERE!”

Stomping his way out towards them, one of the mechanics shouted them down, before jumping out of the way to avoid being hit by the still open door. The car turning quickly to the right, it nearly came all the way open, but Michelle’s hand firmly gripped onto it to bring it back under control, yanking it in one final tug to seal it shut as James steered to the left.

Taking a breath after being buffeted from one side to the other, when she looked up, her heart was back in her mouth again. The usual sensible, boring and slow driver James wasn’t the one at the wheel next to her but a deranged madman. Without bothering to check for traffic he shot out into the road, turning to the right, nearly taking out the oncoming car whose driver thumped on his horn in a mix of fright and anger.

“What the actual fuck, James!” She shouted at him again. “Ye could have killed us!”

“We have to get away!” Shouting back, he glanced over in the dark at her. “What if they start chasing us! I’m not taking that risk!”

“Ye don’t need to, I-”.

“Yes I do!”

Cutting her off loudly, the terror was evident in his voice. For a second time in the same day, he was faced with being pursued by at least one if not more vehicles this time, and both times it was down to Michelle. Although he had his own part to play the second time, thanks to his troublesome English accent, he wasn’t the one going around smashing car windows and breaking off wing mirrors. Getting back to the comfort of Derry and its walls had gone from being their objective for the day to their objective of survival.

“No ye don’t James, loo-… FUCK!”

Interrupted again, without her belt on still, Michelle was sent flying into the passenger’s side window. Sharply, James had made a left turn at the T junction they came to, and with her weight already over that side whilst reaching to belt up, she was left on a collision course. Luckily for her, it wasn’t as fickle as the bearded fella’s Beamer and did not break when she made contact with it.

“James, calm yourself, for fuck’s sake!”

“CALM!? CALM! I AM CALM!” Chanting away, his wild eyes turned back to her as she raised herself away from the window. “But forgive me Michelle, if I am slightly concerned that four grown men might be chasing after us because you smashed the fucking windows of that bloke’s car!”

“I saved yer fuckin’ arse, is what I did!” Biting back, she reminded him promptly. “And no one’s goin’ to be fuckin’ chasin’ us, I slashed all their fuckin’ tyres!”

“You did what!?”

“You deaf or what!? I slashed their fuckin’ tyres. That Beamer and all the other fuckin’ cars. Unless they’ve got a fuckin’ helicopter in that back shed of theirs, we’re grand, so slow the f-… JAMES!”

Screaming out his name with her belt still not applied, Michelle could only hold on for dear life at another one of his puzzlingly dangerous moves. Clearly not listening to her words and going way over the speed limit, he’d pulled out violently to the right to overtake the solitary car on the road in front of them. At the same time, a car was approaching from the other direction and its driver was left slamming the brakes on in order to avoid smashing into them headlong.

In his efforts to getaway from Limavady, it appeared that James was going to be taking them six feet under with his recklessness.

“Will you fuckin’ listen to me, James! Ye nearly feckin’ killed us AGAIN and-”.

Once again interrupted, this time her cousin wasn’t the cause. It was the blue flashing lights that suddenly lit up behind them, causing the pair of them to suspend all other thoughts.

James really wasn’t paying attention to anything other than running. He’d overtaken a Police car.

His blood ran cold.

Michelle’s head went into her hands.

“You feckin’ eejit…”.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: License to thrill

“SHIT!”

Only a second or two after pulling up at the side of the road, James’ emotions were let go, thumping the steering wheel with his left hand as he swore. As he did, he began to turn the engine off before the officer told him to, wanting to at least start with a fighting chance of still being able to go home that night. Recklessly overtaking the cops whilst going far too far over the speed limit wasn’t exactly something that was usually let go so easily but he could try at least.

“Don’t fuckin’ start shoutin’ now, ye shoulda feckin’ listened to me!” Michelle jumped in to hammer him again. “Why the fuck did ye lose yer shite like that! Even if they did chase us, we’d have been feckin’ way out of sight before they started, so we would!”

“They would have killed us!”

“Aye but ye nearly did a grand job of that yerself, James! How the fuck am I meant to explain this to Mammy!? And the girls, they’ll think yer a right eejit!”

“Right now Michelle, I think we have a lot bigger FUCKING problems that Aunt FUCKING Deirdre and the FUCKING GIRLS!”

Erupting with verbal lava, James smacked the steering wheel again as he shouted, leaning over at Michelle forcefully too. So much so that she was backing herself up into the corner of her seat, noticing yet more red, rageous streaks in his eyes. A trawl through the yellow pages for her to find the best anger management councillor out there was looking like it needed to come sooner rather than later with the state of him.

“Problems that you made! I tell ye what James, I am not savin’ yer ar-”.

*Tap Tap*

The cousins both went stiff as boards for a second at the knocking on the window, their bickering time stopped by the arrival of the Copper. Only affording himself a second’s hesitation, the wee English fella’s right arm shot out to the lever, yanking at it to wind the driver’s side window down as he’d been asked to.

As soon as it was all of the way down, a panicked and frightened James almost jumped out of his seat, arms flung into the air.

“PLEASE DON’T SHOOT ME!” Eyes closed, he shouted.

“What!?” The man and Michelle both replied in unison, before she continued. “Calm yer feckin’ hole James, he’s not goin’ to shoot ye!”

“I know I was driving dangerously but please spare me officer! I don’t want to die!” James continued to blindly fret, ignoring her.

“I’ve not even got a gun”. The officer confirmed Michelle’s words, a puzzled look on his face. “Open yer eyes and see for yerself, son”.

Timidly, he slowly complied with the instruction, right eye half-opening to check as a start. With no firearm pointing through the window of the vehicle upon first inspection, his eyes started to fully open, looking up to the Police officer’s face.

Getting a good look at the fella, he appeared to be around middle aged, and luckily for the two of them, not an officer they could remember meeting before. Clean shaven, clean spoken and with an air of authority, he looked every bit like a proper Copper and not an inexperienced patrolman. A letter of the law looking individual was what he was, removing any hope in at least James’ mind that they might be able to talk their way out of any further action. For all he’d said about Niall earlier in the day, it appeared he was going to be making a similar journey down the criminal path. Albeit without the body count his other cousin achieved.

“See, no gun”. The fella dipped his head to his side, James swallowing and nodding. “Can show me yer license please, son?”

“Y-yeah… yes! Yes! Hold on a second, I just need to-”.

“Take yer time”.

They’d pulled off the main road onto a quiet side road, the officer comfortable with giving the orders whilst stood in the roadway. A couple of cars did pass from behind but on seeing the still flashing lights of his patrol car, they steered well clear anyway. Waiting for the Englishman to get his license, his hands went back underneath the protective jacket he wore, for a bit of warmth more than anything.

Inside the vehicle, Michelle was forced back into the seat as James leaned over her to get to the glovebox. His head was nearly in her lap as he started to rifle through it to pull out his driver’s license, his curls obstructing her vision. If anyone they knew happened to pass and look through her window at them, she’d have been dead broke to say the least.

“Got it!” He exclaimed quietly.

“Thank fuck…”. She muttered.

Shutting the glovebox, he leaned back over to pass the officer his license, sitting back up to attention in order to look as co-operative as he could.

Shining a torch on his license, the officer perused it momentarily, leaving James to sweat through the fabric of the seat. He’d rather have been dragged out and thrown onto the tarmac than the longer, drawn-out process that the officer was conducting. At least he would have been arrested immediately then, albeit probably grazing his knees in the process.

“Mr Maguire…”. The officer spoke his name slowly, clicking the torch off. “I take it ye know why I stopped ye?”

“Y-Yes… Yes, Sir”. A shaking James replied.

“Any reason for ye overtakin’ me at high speed and nearly causin’ a major accident with that car on the other side of the road?”

“I-I… I… well it’s… I-I…”.

“That’s a no, isn’t it, son?”

“Erm… no?”

Shivering, practically on the verge of crying, James stared wildly at the officer, awaiting whatever the punishment was going to be. Next to him, Michelle tried to remain as serious as she could in looking across at the officer but was holding back the laughter too at her cousin’s scared kitten-like performance. He did know how to make an idiot of himself sometimes and she was more than ready to take the piss despite the fact there was a Police officer at the window.

“Ye’ve not only put yerself in danger by doin’ that, son, but me and the driver of that other vehicle!” The copper started to reprimand him. “Do ye not drive often? Can ye not remember the rules of the road?”

“I-I… it-it’s hard to explain, Sir… I-I…”.

“Yer tryin’ to impress yer girlfriend here, I get it, but that-”.

“Cousin!” Michelle yelled out, before dropping to a mutter. “The fuck’s up with everyone thinkin’ we’re together…”.

“Cousin, then”. The officer disdainfully grumbled in her direction. “Whatever the case is, ye can’t be drivin’ like that and putting people’s lives in danger. Yer a young man and yer cousin here’s a young woman too. We can’t be havin’ you’s losin’ yer lives so young ‘cos ye can’t respect the road”.

Nodding while barely able to hold his breath, James took the officer’s words in. He was right, as the Cops always were; he was putting people’s lives at risk by driving so poorly. It was reasonable in the moment, the threat of being chased by the raging mechanics justification for speeding away without another thought. He valued his own life after all, and they certainly were beyond the stage of diplomacy that was required to have a civil conversation.

Explaining that situation to the officer was out of the question though, not that it would have made much difference to any potential punishment he might face. The Cops were hardly in the business of accepting such tales and letting people go because of them. Michelle smashing up the Beamer would get her into bother as well and as much as he might have felt right to bring her down with him, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. She wasn’t the one behind the wheel, so it was up to him to take the law’s lesson.

“What… what’s my p-punishment, officer”. He swallowed thickly, blinking rapidly.

“Well son, ye leavin’ me with a real predicament here, so ye are. I should be haulin’ ye out of this car and down the station, so I should. But yer a young fella who’s made a mistake and I’ve been around a few years, so I have. Is it up to me to have it followin’ ye around with ye everywhere ye go, stoppin’ ye gettin’ jobs?”

“Aye ye should go easy on him officer”. Michelle piped up in his defence, James looking over at her in surprise. “He’s had it tough so he has, his Mammy doesn’t love him”.

“Michelle!”

“What!? It’s true, so it is. She left him with the family, so she did, officer and he’s got all sorts of issues. It’s actually quite heartbreakin’”.

Wanting to throttle her again for talking about his mum in front of others, James’ hands fidgeted restlessly. When there was an officer at the window beside him, he had to be careful what he said or did and laying a hand on Michelle would guarantee the arrest he really didn’t want. Smarting visually, he would have to tough out another brutalisation of his relationship with his mum.

“He needs anger management, he swears like ye wouldn’t believe…”. Comically, Michelle began holding up her fingers to count the problems. “… he gets scared easily, he doesn’t know how to talk to girls…”.

“Alright that’s enough, Miss?”

“Mallon”.

“That’s enough then, Miss Mallon”. The officer sternly rebuked her. “Problems or not, yer lack of respect for yer fellow drivers and the road isn’t on, Son”.

“I-I know, Sir. I’m very sorry, Sir”.

“Don’t ye be apologisin’ to me now. It’s yerself ye should be disappointed with! Is this yer first time in trouble with the law?”

Anyone would love to be able to say they’d never been in trouble before at any age, and at such a young age, he should have been able to say that to the officer. Sadly, it would have been a complete lie. The shenanigans of the five of them had seen them skirt very close to the wind at times, and with the theft of the school’s computers, literally into the palm of the Cops’ hands. Strangers to the inside of a station, they were not.

“Not… not exactly, Sir”.

“But the first time with yer drivin’, aye?” The officer looked to confirm.

“Yes… yes first time with driving, Sir”. James nervously responded. “The other time it was all a bit of a misunderstanding you see, we didn’t do any-”.

“Save me the theatrics, Mr Maguire, I’m only interested in what’s happened tonight”. Interrupting, the officer leant in through the window slightly to look at him. “See, if I let ye go tonight son and ye cause an accident then its on my conscience. I can’t let my negligence put other road users at risk, can I?”

“No… no you can’t, Sir a-and I understand that you have a job to do”.

“Jesus…”. Michelle mumbled, leaning against her window.

“I don’t want to ruin yer future chances though son, so I’m not goin’ to arrest ye tonight and ye don’t have to come back to the station with me”.

Rearing up with surprise, James stared back blankly for a few seconds, unable to believe his luck. He was at the mercy of the officer and would have had to accept whatever was dished out when he’d broken the law. Only in the vaguest glimmer of hope could he envisage a scenario where he wasn’t being taken to the station, but reality appeared to be reflecting such a dream. Equally shocked, Michelle turned her focus on the two of them, wearing an expression that almost matched her cousin’s.

“I-I don’t?” The still stunned James blurted out.

“No, like I say, ye don’t have to come back to the station”. The officer replied gently. “But ye are goin’ to have to find another way home tonight as I’ll be havin’ yer car towed, so I will”.

“What!?”

The first to react, Michelle forgot who she was talking to as she shouted. Anticipating her reaction, the officer forced back a smile, before calmly explaining his course of action.

“I’m sorry Miss Mallon, but I think yer cousin here needs to have a wee bit of reflection on his driving, so he does. I’m goin’ to impound the car for the night and in the mornin’, he can come and pick it up once we’ve had a good chat about lessons bein’ learnt”.

“Ye can’t just toss me out! I didn’t do nothin’!”

“I can’t leave ye in the car either, Miss Mallon, so ye’ll have to go with him, so ye will. Now where is it that the two of you’s are goin’, ye might make one of the later buses if ye get a shift on”.

“Derry”.

“Londond-”.

As James went to give the city its full title at the same time, she reached across and struck him on the arm to put him in his place. Watching on, the officer couldn’t help but chuckle at her thumping him back into line. Between cousins, it certainly couldn’t be deemed an assault.

“Derry ye say”. The officer remarked, chortling. “I used to know a woman with the last name Maguire there years ago, would ye know”.

“Probably yer Ma…”. Michelle whispered to an annoyed James, who scowled back. “What? Mammy said she used to put herself about”.

“I’m a Derry man meself originally, so I am”. Yapping away, the officer started to monologue. “God, it must have been twenty year or more, so it must. We were seein’ each other at the time so we were, no more older than yerselves I suppose. Ach, we were nothin’ but stupid wains back in those days. I certainly didn’t think I’d be a Copper, aye”.

“What happened?”

Invested in the story, Michelle asked a question to further it. Or at least, she appeared to be invested from what the wee English fella could see.

In fact, she couldn’t care any less about the fella’s Derry past, but the longer she kept him talking and doing so sweetly, the more chance she hoped he might have of changing his mind. She wasn’t paying for a bus back to Derry or a Taxi, absolutely no chance. By hook or by crook, James was getting them back there in the Volvo and she wasn’t going to be hauling her luggage any more than the few metres it would be from his car to her bedroom at home.

“She… she moved away”. He answered, a tinge of sadness in his tone, at the same time raising her brows. “All the lads at the pub kept tellin’ me she was off with some other fella anyway, but I didn’t believe a word until one day she just… went”.

Michelle’s eyes were out on stalks, as James too started to think seriously about what was being said. She looked at him with urgency as well, trying to stir James into connecting all of the pieces together, but he wasn’t quite on the same wavelength.

“It’s one of the reasons I think I became a Copper actually. Needed somethin’ else to focus on other than what I couldn’t have. That’s why I came out here to Limavady and well, here I am, pullin’ people like Mr Maguire here over for drivin’ dangerously”.

“Where did she move to?” Michelle enquired determinedly.

“To England… if ye… if ye know what I mean”.

Michelle’s heart nearly joined her eyes out in the middle of the road, more pieces coming together that gave an answer she was almost certain of. Her Aunt did enjoy putting herself about a bit, but it was one hell of a shot in the dark to find one of the many fellas she’d bedded, in the situation that they were in. Especially the one who could be responsible for… it almost was too good to be true.

Starting to come to a similar conclusion, James swallowed grimly. If he was right, then so was Michelle, guaranteeing him that he would never hear the end of it. His mum’s name would be hauled though the mud again as well, culminating in an evening full of it when the girls were told about it. All with the added blunt lining of having Erin’s fella Max potentially join in the bombardment too.

“Was her name Kathy?” Michelle, pitch raising, asked another question.

“Aye… aye Katherine Maguire, aye that’s… that’s… do you know her? Is she related to you’s?” He returned fire rapidly with questions of his own.

“That’s his Mammy, so it is!”

Shouting out almost excitedly, Michelle couldn’t quite believe it. It wasn’t too good to be true at all; it genuinely was true that her Aunt used to ride the fella. The odds were crazy, the story crazier, yet somehow it all made sense when welded up.

Still, that was nothing compared to a shellshocked James. Various emotions of his had been stretched and tested throughout the journey, but new ones were committed to the fight late in the day unexpectedly. Meeting a bloke who’d slept with his mum in the past wasn’t anything new, there’d been enough of them before and during his time with his stepdad in London, but it didn’t make it any easier. And from so long ago too, from probably before he was…

The second the thought entered his head, it appeared to have entered the officer’s too. Remembering that he still had James’ license in his hand, the reawakened torchlight shot onto it as he looked at one very specific detail.

“Seventy nine…”. He muttered in shock.

“Can tell why yer not a detective…”. In the background, Michelle mumbled to herself.

“That…”.

“That means…”. James started but stopped. “You…”.

The conclusion that she’d already reached, both James and the Copper came to simultaneously. For the latter, the dates pinballed around his head. From when she’d left compared to the date of his birth… there could only be one explanation. Then there was the English accent of the fella he’d pulled over too, probabilities all fusing together to write a shocking tale.

“Oh… my… god…”.

Stepping back away from the Volvo into the middle of the road, the officer’s face was one of pure horror. He didn’t even notice the car he nearly walked out in front of, which swerved to avoid him. The motorists of Limavady were having a night of constant terror thanks to James first and now one of their local cops, who was in another realm. Lost in the thought of who James could be to him, he simply stared forward, paying no attention to his surroundings.

Matching him for surprise, the Englishman slowly turned his head to the left to look at Michelle. Her brows were still shot right up, almost hyperventilating from what she was hearing.

“Holy fuck!” She screeched, a hint of laughter behind her. “I don’t actually fuckin’ believe it! What the actual fuck!”

“I-I… I…”.

Speechless, James couldn’t think of an adequate response. There was every chance that the officer stood not a few feet away from him could be his…

“The fuck’s he doin’ now!?”

Brought out of his thoughts by Michelle, he followed her eyeline over his shoulder to see the Cop slowly walking back towards the patrol car. They were meant to be being chucked out of the car and he was supposed to be impounding the vehicle, but instead he was going the other way. Walking like he’d been hit square in the face by a cannonball, his expression hidden from them, but one of utter shellshock at that. What should have been a regular traffic stop had turned into so, so much more.

“I-I… I don’t…”. James still couldn’t find the words.

“He’s fuckin’ off, so he is! Christ but he must be dead broke to find it out that he’s got an English s-”.

“We don’t know that!” Finding the words all of a sudden, James promptly silenced her. “He just… he just knows my mum, that’s all! We don’t know if he… if he…”.

“Wise up, James, he was shiteing the tights about it! Did ye not see his face!?”

“I guess he was shocked, I-I don’t know, Michelle! Just because he knew my mum back then, doesn’t mean that there’s anything more to it! He’s jumping to conclusions”.

“Yer Mammy jumped on him and yer the feckin’ conclusion!” She raised her voice, a look of dismay shot back at her. “Alright let’s just… let’s just go”.

“We can’t just leave, Michelle! He’s probably phoning for the company to come and tow the car away! I’ve broken enough laws tonight! I’m not breaking anymore!”

Returning somewhat to his senses, the wee English fella adamantly sat back, retrieving his license that the officer dropped back through the window as he became startled. However, she wasn’t going to stand for them sitting there when a golden ticket back home opened up from the chaotic culmination of the Copper’s realisations.

“Fuck that! He’s fuckin’ distracted James, let’s get the fuck out of her! If he is-”.

“We don’t know that!” James reiterated, fists clenched.

“But if he is, then there’s fuck all chance he’s reportin’ ye, so there is! If we get goin’ now, then we can forget this fuckin’ happened and enjoy our night out with the girls! Come on, ye know we should!”

Reluctantly, his mind was starting to agree with her. His conscience still screamed for him to stay put, but his head picked that moment to remind that the same conscience went missing when he made the choice to speed off from the garage. Getting as far away from Limavady as possible, just like how he’d tried to get as far from Ballycastle as quickly as possible, was the overwhelmingly greater plan.

“Alright… alright… let’s… let’s go”. He unconvincingly decided, passing her the license. “Glovebox, please”.

“Fine”. She yanked it out of his hand, grumbling. “But don’t you start bossin’ me around now, ye hear!?”

“Put your belt on”.

Biting her inner cheek, she resisted the ever present need to have a go back and belted up. After all, the lack of belt previously nearly saw her thrown from the car. If James was going to continue to drive so stupidly, the protection was very much needed.

Pulling away slowly onto the clear road, neither of them dared to look back at the Copper, who sat motionless in his car watching them leave.

Finally, the seventeen miles back to Derry in the dark were being traversed.

But with more baggage than they started with.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: Dialogue

For miles there was nothing but the sweet sound of silence in the Volvo. Words did not pass between cousins, nor did the tense atmosphere that permanently accompanied them, disintegrate. It was as if neither dared to speak after all that happened, rather than there not being anything to actually say.

Mentally shot after all of the trials and tribulations that the day brought him, all James could focus on was covering the last miles home to Derry. Every signpost illuminated by his headlights saw the numbers of miles to go fall, a low hum of satisfaction running through him each time that they came across one. The night out ahead of them was looking more of a chore than a social outing, though he held onto the dying flame of belief that a couple of drinks down the hatch would ease him into a more playful mood.

A quiet night in alone would have been the most optimal solution, but that would never wash. He missed the girls and, deep down, the company of people to socialise with. So much of his time was spent dedicated to his studies and to moping around after losing Hayley, that a snap in the chain became a colossal need as opposed to a frustrating detriment.

On the other hand, Michelle still wore a face of utter shock after the encounter with the officer in Limavady. She didn’t carry the worries of her cousin about the night out nor did she need alcohol to particularly loosen her up. What she desired most were the right words to tackle the taboo subject that had arisen, without causing yet another argument between them. Their tension had to give before they got home, or else they faced Deirdre’s vicious unending wrath.

But she was also Michelle Mallon. Precisely picking her way through a minefield of his emotions and taking his feelings into consideration, were techniques she simply lacked.

“Holy fuck…”. Some miles into their trip, she finally spoke. “That fella he… he…”.

“I don’t want to talk about it”. Almost upon reflex, he replied, shutting her down.

Glancing across at her cousin, she introspected deeply in order to see what he was truly thinking.

On the face of it, the wee English fella could have been passed off as concentrating on the road during a journey in the dark of the night. He absolutely was too, whilst shielding the unexpected emotional bottle that had been burst open by what the Copper seemingly revealed. Never before did his paternal parentage properly come up in conversation, another point of conversation like Niall that didn’t make the dinner table nor any chats with the girls.

It was one of those facts of life that was intensely private to him. Or at least until fifteen minutes or so prior to where they were now on the road, where the house of cards came crashing down.

“James, ye can’t jus-”.

“I can just… I can”. Swallowing hard, his stare remained fixed forward. “Let’s just go home and try to salvage what’s left of the day”.

“James…”.

“I’m fine! There’s not much further to go, we’ll be there soon”.

Cautiously nodding, she could feel the eggshells she walked on cracking around her. Blunt and brash was her only plan, and when the boldness of her approach didn’t pay off, there was little in the way of alternatives stacked up in reserve. Although they might have been fairly close to home, the thought of covering the last few miles on foot in the dark really could not appeal any less to her.

As defeated as she might have felt for a moment however, she wasn’t about to throw the metaphorical towel in so easily. There wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance that they were going out for the night whilst the mood between them still existed as it did.

“Pull over, James”. She instructed a few moments later, thoughts having been gathered.

“What?” He responded brusquely. “I just said we’re nearly there, I’m not stopping!”

“Just pull over!”

“And where am I meant to do that, Michelle!? We’re on a duel carriageway and its dark, I can’t just bloody stop!”

The second the words left his mouth, a new signpost came into view that dealt a blow to his objections. A parking sign, small and blue, indicating that there was somewhere to pull in just a half mile or so ahead of them. Triumphantly smirking by his side, Michelle turned her victorious look upon him.

“So?”

“Alright, fine… you win. I’ll pull in”.

Responding whilst still focusing on the road, he knew not to glance over, or it would have just pissed him off more. Michelle’s childish grinning at getting yet another one over on him was poison rather than remedy and though stopping when they were so close to home made little sense in his mind, he knew better than to go against the request.

The pull in was more of a hard shoulder, the way in which it stretched, though luckily they were the only ones there. Fairly quiet for a Friday night, it seemed as if the rush to get home after a week of hard work was over.

“Go on then, get it over with”. He spoke dismissively, not bothering to look across towards her.

“Are you seriously not bothered about this!?” Michelle, by contrast, engulfed. “That fella could be yer Da, James!”

“Could be…”.

“James! I mean it, this is fucking massive!”

“Is that all you have to say, because if it is, we’re going again”.

Reaching out with keys in hand towards the ignition, he was stopped by Michelle grabbing at him. She was not going to let him get away without a good chat about, not a chance. To her, this was monumental.

“James!”

“What!? Why is this so bloody important to you Michelle! We don’t know anything, it could just all be a massive coincidence”.

“Clearly he knows yer Mammy!” She argued back fairly.

Huffing, the wee English fella leant back into his seat, folding his arms. That was a point he could not contend with, not truly. As much as what both he and the fella might have thought, could turn out not to be true, it was rather obvious that he’d had a relationship with his mum years earlier. Katherine and Maguire might have both been common names, but there was only one Katherine Maguire from Derry. Only one that fit the description anyhow.

“Alright fine, yes he probably knew my mum once but what does it matter!? I’m not bothered about it, it’s… it’s fine”. He stuttered.

“Yer face said fuckin’ otherwise back there! Has she never spoken to ye about yer real Da!?”

“Why would she need to? There was my stepd-”.

“He was only around for a couple of years, that’s why ye told me!” She cut him off mid-sentence. “I’d want to know who my Da is, what if he’s rich!? What if it turned out yer Da was fuckin’ famous, ye’d well fuckin’ popular, so ye would. And Christ do ye need it to!”

“Someone that famous wouldn’t want to acknowledge a b- a…”.

“A bastard?”

Correctly describing the situation, she bit into him savagely. The cold, crisp delivery of her words was not meant to be hurtful, rather swift and to the point, but the squirming, bitter look plastered across his features showed how he’d taken it to heart. There was no escaping the title though; it was what he was.

“Yes, a bastard”. His tone reflected his facial baulking. “And no, I’ve never asked mum and she’s never told me. What’s the point anyway, it was years ago… I’ve turned out okay without him”.

“A hell of a fuckin’ low bar ye’ve set for okay there…”.

Mocking him again, her throwaway comment only annoyed him further.

Nothing was being done on her part to ease the tense, fraught atmosphere between them, even though she was just as aware as he was that they needed to sort it out before they got home. Although he didn’t like it, James once again forced himself to sit there and take her abuse until she became bored of it or got the answer she wanted.

He couldn’t really win, whichever way it was sliced.

“What if he is yer Da…”. She started again, holding a hand up to stop him when he went to speak. “He seemed like a decent fella. Wouldn’t it be right to know for sure, ye know, put it to bed, like?”

“Its not an issue that needs addressing!” Frustration showing, James shouted. “Fault her all you want but mum raised me mostly on her own for years! I know my stepdad came along but before then she was on her own in a place she didn’t know, with a child to look after and no bloody sign of any Dad for me! Why didn’t that bloke try and find her if he cared so much about her!? Why should he have the chance to only give a shit now!?”

“Ye don’t know what his reasons are! Besides, if he chased after yer Mammy to England, people would start talkin’! His family would have suffered so they would, ye know how it always is!”

“He could have tried! You don’t know how hard it was for mum when I was little… the pressure, the long hours, the… the meetings, the-”.

“Meetin’s?” Michelle scoffed. “Ye mean the nights she went off shaggin’ and left ye on yer own!”

In an instant his head span round to meet hers, a piercing glare icily turned on her. Crossing the line of acceptability once more, she’d awakened the rageous flames that he’d brought to bare back in Limavady. She really didn’t know enough about his early years to make such a comment, but it wouldn’t stop Michelle when her Aunt Kathy was involved. The contempt she held for her was truly incredible, far more so than her own mother who treated her sister much more civilly even if she did detest her.

As ever though, it was he who faced his mother’s wrongdoings rather than the woman herself. Left to defend her honour with the love he would always hold for her, yet another argument loomed. Internally battling with himself not to put a hand through the window, his short, shallow breaths caught her attention.

“It’s true, James!”

“I FUCKING KNOW ALRIGHT!”

With one final prod, the devil awoke from his slumber. Slamming his fist down, skin was scraped off as knuckle met steering wheel in a bone crunching collision.

“I’m not fucking thick, Michelle! I know she was out having sex, hell I probably even knew when I was five that she was out having fun with men, despite not knowing what ‘fun’ was! Some nights she did work late but there were other nights she stayed! Other nights I stayed up until the early hours waiting for her to come home! Did you know that!?”

“No…”. Prickly swallowing, her answer was tame in reply.

“But she always looked after me too. There were always trips out a-and I always had a new school uniform every year! You might not think so, but I know she’s always loved me!”

“That doesn’t mean she was right to not tell ye about yer Da, James! Did the other kids at school not think it was weird ye didn’t have a Da?”

“Of course they fucking did!” A still seething James shouted again. “Mum always told me to ignore them because I had her! She’s never let me dow-”.

“Oh fuck that, yes she has! What about leavin’ ye with us? Not comin’ to visit ye? Buyin’ expensive shite to make up for her not bein’ there for ye! She’s not a fucking saint, James!”

“BUT SHE’S MY MUM!”

The window panes shook, such was the force behind the statement. Reaching near breaking point from the constant flak, the Englishman fought with himself to not reach over and shake his cousin until she shut her mouth. In the corners of his eyes, the tears grew too from the emotional turmoil he was being thrown into once again. Worst of all, the droplets were mostly formed not from his anger with Michelle but because of how right she was.

At every turn he defended his mum’s honour, if it could be called that. Her heroic struggle to provide for him wasn’t a tale of brilliance or a reward for hard effort. They’d survived throughout the years of living in London, eventually having thrived, especially when his stepdad came along. Indeed, she was not a saint as his cousin quite rightly pointed out.

By having him she was a sinner, at no point ever returning to the light.

Yet it was still not enough to deter his noble quest to fight her corner as the only son. The only one who would defend her.

“You’re so bloody lucky to have a mum like Aunt Deirdre, Michelle!” Ranting again, his eyes remained fixed on her, a couple of tears dribbling out. “You might think she’s too strict or too hard on you, but she’s a good woman! She loves you a-and cares for you a-and puts you first! We can all have different dads or stepdads, but we only ever get one Mum. So yes, my mum might not be the best parent in the world and maybe she hasn’t treated me right… but that’s the hand I’ve been dealt, Michelle! I have to love and accept her for what she is, what fucking choice do I have!?”

Braced for the usual impact of a verbal mortar across the plains of his emotions, all James was given in the following seconds was silence.

He’d climbed down to the depths of despair to pour his heart out, but it shouldn’t have mattered. Michelle was meant to be ready with a brutal take down that set him back into place, the whipping boy for her desires to be taken out on. The role he hated, though nonetheless played to appease.

Except now the tears jumped across the gap between them and filled her eyes briefly, before they too trickled down her cheeks. Anticipating the complete opposite, he’d in fact tore down the great battlements that she hid behind and ripped her conscience apart. His expression began to change from pained to confused, brows furrowing whilst trying to understand quite how he’d managed to fetch such a reaction from her. Just moments before she’d happily ripped into him, now she was on the edge of sobs.

“Ye… ye really love her… don’t ye?” Sniffling, Michelle enquired softly.

James could only sigh, steamy breaths evaporating.

“Of course I love her…”. He confirmed just as softly, with a small shake of the head. “That’s why I don’t want to start dragging up the past. She’s made her mistakes and she has neglected me, I know that. But is it fair to start asking questions about a part of her life she’s always been on the run from? Does she deserve me asking after the Dad I’ve never known when she’s done all of the hard work?”

“No… I-I… I suppose not…”.

Batting away the water descending down her skin, the prickles in the back of her throat were crushed back down to size once more.

An open-hearted James had finally looked away from her, his eyes closed and fixed out into the roadway where cars whizzed past none the wiser about their heartful conversation. Life was often an open highway, where those who still travelled at the limit went about their business with only a pacing glance paid to those who’d been forced to pull over to one side. The same sort of hard shoulder he’d been given when his mum went home without him, on her own business-fuelled motorway to fulfil dreams of success.

Seconds more passed as the two reflected to themselves individually, each hosting their own session of internal recovery from the latest round of punches thrown. They’d fought to the death since first thing, and as time had gone on the blows became more laboured yet objectively more deadly. A slugging match through a muddy, barbaric bog that neither could claim a victory that was anything more than completely hollow.

Tears successfully fought off, it was Michelle who found the courage needed to start. The quicker of the two, she turned her head whilst examining him all of the time. Although his cries might not have been audible, she knew the floodgates were open for him, despite this time only holding back the smallest of tributaries. He too began to turn then, fully shuffling on his seat to move his body back round to face hers too.

Their stares met on the battleground of wits that was their standard arena, where trenches were dug and ammunition stored ready for canister after canister to be emptied upon one another. Yet this time there were no shots being fired, no sniped comments waiting in the undergrowth of verbal hammerings to undermine the other.

Pain reflected off their irises, resentment and anger too. Eyeballs that normally were burning with fire were instead crackling due to the emotional strain that both of the cousins fell victim to.

No more shouting nor criticism could be exchanged.

They were burnt out.

In unison, enveloping arms overlapped each other across the short space that separated them. That vacuum was soon taken up as they crashed together, tights grasps held around each other’s backs, heads finding their perches across the opposite shoulder blades. Firmly squeezing, two cousins almost became one. The once stale air of disagreement and disapproval, dissipated. Burning tension gone in a flash.

Hugs like the ones he received from her earlier in the morning back in Belfast were a rarity.

One like this, non-existent.

“James, I’m… I’m sorry… I-I… I shouldn’t…”.

“Its okay”. He whispered into her shoulder, holding tighter. “Don’t be, don’t be…”.

“No it’s not okay”. She mumbled into his. “I’m sorry about making ye go out yer way for me… about what happened in Glenarm… about Ballycastle… about what I said in Li-”.

“Don’t apologise for that… please”.

He hadn’t stopped her babbling her sincerities, but Limavady was not a one person show. It took two of them to tango in that argument, and while she’d been vile, he’d managed to equal, if not better her venomous tongue. Priding himself by being the more mature of the two, the wee English fella could only look back in regret, knowing he’d let himself down.

“No yer right to… to call him that”. Sniffling, she began to pull herself back out of the hug. “He- he is... that a-and he did do that to those poor people…”.

“I shouldn’t have dismissed him so easily”.

Sighing, James replied, the two no longer holding onto each other, but leaning across the gap so their faces were barely inches apart. Only then did he truly get to see the emotional vulnerability of his cousin, her mascara now painted down her cheeks rather than her eyelashes. Without knowing it, his right hand was in her left as they found one another to hold again.

“I know Niall means a lot to you”. Continuing, James’s voice drifted into her ear gently. “Its not up to me to tell you how you should judge him”.

“Ye were only statin’ a fact”. She spoke, the resentfulness in her voice not hidden. “Niall’s a fuckup, James. Here’s me takin’ it out on yer Mammy but then me brother murdered a fella… hasn’t show any fucking remorse at all. I don’t know why I get so fuckin’ … bothered, when they talk about him, like. The fuck’s he ever done for me!?”

“Its like me and mum. Neither of us want to admit their failings because we care too much about the people we think they should be, not the reality of what they are. It isn’t wrong, Michelle”.

Staring at him as she took his near-poetic words in, unconscientiously she began to nod her head.

Since his release she’d only seen Niall a couple of times and on both occasions she’d came away with a heart totally drained compared to the brimming love that it carried to start with. The misguided young boy that walked into prison, barely old enough to share a cell with those already housed there, came out a far worse man. Reform was seemingly not extended to him, reoffending the more likely outcome.

“I shouldn’t have slapped ye… I’m sorry”.

James shrugged in return.

“You’ve slapped me harder before”. He joked, stealing a chuckle from her.

“Aye that I have, that I have”. Reflecting glowingly, she grinned. “And I… I didn’t mean for ye to… well for, what erm, what happened in Ballycastle”.

Getting chased by hounds out of the house of her drug dealer seemed like long ago as well as oddly trivial to him. The heart wasn’t poked quite so badly from that as it was from talking about his Mum or the officer they’d met that might be his Dad.

“No harm done”. Apology accepted, he slowly untangled his hand from hers, moving it up to her arm. “But it does make me worry, Michelle. That girl was...”.

“A bitch?” Michelle suggested.

“Rough. Really rough. Please don’t associate yourself with people like her, it’s only going to get you into trouble. You know, you are really smart and you work really hard, don’t let yourself carried away and ruin it”.

“I’m not smart, James”.

“Yes you are!” He raised his voice again, shaking her arm. “Not everyone gets a place at Uni, but you smashed the A-Levels! You could really set yourself up for something brilliant if you start believing”.

He was going to make her cry for the second time if he wasn’t careful, Michelle fighting back tears of joy from the confidence he was installing in her. How the air had changed from when they’d first pulled into the layby, arguing about how serious it was that he might have met his birth father for the first time.

Nothing he said was a lie either. Despite the abuse he’d taken off her since they were first thrust into the same household and all of the shit he’d taken thanks to her various insults, he was proud of the educational path she was forging.

She was family and he loved her.

Allowing themselves a couple of moments to recover from the emotional outpouring, his right hand came off her arm, hanging sturdily between their bodies.

“Truce?” He offered.

“No”. She snorted, but offered her own hand. “Friends”.

That they could shake on, a proper ceasing of hostilities. Neither were asking the other for a complete and utter end to the arguments; there would be more in the future. For now though, there would be no snapping at each other and no need to be at each other’s throats. Enough was enough, and in the spirit of the voting a couple of years prior, they were giving peace a chance.

Pivoting backwards, they both reached for their seatbelts, James returning to his pocket for the car keys.

“We have a night out to get to”. He reminded her. “And we’re late”.

“Aye, so we are! Get a feckin’ move on, James!” Playfully, she chided him.

Smiling at the comment, the keys went into the ignition as he returned his focus to the road. There were only a few miles to go before they could finally step foot in the city they called home, back within the warm confines of their home patch away from the cold, unkind countryside.

Get home, get dinner, get the girls, get hammered.

The first part of the plan might have grown by hours and the last step now more needed than before, but the simplicity of the steps in between was still the same.

They were ready for it.

“James”.

“Yeah”. He answered, looking across at her.

“Yer still a dickhead, ye know”.

“Yep! The biggest dickhead in the North West, that’s me!”

Triumphantly crowning himself, James took a slap on his shoulder from her in celebration. Finally, a sense of the smoother normality they usually lived by was returning.

With only minutes of the journey remaining, the finish line was in sight.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: Hit and Run

“It’s dead weird with Clare, ye know”. Michelle declared. “I still can’t believe she’s livin’ in Derry again… it’s mental!”

“I know…”. James replied, deep in thought. “It’s even weirder that she’s living with Orla and Mr McCool”.

“Ye can call him Joe ye know, he’s not in the fuckin’ car, James”.

“You’re ruling him out bugging it at Christmas? I’m definitely not and I’m not taking any bloody chances!”

“Aye, fair point… fair point”.

Michelle nodded her agreement, looking away to the landscape of light that filled the windscreen. Edging closer to home, one of the longest days that either of them could ever remember was finally coming to its end. At least the hardships were; the reward of a night out and getting battered was still to come.

“There she is…”. Michelle muttered, eyes at a forty-five-degree angle to the right, focusing on the gap in the trees to see her city. “Christ but it does feel good to be home, so it does”.

“Yeah… it really does”. Replying, he did not dare take his eyes off the road to take in the view.

“I wonder how Orla’s mammy’s doin’ these days, come to think of it.  I’m dead surprised she’s actually goin’ to marry that fella, I thought he was a right dick…”

“He wasn’t that bad, Michelle! His jokes were erm… well…”.

“His craic was fuckin’ shite, let’s not even go there!”

“Other than that, he didn’t seem too bad. It’s nice for her that she’s found someone though, and Orla seems to like him”.

“He gave her a fuckin’ multipack of Mars bars James, she’s probably thinkin’ about marryin’ him as well! She’ll do anythin’ for a bit of choccy our girl, so she will!”

Pulling a squeamish face at the description, he locked away the more guttural thoughts that came with it immediately.

Sarah’s partner might have made some of the worst dad jokes known to man when they’d gone home for Christmas, but all in all he was friendly. The wee English fella wasn’t described as anything other than his birth name by him, guaranteeing James’ alliance through simple kindness. As far as he was concerned as well, they should have all been supporting a man who was making Orla smile on a daily basis in addition to looking after her mother.

Keeping the youngest member of their posse happy was always a priority, whether they liked to acknowledge it or not.

“Did Erin say when the wedding was when you spoke to her?” James enquired with his cousin while braking, as a car slowed in front.

“She reckons it might be June but there’s no date yet. It better not be too fuckin’ early though, can’t be doin’ with that if I have any deadlines on”.

“Oooh look at you, putting your education first. Didn’t think I’d see the day!”

“Fuck off!” She slapped his arm, James raising a quiet protest about the pain in return. “I’m doin’ alright so far, so I am. Mammy’d kill me if I feckin’ ruined it because of a weddin’”.

“You could always stick to water at the reception?”

His incomprehensible suggestion was met with the fiercest, dagger pointing glare he’d ever seen. Brows furrowed thicker than treacle, Michelle was the Little Boy over James’ Hiroshima. To say she was less than enamoured with it, was quite the understatement indeed.

“Moving on…”. Anxiously, he spoke, clearing his throat quickly after. “I suppose that will mean another trip for the two of us”.

“Fuck that, I’ll get the train!” She snorted.

“Thanks, I’m glad you’ve enjoyed our time together…”.

“With you!” Michelle clarified loudly, shaking her head. “It might be easier all things considered. I’m not sure we suit a road trip, ye know”.

“You don’t say!”

“Oi! Sarky prick!”

Rolling her eyes at him, James smirked back whilst ensuring he was in the correct lane for the roundabout ahead. They could have turned right and taken the first of the bridges over the Foyle, though it made little sense when the next one was a lot closer to both their house and the Quinn’s. Keeping to the left, the lack of traffic enabled them to get out first time without any trouble whatsoever.

“A summer wedding will be quite nice, I suppose”. He began to muse, tapping away on the steering wheel. “Although wearing a suit is a bit… uncomfortable, when it gets really hot”.

“Aye, don’t you be stinkin’ now, James! Can’t have me cousin a right aul’ sweaty mess on the day, can I? I’d be dead broke, so I would”.

“Do you think I want to be!?”

“Dunno. Savage English fella like you might use it to his advantage. One minute Sarah’ gettin’ married, the next minute ye’ve colonised half of Derry with yer sweaty pits!”

“That’s disgusting!”

“That’s why ye’ll be takin’ deodorant, so ye will! Christ, I’ll give you me fuckin’ perfume if it gets absolutely desperate!”

“A bit of number 5?” He joked.

“It’d be number fuckin’ 2 if it wasn’t a weddin’!”

Grumbling and crossing her arms, Michelle feigned her anger towards him whilst it barely even simmered any sort of rage inside her. This was the comfortable sort of James bashing that she needed in her life, without it getting so far out of hand like it had done at numerous times during the day. The less personal the digs the better and any excuse to sling harmless mud at him was a good one that had to be utilised.

All that being said, with the atmosphere returning to one of friendship, she could still test the waters without drowning in the emotional deep end. James still needed to be reminded of where he stood from time to time, to be put firmly into the place he deserved.

“I’ll need to start thinkin’ about gettin’ meself a dress, so I will. It’s not fuckin’ cheap either, those weddin’ shops are pocket pinchers, make a killin’ from us girls ye know”.

“It does seem like a lot of money to spend for one day”. Firmly, James supported her thoughts. “But I guess you can’t just turn up in a crop top and hot pants. Oh wait…”.

“Fuck’s sake, how many times do I have to apologise! Nobody told me that I couldn’t dress like that, it’s not all my feckin’ fault!” She argued back.

“It was a funeral, Michelle! Your Great Uncle Bill’s to be precise!”

“Great Uncle Bill who Daddy hated! It was only Mammy that cacked herself anyway, and that’s cos I was gettin’ perved on by some old blokes. The rules should have been clearer, so they should and that’s what I told her!”

“That’s why you were also grounded for three weeks”.

“And did that stop me?” She asked him, James very quickly shaking his head. “Exactly! Anyway, its not just one day, I’ll be keepin’ the thing for the winter weddin’, so I will”.

“What? Who else is getting married?”

“For Erin and Max’s weddin’”.

Involuntarily, his foot started to press on the brake as his brain reacted to a slap in the face via his ears. An emergency stop was avoided, but the car slowed as he tried to get himself back onto an even keel from what he’d just heard. Before being able to kick himself back out of the trance, his throat dried up like a river during an Indian summer.

Shellshocked, he suddenly coughed.

“You chokin’ on yer own spit?” Michelle questioned him, brow lifted.

“What did you say?” Incredulously, he fired a question back, glancing at her in the near dark of the car.

“About what?”

“Erin!”

Shouting her name out, the fingers that previously beat a rhythm on the wheel were now gripping tightly to it, the Englishman’s cheeks burning.

“What? I’m keepin’ the dress for when she marries Max in the winter, so I am”.

“You never said she was marrying him! I thought they’d only been together for a weeks, how the hell are they getting married!”

“Jesus Christ! Calm down, James! Like ye said, they’ve only been together a few weeks, he’s not proposed or anythin’”.

“Then why are you talking about a wedding!?”

“’Cos it’ll happen, so it will. Have ye forgotten what our Erin’s like? She’s head over heels for this fella from what she’s told me and she’s fuckin’ punchin’. I tell ye, Max won’t be able to move a muscle without her knowin’ about, so he won’t, she’s goin’ to lock him right up in a wee cage, so she is!”

Internally, a war was raging for James.

In his head he repeated the same sentence over and over.

Its not your problem, if Erin is happy then everything is fine.

If only his heart was beating to the same tune and not threatening to run for the hills and never come back. The apparently perfect bloke Max was really the one for Erin from all he’d heard, the love seemingly stronger than anything. Michelle was the worst embellisher going, but the detail was far too convincing for him to laugh it off as another one of her tales.

Erin having a boyfriend who she liked was one thing, potential marriage another. Early twenties wasn’t the right time for marriage, at least not in his mind, university and careers to follow before entertaining such ideals. Surely she wouldn’t get married so young when the relationship was in its infancy.

“You really fuckin’ hate him, don’t ye?”

“I don’t know him… how can I hate him?” James carefully answered her reaching query. “But are you taking the piss or what? They won’t get married in the winter!”

“I’m just sayin’ what I’m hearin! He’s pretty fuckin’ keen on her as well, so why wouldn’t they want to get married?”

“Michelle, we’re barely out of our teens! And here’s another thing, if even if they do like him, Erin’s parents won’t let her marry so young! Mr McCool will have something to say about it as well!”

“They’re adults, James! If Erin and Max want to get married, they can do what the fuck they want!”

“Yes, but like you said, this is Erin we’re talking about. Do you really think she would marry anyone without asking for permission at home?”

Offering a fair counterpoint, James took his eyes off the road for a moment to check her reaction. To his dismay though, there was no negativity to it all, Michelle looking to be searching her brain only for a counter of her own rather than backing down and admitting it was a joke, as he hoped.

“Alright, maybe she will”. Conceding against his belief, Michelle did not stay on the back foot for long. “But they might think he’s the best fella for her, so they might and if she gets permission, fuck all will stop them then, will it?”

“Mr McCool won’t! He still hates Erin’s dad!”

“So he does, but Gerry’s been married to Mary for more than twenty years! He might not have liked him, but it hasn’t stopped them, has it? They’ve had two feckin’ wains as well!”

Silent, he pretended to only focus on the road while he was left to ponder what on earth he was hearing.

It was completely preposterous to go from being in a relationship for a few weeks to a potential marriage towards the end of the year. They’d not even met the bloke and yet all that he was hearing from his cousin was how brilliant he was and how much Erin thought the world of him, now bordering on nuptials. The doubt that Max existed might have evaporated from his mind, but the additional trimmings thrown onto the sudden plate of knowledge tossed before him were mind blowing.

If all of it was true, more than one event of the past looked to be irrelevant to him.

A wait in vain.

“What if-”.

“Here we go…”. Michelle dismissively interrupted.

“I’m being bloody serious here, Michelle! What if Max is a complete and utter scumbag? What if Erin’s missed the signs a-and she gets hurt! We can’t allow that!”

“He does charity work, for feck’s sake, he’s not a scumbag! A fella whos’ been through what he has, ain’t goin’ to be a total arsehole, James! He likes our Erin!”

“We haven’t met him yet! Why are you just accepting that he’s the best thing since sliced bloody bread, when he might be a sicko!”

“Maybe he will be. And if he’s no good for Erin, I’ll fucking tell her!” She raised her voice, staring at him. “You told me this mornin’ that yer fine with this, so ye are, so why are you so against Max? You been lyin’ to me?”

Chuckling away his resentment, James shook his head furiously. He was smarting and lying at the same time, not the greatest concoction to try to defend in front of a still very much alert and functioning Michelle. If they’d started the conversation at the other end of the journey then she would have been walking the rest of the way, enabling him to cogitate on his thoughts, but it was far too late to kick her out now. As much as he was annoyed by her probing away with her mentions of marriage, his own emotions were the volcano that he struggled to control.

None of it made sense to him. Or perhaps it did, but he wouldn’t let it…

“I’m not bothered as long as she’s happy! But is it wise for either of them to rush into marriage before they’ve even got their careers off the ground? It’s not the like the old days Michelle, she’s not being married to turn into a careerless housewife. Erin’s got dreams and ambitions. She might… she might ruin it by doing this!”

“Well then, it’s her life to fucking ruin, not yours James! You… me… Orla… Clare… we can’t tell her what the fuck to do!” She counted the names out on fingers he did not wish to glance at. “If they turn out to live happily ever after, grand! If it goes wrong, it goes wrong and we help her out!”

“What if we can stop it before it goes wrong!?”

“We don’t know if it will, do we!? If this is what Erin wants then we have to support her, end of! There’s nothin’ you can do about!”

Wincing painfully, the wee English fella knew she was right.

Fighting a battle that wasn’t his to fight, waging a war for someone else unnecessarily, there was nothing else he could do. The only way to prevent the destiny that Michelle so believed was Erin’s, was to unanimously discover that Max was the wrong man for Erin to marry. Not just him on his own, but all of them, possibly even Erin’s parents and Joe too. They would all have to discover faults in the fella, and if all of the information he'd garnered about him was true, Max was flawless. He was the ideal son in-law, no poor judgement nor bad accent to deal with.

While the winter may well have been somewhat of a stretch for a wedding, the seed was well and truly planted, left at only the mercy of time. Michelle was correct in that sense; Erin’s possessiveness would hasten the process, confirming it if nothing else. So often let down by the lads she chased as a school attending adolescent, she wouldn’t let herself fall to the same old trick with the security of a ring on the finger on her side and sworn vows taken.

After so many failed attempts, Erin looked to have finally found a first true love of her life. Or at least the first she could admit to openly, without any chance of straining the other relationships that were key to her core being or facing any persecution.

That thought alone was worth another wince from him.

Lost in thought, he nearly missed the turn for the Craigavon Bridge until Michelle poked his left arm as a prompt. They both were maintaining the silence when he turned them onto the bridge, an understandable pause after they’d both became considerably vocal and passionate. The waters that she’d tested around him were getting deeper, the need to retreat from them to calmer shores prompting her resting her vocal cords for a couple of minutes.

Crossing the bridge, electrically lit buildings silhouetting out into the calm ripples of the Foyle, Michelle couldn’t stop herself from speaking the latest thought in her mind though.

“I envy her ye know, bein’ able to keep her fella like she does. Seems I need to learn a thing or two from her…”.

Michelle’s pitch backed off, focus out over the river. Whilst she watched the Foyle in flow, James, who was barely listening, suddenly shot back out of the recesses of his own mind upon hearing hers. The brainwaves that were depressed and redundant just moments before were suddenly industrious and efficient. Inadvertently, she’d left a door open for him to forget the perilous thoughts of Erin marrying the god-like figure of Max momentarily and allow him to be bold. Sensing his own chance to test her boundaries, he reacted quickly.

“So you like someone then”.

“What!?” Her head shot up off the window, spinning to face him. “No! Fuck no! I don’t do that sort of thing, ye know that! I bucked a fella last night and I didn’t even get his name! Did it look like I cared about him when ye turned up in me flat!?”

“Oh I know its not him”. James smiled, eyes forward. “But I also know you, Michelle. You get very quiet when you get nervous. You like someone… admit it”.

“No! N-No… no I don’t, James! I swear, you need to wise the fuck up one day, ‘cos what yer sayin’ is absolute horseshite!”

“Even more nervous…”.

Clenching her first and raising it, the only reason she didn’t punch him was the worry that he might lose control and they might end up crashing through the railings. They didn’t look like the sturdiest of things and failing that, there was plenty of traffic on the other side that could be plunged into as well.

On the other hand, a reinvigorated James was more than willing to press on.

“Threatening violence…”. He slyly commented. “My, my, it’s worse than I thought. You must really love him!”

“I don-”.

She paused as their eyes met, noticing how James raised his brow for the second or two that he spent looking at her before the road required his focus again. Well and truly rumbled, her stomach bubbled and spat loudly, signalling to her cousin that he’d set foot on well buried ground. A foot he wasn’t prepared to take off.

“Fuck’s… fine, alright!? I-I… maybe I-I do like someone. Maybe!”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe… no… yes… yes! Alright, aye, I-I do. But… b-but i-it’s complicated. I erm… I-I don’t… it’s…”.

“If it’s another woman, Michelle, you can tell me. You know I’ve always been supportive of Clare, I won’t think any le-”.

“I’m not a lezzer, James, Christ! Clare can walk down fanny avenue on her own, thank you!”

“Michelle…”.

Well aware that she was trying to distract herself from opening up, he called her out on it rapidly. That and it bought him the couple of seconds that he needed to ensure it was safe for them to enter the roundabout as they came off the bridge, the first exit left taken as they headed towards their final destination.

“It’s just… I don’t…”. She stuttered and spluttered like a broken old engine. “I don’t know if… if it’s possible or… or right. He might not… ye know, see me like that”.

“Ask him. Then you’ll know”.

“I can’t just ask him! I don’t… I don’t want things to change… it’s… it’s fine between us”.

“But you like him more than that?” James continued to query.

“Aye… I-I think… I think I do. We get on, ye know a-and… and maybe that’s enough but it… it feels different with him. It’s not just… ye know…”.

“Lust?”

Sheepishly, she dipped her head in agreement, blushing furiously. Once again, her vulnerable side was forced to the surface. Now, rather than trying to pry simply for his own satisfaction, the Englishman wanted to help. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have any experience in confronting feelings held for someone who was almost too close.

“He’s good to me, like a-and… and I… I feel... better, when I’m around him, like. We just don’t get enough time together… so I haven’t… I haven’t a baldies if he feels like that as well a-and I want to know”.

“Does he live close to you?”

“He… he erm…”. Contemplating her answer with an almost blank expression, she took a breath and sat up. “I don’t fancy talkin anymore about this so ye can stop with fuckin’ questions!”

“Come on Michelle”. James tried to talk her round softly, following the conversational U-turn. “It’s not like it’s the most difficult thing we’ve done today, is it?”

“The fuck d’ya mean?”

Looking over to get her attention, James started to reel off.

“Well, we’ve dealt with your one-night stand, about eight hundred arguments, you running amok in Glenarm, legging it from a drug dealer in Ballycastle, angry mechanics and a Policeman who might be my dad! It’s not like it could get any wor-”.

*THUD!*

“FUCK!” Michelle roared.

Fate tempted, fate gained.

Actually needing to apply the brakes sharply, James skidded to a halt after the impact, only a few yards from the entrance to their road. They could literally smell the place, yet another slice of bad luck was chucked their way.

Whatever it was they hit wasn’t massive, but enough to have shaken the car and Michelle. Breathing deeply, James could feel a sweat breaking as his hands started to tremble on the steering wheel. Luckily, he was prevented from going into a downward spiral by a much more conscious Michelle, who’d done away with her seatbelt and opened the door. Awoken by the sound of the mechanism clicking open, he soon raced out to join her.

More damage to the car was the last thing he wanted, already feeling forever chastened by his experience of the garage in Limavady. There was also the thought of Martin laying into him about not keeping the vehicle in proper order and how much it would cost him if he kept being so reckless. Money that he really couldn’t afford to keep throwing away too.

Bending down between the headlights, his relief came out in a large sigh when there wasn’t even a scratch across the front bumper, the grille intact as well.

“Thank god…”.

“Erm… James…”. Michelle called out from where she’d walked to, just behind him.

“Its alright, Michelle, there’s nothing broken. We can go”.

“I really don’t think we fuckin’ can…”.

“What?” He asked, surprised at her tone when all was well.

“Ye might wanna turn round”.

From where he was knelt, he stood back up and did as requested. She really wasn’t lying about the need to have a look either, as when he stared out into the headlights, a figure was silhouetted in the right hand side beam. They couldn’t have hit a person, the impact not being heavy enough, but that didn’t mean they’d struck a cardboard box either.

No, they’d hit a dog.

“Oh shit…”.

“Well now ye have fucked up, so ye have”.

“I… I didn’t see it, it was… where’s its owner anyway, what’s it doing out on the street!” James panicked, thrashing his arms around.

“It could be a stray… what does it matter! Ye still hit the poor little fecker!”

“Oh god… erm… erm get a… get a stick, Michelle a-and poke it! It might still be alive!”

“A stick? It’s a poodle, not a fuckin’ polar bear!” She chastised him, before a memory made her pipe down somewhat. “Then again, we’ve not done so well with animals before…”.

“HELIOS!”

Not just any old poodle.

James entered a trance like state when he heard the name, that immediately twigged in his memory. The shout came from afar, somewhere much further up the street, beyond the confused Michelle who was trying to piece together why his eyes were so much wider than they should have been.

“You feelin’ alright? Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost!”

“HELIOS! HELIOS! WHERE ARE YE BOY! HELIOS!”

Only after the second round of calls, did she realise why he’d become so nervous. There were so many other questions that entered her head too, but Michelle recognised the voice anywhere after a second stab at it.

The cousins looked at each other, both with the same thought in mind.

“Get in the car”. James decided first.

“Aye. Straight to Erin’s?” Michelle replied, already moving along with him.

“Yep. We'll ring Aunt Deirdre from there”.

Literally jumping into the car, the pair of them were belted up in what must have been world record pace. They didn’t hear Jenny’s third set of calls, but she heard the engine revving up as James slammed it into reverse, narrowly avoiding clipping the wing mirrors off the car parked a few metres behind them as they made their escape back down the road.

It really wasn’t their day.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: Reunion

As the starry sky hung over the vast spread of land that called itself the city of Derry, two of its tired, stressed and generally beleaguered residents were making what they hoped to be their final stop of the night. Or at least the last one that required the car or the need to leave the scene of a crime at high speed. They’d had more than their fill for one day.

“I should probably go to the Police”. James blurted out as he leaned back, keys in hand. “About the dog. I think you’re meant to report it if you hit an animal”.

“And get fuckin’ kneecapped by a copper for flatnin’ a poodle? Fuck no!” Michelle replied, her hand reaching for the door handle.

“I’m serious, Michelle! The animal charities would go nuts if they found out I’d done a hit and run on the poor little thing!”

“Ach, fuck the animal charities! Those pricks are always moanin’! It’s not like ye hit an actual person, James and there’s no fucking cameras there anyway. No bastard can prove anythin’, it was too fuckin’ dark!”

“I suppose it was a… a little bit dark…”.

“Pitch fuckin’ black, James!" She reiterated, slamming her fist on the dashboard. “Now are ye comin’ or what because I am literally goin’ to die if I don’t get some shots down me in the next half hour!”

“Alright… alright… you’re right. Let’s go”.

Relenting, James decided to ignore his conscience’s brief coup. As much as it felt wrong to run from the scene, Helios might have been fine. Jenny would certainly nurse the poodle back to recovery, there was no doubt about it, so there was no need to make trouble if no one could prove that they were there. If he’d killed the poor poodle, it was a different story but hopefully one that he could forget. After all, they’d been tortured by her enough at school. Looking at it bleakly, it could have been considered revenge.

Helios was collateral for Jenny’s inability to sing like a natural.

Following her lead, the pair of them were out the vehicle and soon enough walking down towards the Quinn’s. The lack of a parking spot out in front of the house was well known, therefore leaving James to make the decision to park further up the hill. It wasn’t exactly a long walk down the pothole filled road but the distance to cover allowed for her to strike up more conversation.

“Fuck me, what a day!” She exclaimed. “Hardly fuckin’ dressed to go out, are we?”

“We can always go back to the car and get something to change into. We’ll have to ask Mrs Quinn if she’ll let us get changed in the house”.

“Mrs Quinn… pfft, it’s Mary, James. Ye can call her Mary… she probably wants ye to call her Mary!”

“I’m not exactly in a position where I want to risk that, Michelle!”

“I bet Max calls her Mary”.

“Oh I bet he does!”

Rolling his eyes at her mentioning Erin’s fella again, James ignored the smirk he could see waiting for him out of the corner of his eye. All of his attempts to hide his true feelings were barely escaping the rays of suspicion she’d lit him up with, every mention of Max another subtle prod that he continually struggled to defend against.

“Ladies first”. Stopping at the bottom of the path, James motioned her through.

“Off ye go then”. Michelle stopped too, copying his action. “Come on, yer a bigger girl than me, so ye are, get a feckin’ move on!”

Grumbling under his breath and getting on with it as he was told, James trod a familiar path towards the front door. Many a time after a long day at school had they done the same, sometimes skipping along merrily and other times dragging themselves to it. They might have been a few years beyond adolescence, but the walk was still the same, the familiar warmth of home creeping up under the skin for them both.

Making his way up to the front door, James let out a couple of nervous breaths as he remembered what he was about to walk into. He needed to be on his best behaviour meeting the apparently brilliant Max, swallowing his own feelings to not ruin what was now a rare night out for the gang. Yes, it would be different with Erin’s fella tagging along with them, but it wasn’t the end of the world. If she was as buzzing about him and life as a whole as Michelle said she was, then he could take solace in the fact that his close friend was being cared for.

That was all it could ever be.

Reaching forward with his hand to wrap his knuckles on the front door, the doorbell looking like it had seen better days, the wee English fella was left to jump out of his skin when it was opened for him. Little had either he or Michelle known that they’d been watched all the way up the path, as far back as when they’d first came into view walking down the road. Only one member of the house could conduct such stealth and surveillance.

“Mr McCool…”. James blurted out in surprise.

“What are ye doin’ here again, boy!?” Aggressive, Joe drove his face almost into James’. “Hmm!? Ye were only here at Christmas, why are ye here again!? Yer up to somethin’, I can tell!”

“No! No! Did… did the girls not tell you, we-”.

“They told me, alright, I know why yer here!”

Age was doing nothing to take away the menacing looks and cutting blows that Joe had always been known for delivering. As a teenager, the Englishman watched Erin’s dad become the target of wrath on a consistent, regular basis whilst taking some lighter flak himself. With Gerry out of sight and not in the older man’s eyeline though, he was suddenly baring the brunt of it all.

Sporting one of his typically thick jumpers and beige corduroys, Joe appeared the same as ever too, white wispy beard still a part of the look he carried. Much to James’ dismay, he remained as sharp as a razor.

“Just cos’ I know why ye here, doesn’t mean it makes sense, boy”. Jabbing James’ chest, Joe took a step out of the house, James stepping backwards in response. “Why do ye keep comin’ back? Yer not at school now ye know boy, ye’ve no need to keep comin’ back! So why are ye here, really?”

“I-I… I’m here to…”.

“Alright Joe!”

Unlikely rescuer, Michelle spoke up to stop James from depositing the contents of his bowels down the back of his legs. Distracted from his interrogation, Joe turned to look at her and immediately a downcast look broke out across his face.

“Oh for feck’s sake, you as well!”

“Oi! What’s wrong with me, I can come home anytime I want!” Miffed, she argued back.

“There’s always trouble with you!” Joe, fairly in James’ head, explained. “Everywhere ye go there’s trouble followin’ ye or yer makin’ it yerself!”

“Harsh”.

“Fair”.

Having been the one to rescue him, Michelle found herself ready to stab James for not sticking up for her too and in fact taking Joe’s side. Not that it did him any favours, especially when Joe quickly moved away from Michelle’s frowns and back to the Englishman, who was shivering not from the chill of the night air but out of fear of the senior citizen bearing down on him.

“You here botherin’ our Erin again?”

Glare piercing, Joe looked straight through him. Crossing dangerous territory with his words, he left James in a full-blown panic. Trying to find an answer to anything related to being around Erin was a struggle at the best of times these days, made worse by having only two people in the vicinity, both of whom waiting to rip him apart for one wrong word spoken.

Shiteting the tights he absolutely was.

“I-I… I’m not… I’ve never…”.

“Orla?” Joe enquired, a shake of the head given in reply, prompting him to grab James by the collar. “Both!? Christ yer sick, you stay away from my girls, ye hear me!?”

“Relax Joe, we’re just havin’ a few drinks!” Once again, Michelle tried to play the almost alien role of defusing. “Dicko won’t be botherin’ anyone, or I’ll chop his bollocks off, so I will. Can’t be botherin’ the girls anymore then, can he?”

Considering her reasoning for a few seconds, Joe eventually released his grip on a bewildered James. For all his cousin put him through during the day, nothing could quite compare to the fear of having Joe McCool holding one’s collar in a somewhat confined space. Building up muscle in the gym didn’t count for anything when having a man of that calibre menacingly staring him down, striking close to the home truths and feelings that he was attempting to bury for the evening.

As lucky as Erin and Orla were to have a man like him as their grandfather, the wee English fella could only wish he would back down, or a meteor would strike the planet. Michelle’s attempts to help didn’t seem to be working, leaving only a giant slice of fortune as hope for him.

While luck might have deserted him during the day, but a patient James was victorious come evening.

“Granda, what are ye doin’ outsi-… JAMES!”

Stepping out from behind Joe, Orla practically brushed him aside to leap at the unsuspecting Englishman, who barely saw her. From behind her came Clare, too, whose beaming smile was turned to Michelle as the two gravitated towards each other. They might have only been apart for a few weeks, yet that time felt like a lifetime as the sets of friends came together in warm embraces. Michelle gripped onto her friend tightly, hearing Joe’s displeasure from in front of her.

“Christ almighty…”. He muttered, before looking back at James.

So afraid of being cleaved in half by the man, he did not dare put his hands on Orla, instead allowing her to cling onto his neck. By doing so she was perilously close to pulling him down to the floor, but narrowly he retained the ability to stand whilst accepting her hug.

The two girls had exited the house dressed for the night, both in dresses. Clare often would be on a night out, the surprise coming from Orla’s decision to join her. The only dress he could ever remember seeing her in was her Easter dress, which was nothing like the burgundy frock she was adorning for the evening.

However, his eyes only gave her clothing a cursory glance when still under the watchful beams of her Granda. Joe’s irritation at his arrival hadn’t gone despite the pair of them rushing out, although he did know his place without having to be told it. Old friends meeting each other for the first time in a while left him useless to the conversations ahead, the wains needing their own time to catch up without his interference.

All that being said, he wasn’t going without giving James some fair warning.

Gesturing with two fingers aimed at his own eyes, Joe quickly dropped one finger and swivelled the other, all whilst a trembling James watched on. Mouthing to get his point across too, Joe started to retreat in the firm knowledge that the wee English fella knew he was being monitored closely. Unlike most of the family or the families of their friends, he knew exactly what was up when it came to the young fella at the front door.

“Liked him better when he was the wee gay fella…”.

With a final mumble he closed the front door behind him, missing his daughter shouting at him to close it because of the draft. As she’d so kindly, or not so kindly, reminded them in the past, they didn’t stoke the heating right up to lose the warmth of the house to a front door that didn’t need opening. Certainly not after dinner time on a Friday anyhow.

No longer crowded out by the patriarch’s presence, the four of them separated out, Orla and Clare with their backs to the fence of their house, James and Michelle opposite. Before them in the air their breaths were operating at peak visibility to show how the nip that surrounded them was only growing colder on a chilly February night.

“Yer actually here!” A mixture of a squeak and a shout left Clare’s lungs. “We were so worried, so we were! When James phoned, I thought… I thought you’s were in real trouble a-and I thought ye might not make it and we’d be out all night tryin’ to find ye and-”.

“Wise up, Clare, we were always comin’ so we were!” Michelle cut her off strongly. “It’s not been the best day, so it hasn’t, but we still made it. Bit more fuckin’ worse off and a run in with the cops later, mind”.

“Oh my god! Oh my god, the cops! What trouble are you’s in!? Are they after ye ‘cos yer Catholics… are they comin’ for us too!?”

Shaking herself into a ball, Clare was having some sort of a fit in front of their eyes. Her traditionally explosive cack attacks hadn’t been cured by her time in Strabane, proving a point they’d all made when she first left Derry, that she wouldn’t change one bit. University wasn’t doing anything for the nervousness either.

Thankfully, patience over many a year made Michelle the foremost expert in the field over calming her down.

“Stall the ball, we’re fuckin’ fine, so we are! The Copper he…”. Pausing, she looked at James, who mirrored her with a silent plea in his eyes. “… he was dead alright, so he was. Fanny Anne here was drivin’ like a fuckin’ granny again, so he was, but the fella let him off with a warnin’ to speed the fuck up before the actual next ice age happens!”

“Great…”. James whispered to himself, unnoticed.

“Okay…. Alright…”. Clare stammered, deep breaths leaving her. “Yer here and that’s good. That’s grand!”

“Dead fuckin’ on we are”. Michelle grinned, pulling Clare into another hug. “Jesus, yer dolled up right fancy tonight, Clare! That a new dress?”

“Aye!” Declaring proudly, Clare rambled, shifting out of the embrace. “I bought it with the money Mammy gave me for Christmas, so I did. I needed a new one after someone ruined the last one with Jelly!”

All three of them turned their looks on Orla, who shrugged nonchalantly at the accusations. Without Clare’s heavy insinuation they could have guessed it would be her anyway. None of the rest of them were still eating jelly into their twenties, their youngest member being the outlier. Fruitless too it would have been, when she was proud of it. Their efforts that was, not the jelly.

Chuckling to himself under his breath at how unfazed Orla was to it all, James was shot a disapproving glance from the diminutive blonde that soon shut him up.

“I tell ye what Clare, it’s cracker this new dress”. Michelle continued, pinching some of the fabric in her grasp. “Yer baps are lookin’ fuckin’ tidy in that, I tell ye! Ye’ll have all the lezzers in Derry droolin’ over ‘em later, so ye will!”

“Michelle!” A blushing Clare reprimanded her. “Ye can’t… ye can’t say that!”

“It’s true, so it is! Aren’t I right, James?”

Stunned that he was being asked to interject, the unsuspecting Englishman flapped like a baby bird in the path of an alligator.

“W-what… I-I I don’t know… I…”.

“Yer sayin’ our Clare doesn’t look cracker in that?”

He could only watch as his offended wee friend placed her hands on her hips and raised a brow at him. Being thoroughly worked over yet again by his snickering cousin, he was slowly becoming the bumbling mess of old whenever he faced difficulty.

“N-no… no that’s not what I said!”

“So ye think she looks hot, do ye!? You dirty bastard, she’s not into fella’s and here ye are starin’ at her baps like a perv!” Michelle shouted.

“Wha-”.

About to shout his offence, he ceased as Clare nervously covered herself up with her hands, as if she were believing the clearly ridiculous lies that Michelle was spouting. Realising that he was backed into a corner, he sighed loudly.

“I can’t win, can I?” He groaned at his now hyperactive cousin.

“Pfft, no!” Michelle declared triumphantly with a cry, taking a step to the side. “Yer lookin’ pretty well yerself, Orla, fit as fuckin’ fiddle, aye! You tryin’ to get some action wearin’ that tonight or what?”

“I’m always getting’ plenty of action, so I am”.

Michelle and James both leapt from their skins, exchanging looks of shock between them. The question she’d asked was done so jokingly when neither of could be certain Orla even knew what getting a bit of action was.

Responding with such conviction, without any embarrassment at all, showed the cousins how badly they’d misjudged their so-often airheaded friend.

“R-Really…”. In shock still, words limply fell from his mouth. “Good for… good for you”.

“Who’s the fella?”

“Its-”.

“It’s not a fella, Michelle, their girls so they are”. Orla cut Clare off, as she was about to clarify things.

“What!? They!? And… and yer one too!?” Just as shocked as the open-mouthed James, Michelle verbalised the emotion. “Christ alive, it’s gettin’ wall to wall, fanny on fanny these days!”

“Mich-”.

“They’re always keepin’ me active, so they are. I’m not supposed to even have them yet, but the professor said I’m proper natural at teachin’ dancin’ so I am and me girls are right dead up for it, so they are. I’m doing five classes a week now, I’m always gettin’ active!”

A hand on her forehead, Michelle lectured herself internally for not remembering who was talking. There was no misjudgement on her part nor James’; Orla was just being herself. Of course, it would be a dance class whilst she continued on her course to become a dance instructor, the action part making so much sense. An active, most likely vibrant class at that. Any interest in sex or relationships still remained lost on her, even if in the dark-haired girl’s opinion, she looked dressed up ready for it.

“Why aren’t you in yer best, Michelle?” Clare asked, a look of confusion adorned. “Sure, I thought ye’d be the first one ready but… but yer not?”

“Eugh, long story Clare… and Jenny feckin’ Joyce”. She huffed back. “We haven’t had chance to go home yet, so we haven’t. We’ll have to get changed here unless Mary loses her shite…”.

“Aunt Mary’s in a good mood, so she is! She’s got the job at the library now and she’s dead buzzin’ to start sortin’ all those wee books”.

“Thank fuck for that! I swear, if she’d have gone on about it at any longer at Christmas, I swear to God, I’d have actually burnt all the fuckin’ books, so I would!”

“Burning books… well that fits the profile…”.

James’ offhanded comment wasn’t really registered by Clare or Orla, and normally wouldn’t have been by his cousin. The recent influx in her historical knowledge however, meant Michelle knew exactly what he was trying to say. Flexing a nightmarish glare at him, she could see his cheeks drain of colour even in the relative darkness.

He wouldn’t be making a comment like that again.

“Jenny ye say?” A curious Clare enquired with Michelle.

“Aye, fuckin’ Jenny and her wee poodle!” She exclaimed, surprising an omerta abiding James. “Actually, that’s a point, how the fuck did you know it was hers!?”

Turning on him, James naturally blinked rapidly before finding anything worthwhile to say. The slip of paper with Aisling’s address on in his pocket seemed to burn through his skin for a brief few seconds, thoughts of the afternoon lost replaying. With any luck, he’d never have to step foot in a care home ever again.

“Th-that’s an erm… that’s an even longer story”.

He dismissed her quickly, though Michelle still stared at him. Ignoring the stare, he placed his attention on the most sensible one of the three to ask a rather obvious question.

“Where’s Erin?”

“Sap…”. Michelle whispered under her breath, loud enough for him to hear.

“Still not ready, so it’s not a bother that you’s aren’t changed”. Clare answered, Orla nodding along. “She’s been at Max ever since we got back so she has, we could hear her from next door! I don’t know how her Mammy didn’t hear it!”

Blushing brightly, James couldn’t hold back the cough that followed. She must have really liked the fella to be taking those sorts of risks right under Mary’s nose, a risk he would never have taken in the same shoes as Max. Albeit, he would never fit the soles of the god amongst men that Max apparently was.

The feelings of discontent that he’d tried desperately to bury were rising to the surface once more, the ungodly nature of it all coming back to haunt him. He’d waited out of his own chance, playing the affable friend and gentleman not the all-encompassing lover.

He really, really was…

“Good for her”. Michelle, having copped his reaction, smirked. “They’ve been gettin’ along well from what I hear”.

“Aye she really does care for him, so she does”. Orla confirmed, much to James’ continued horror. “I didn’t think she would, but the diary doesn’t lie, so it doesn’t”.

“Orla! How many times has Erin told ye not to read her diary!”

“It’s grippin’ stuff, so it is, Clare. I’ll bring it back with me next time and we can read what she says about Max together!”

“Why would you want to do that!?” James cut in, voice raised.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with a wee bit of readin’, James”. Offended, Orla began to raise her voice to counter him. “I like a good read so I do, and I will be encouragin’ Clare to do the same!”

Riling Orla never ended well and with Joe still probably within hearing range, it didn’t bode well to continue to do so. Instead, the wee English fella was left shaking his head furiously, all the while having Michelle hold a shit eating grin aimed at him. He might have tried to convince her otherwise, but she wasn’t stupid. Every time Max was mentioned, a mist like pea soup descended over him and not one more ounce of his bullshit excuses could convince her that he wasn’t fussed about the fella.

“What’s Anna think of ‘im?”

“Adores him so she does, I do too”. Orla replied to Michelle’s question, James once again wide eyed. “He’s grand so he is, Anna can’t get enough of him!”

“Cracker”. Michelle lightly chuckled, briefly catching James’ helplessness out of the corner of her eye. “She’ll be spendin’ plenty of time with him now, so she will, it’s grand that she likes him”.

“I didn’t think I’d see the day that Erin and Anna would agree on anythin’. I tell ye Michelle, all me and Orla hear are the two of them arguin’. Anna’s always got her Mammy on her side too”.

“Second child so she is, dead popular. Daddy’s girl as well, Erin’s always moanin’ about it”. Michelle chuntered on, grumbling.

“Erin does like a good moan…”.

Nodding along as she spoke, Orla came to a conclusion that Michelle and Clare agreed with, going as far as to nod their heads too. Their absent friend did make complaining seem more like a sport than an everyday part of life, so often leading them into unnecessary arguments with other people because of her attitude. Many a time as far back as their schooldays could they have avoided a run in with Sister Michael if it wasn’t for her, every single time seeing themselves be punished when having to back her up as fellow pack members.

By contrast, James looked more like he’d swallowed a pack of paracetamol than he did an active participant in the pack discussion.

Still so stunned about what he was hearing about Max, details that were only worsening, his mind went into total shutdown. Everyone else other than him thought so highly of the bloke that he was starting to fear for his own position within the gang. They’d nearly replaced him with Mae Cheung, and she turned about to be a psychopath.

Up against the perfect Max, he didn’t stand a chance in any of their eyes, not least…

“Are you feelin’ alright, James”. Clare piped up rather suddenly. “I can see yer cheeks from here and they’re burnin’ red, so they are!”

“Er-Erm I’m… I’m fine. J-just a little erm, cold, that’s all. The temperature’s dropping”.

“Yer tellin’ me, I’m freezin’!” The small blonde shrieked. “You’s best get yer stuff and get changed”.

“Aren’t we going to meet Max first?”

The question shot out from him not a millisecond after Clare finished, his eyes fixed on her to eagerly await the response. Or at least he hoped to show that he was eager. In reality, dread crept up through every vein and joint in his body, the backs of his retina’s even aching from the thought of having to lay eyes on this statue of brilliance.

“Well… I suppose ye can”. Clare, strangely confused from what he saw, answered slowly. “It doesn’t really matter though…”.

“Of course it matters!”

“See Clare, even James must really like him!” Orla added chirpily. “I tell ye, there’s no one in the world who won’t like Max!”

“Aye but… but why is it so important, James?”

“I don’t know about you Clare, but when I’m going to be spending a night out with someone I haven’t met before, it would be nice to find out more about them first!”

“What!?”

Orla and Clare both answered in perfect synchronisation, only perplexing him more. The sort of vein bursting frustration he’d suffered with for many miles in the car with Michelle, wasn’t making any more of a retreat in the company of the rest of the girls.

“What!?” Aggravated, he moaned with a whimper.

“Are ye sure yer feelin’ alright, James?” An exasperated Clare’s nose was scrunched replying.

“I’m fine! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well… well… why… why would…”.

Clare’s stuttering, though not a full blown cack attack, only threw more questions into the ever-burning fire that was the topic of Max. However, a ready at the rescue Orla was able to find the clarity she could not.

“Why would ye think we’d be takin’ Anna’s new wee hamster out clubbin’, James?”

Hamster…

Hamster.

Eyes turning molten, tongue stabbed into his cheek, James’ head was briskly pivoted towards Michelle.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19: Confessions

“A hamster… A FUCKING HAMSTER!?”

Clare and Orla stared at James after his peculiar outburst, though his eyes were only fixed on Michelle as if the two of them didn’t exist. Neither of them had been party to the torturous day of finding out details about the apparently perfect Max, only to discover that he wasn’t even a man in the first place.

Despite it being far from the worst scrape of the day, the wee English fella seemed more genuinely angry than he had been in his prior rants.

What didn’t help the matter was the shit eating grin plastered across Michelle’s face, the amusement peaking inside from the utter mockery she’d made out of him. Through thick and thin throughout the entire day she’d kept plugging away, always holding her final card back even when they were making up from all of the other arguments. With pinpoint accuracy, he’d blindly waded his way ankle-deep into the trap.

“I never said he wasn’t”. Almost suicidally, she made her point with a shrug.

“There’s a bit of a bloody difference, Michelle! I was expecting to find a living, breathing human being when we got here not a fucking rodent!”

“How can James not like our Max…”. Orla pondered aloud, though was immediately ignored.

“What the fuck, Michelle!?” He shouted, demand evident in his voice. “This supposedly brilliant bloke that Erin’s been seeing doesn’t fucking exist!”

“Oi, he does exist, so he does! And aye she does see him, but not in that way ‘cos he’s a fuckin’ hamster! Catch up James, ‘s not that fuckin’ hard!

“What about his life, the charity work a-and all of the stuff he does to help others! And his dad dying and his mum being forced into prostitution in Morrocco! What the bloody hell was all of that about!?”

Continuing to grin at him wildly, Michelle was both internally and externally celebrating. She’d wound him up so tightly that he was exploding just how she wanted him to, proving the hypothesis she’d set out with at the start of the day. It hadn’t exactly been a difficult one to draw a conclusion on with his inability to hide his reactions, the constant chipping away at his pathetic emotional shields grinding out the victory long hoped for.

Allowing him to fester for a few seconds, making it appear as if she were thinking, she shrugged her shoulders. The grin was well and truly maintained.

With the cousins focused solely on their bitter war of words, all the while Clare and Orla kept looking back and forth at each other, completely and utterly baffled at what they were hearing.

“Made it up, so I did”. She explained so nonchalantly, to his continued annoyance. “Thought about some of it whilst I was in the shower this mornin’, then made the rest up on the spot. Got you right good, didn’t I?”

“You made that up!? What sort of a sick mind do you have, Michelle!?”

“Catch yourself on, yer a right weirdo so ye are!”

“I’m not the one going around making out stories about Erin and how she’s so hopelessly in love with a man that she’s probably going to marry, for it to turn out to be a fucking hamster!” James shouted, ranting on.

“I’ve actually got first-hand experience of seein’ Erin’s taste when it comes to kissin fella’s, and honestly, I’d rather snog a fuckin’ hamster”.

Smarting with cheek bitten inside, James was left to shake his head at the comment, as his whole body remained tensed. Going through the stages of processing the last minute or so, the juices of rage still flowed like lava through his popping veins. Played so well to the point of disregarding the thought that she was doing what she always did, lying through her teeth, he didn’t have a clever, witty response ready to fire back. He had absolutely nothing at all.

Luckily for the Englishman, the increasingly bewildered Clare ensured that Michelle wouldn’t get to lunge in once more.

“I’m sorry, but can one of you’s tell me WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENIN’?” She screamed, waking up most of the cats within a ten-mile radius.

“Jesus!” Michelle clenched at her ears from the ringing. “No need to crack the windows, Clare!”

“What’s goin’ on, Michelle!”

“I… I made up that Max was Erin’s fella and Dicko here fell for it and thought Max was joinin’ us in town tonight. I can’t believe yer actually that fuckin’ gullible, James!”

“There wasn’t even a hint he was a bloody hamster, Michelle!”

An angered James continued to berate her, throwing his arms around wildly to emphasise his point. Whilst the three of them argued the toss about what was unfolding, a typically unfazed Orla was too busy looking up at the stars and at the wee lights of the planes flying away in the distance to care.

“What’s this about Erin kissin’ a fella, she’s never kissed a fella, Michelle!” Clare went on, oblivious to James looking away forlornly. “She kisses her pillow, Michelle! She doesn’t… she doesn’t shift boys!”

“I’ve seen it, so I have!” The taller of the two girls bit back, bending down a little to be face to face before stopping in her stride. “I wish I could fuckin’ unsee it, mind. Incest so it was, disgustin’!”

“INCEST!?”

“Clare would you calm the fuck down! Aye, incest, so it was! Nearly boked meself to death, so I did!”

“She… she k-kissed… kissed… someone in her family. That’s…”.

Michelle smirked again, watching Clare’s mind race to attempt to work out who their friend had been snogging. James on the other hand was a bag of nervous energy waiting to explode, taking a step forward to do so, only to be stopped in his tracks.

“Aye Clare, Michelle’s right so she is…”. Orla drawled lazily. “Erin did kiss a fella. It happened when we went to Donegal that time for Sister Michael. I thought she’d snogged one of the ghosts, so I did. It’s all in the diary, ye know, cracker read it was…”.

“Orla!”

Reprimanding her reading habits again, Clare was met with an uncaring look in return. To the surprise of the cousins amongst them, she didn’t note the trip in question.

A metre or so to the side of where they were stood, going unseen by the pair of them, but not Michelle, was the step the wee English fella took backwards as he regained control of his emotions. His cousin’s lips only curved up tighter seeing him squirm.

“She wrote about it too? That’s mingin’!”

“Erin’s… Erin’s kissed a fella…”. Cacking aloud, Clare’s body shook at the verbalisations of her own thoughts. “A-a… a relative… b-but… who… a-and what’s this got to do with Max a-and James!?”

“Christ alive!” Michelle, exasperated, bellowed into the night. “Do I actually have to fuckin’ write this down for ye!?”

“I’d take it written”. Orla jumped in, only to be glared at.

“OH MY GOD!”

The penny, or in her case, the fifty pound note, finally started to drop for Clare. Her wild eyes turned to James, as Orla too seemed to understand what was being said. A relieved Michelle muttered her profane thanks to the Lord too, though the delight was short-lived when the diminutive blonde started shrieking again.

“SHE… SHE… YOU…”. Hyperventilating, her trembling index finger was rammed at James.

“So yer the mystery fella…”. A wonderous Orla looked over the increasingly edgy figure of the Englishman. “I really thought she was shiftin’ a ghost… this is a surprise…”.

“A SURPRISE!?” Clare yelled again, to the detriment of the eardrums of anyone in the close vicinity. “This is… this is… that… that was so long ago! Why don’t I know about this!? Why hasn’t Erin told me!?”

“Who the fuck would go round dead proud of shiftin’ that shitehead!?” Michelle questioned her friend, pointing at her cousin. “Fuckin’ incest, so it was!”

“It’s not incest!” James growled back, stomping his right foot into the ground. “Me and Erin aren’t related!”

“It’s fuckin’ wrong!”

“It’s not!”

The cousins seemed ready to square up again if their body language said anything, a furious James and a forthright Michelle glaring at each other. What was supposed to have been a lasting truce hadn’t made it until the end of the day but to him, it was a necessary confrontation. She’d put him through absolute hell and was continuing the little digs with every sentence she completed, tipping him back over the volcanic edge of temperament that he could not control.

“B-but… hang on… WAIT WAIT WAIT!” Slightly less shrieky, Clare’s booming pitch knocked their staring aside. “’Chelle, why did ye make out that Max was a fella? Were ye… were ye tryin’ to make James jealous?”

Caught somewhat on the hop, Michelle was suddenly faced with three pairs of eyes wanting to know the answer. Orla seemed to have joined in with the conversation properly and was just as curious as the two friends either side of her. That or she was pretending to know what was going; it was always incredibly hard to tell.

“No!” Awkward pause complete, her answer did not change the looks on their faces. “Alright fine, maybe I did a wee bit aye, but that’s not the point here!”

“Then what is the bloody point, Michelle!”

“The point is James, you still like her! And you’ve lied to me today, at least twice so ye have!”

All of a sudden, he was the one facing accusing eyes as she turned the tables. Clare and Orla were only just fully comprehending what happened years earlier in Donegal, yet it was made quite clear with a few less than subtle looks that he was going to have to explain himself. It was Michelle’s reaction that he feared the most though, unable to look her in the eye as he fidgeted in front of his friends.

His gargling stomach gave away the extent of the nervousness.

“Erin’s our friend, of course I-I like her”.

“Catch yourself on, ye know what the question is, James!” Michelle shouted at him, shaking her fist too. “I told you this can’t fuckin’ happen but you still want it to happen!”

“Ye… ye told them they couldn’t…” Clare pondered her thoughts in Michelle’s direction.

“’course I fuckin’ told them they couldn’t! Have you fuckin’ lost it or somethin’ Clare, we were wains then! We had shit to do, A-Levels and all that, we couldn’t be dealin’ with those two snoggin’ each other every five minutes!”

“Well, I don’t… I don’t know about th-”.

“And what if they’d have broken up, Clare? You already went through all that shite when yer Da died, could you have dealt with these pair of eejits on top of that!?”

Baulking slightly at the mention of her deceased father, Clare swallowed deeply, focus moved to the small gap between the tiles on the Quinn’s path. In the midst of her thunderous answer, Michelle had seemingly forgotten her struggles to move past his death, although it appeared James hadn’t by the murderous look he shot her.

“Probably… not…”. The blonde answered timidly.

“Exactly! But you!” Michelle turned to him again, jabbing at him with an outstretched finger. “Ye’ve been tellin’ me that ye’ve not got any feelin’s for her anymore, but here we fuckin’ are watchin’ ye lose it about Max! Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me again, James!”

“What do you want me to say, Michelle? What can I bloody say without you jumping down my throat!?” He challenged ferociously. “I’m over Hayley now and I won’t mope around anymore! What more do you bloody want!?”

“I know what happened at Christmas!”

Parting company with the secret she’d long been in possession of, James found his breath literally robbed out of his lungs. Face frozen mid expression of rage, he held the look whilst finding his knees becoming increasingly more unstable.

Of all of the secrets that she could have known, it had to be that one. So well prepared she was, his mind instantly recalled the conversation they’d had along the coast road when she’d asked about why he’d left so suddenly without reason during their last visit. The answer given then was a complete lie that he thought he’d wriggled his way out of, only to now discover her poker face was in operation the whole time.

Hook, line and sinker. He was cornered.

“Aye, I do too!” Out of the blue, Orla chimed in. “Uncle Gerry had too much wine and he tripped over Anna’s wee doll and fell into the Christmas tree!”

“Not that!” She was quickly told off, to her dismay. “Between Dicko here and Erin!”

“Ye… OH MY G-”.

“NOT THAT!”

James quickly asserted to Clare with only a millisecond to spare before the screaming, turning his ire back towards the aggressor in the pack.

“Can we talk about something else, please!? Or… OR… why don’t we get changed like we should have done hours ago and then get going!”

“Fuck no, yer not gettin’ away with this! Erin was in fuckin’ tears the next day, so she was!”

Taken aback, James’ protruding annoyance was shrunk down to size in a single gulp. Upsetting Michelle earlier in the day was bad enough but finding out weeks down the line that he’d reduced Erin to a crying mess was another. Silenced by the news of what he’d done, or rather completely humbled, he could only stand there and weather the storm, no support expected from Clare nor Orla. Both of them in their own ways were still unable to fully grasp exactly what had happened and what might be happening between two other members of their circle.

“After all yer fuckin’ soppiness, you fuckin’ rejected her, so ye did! The pair of ye’s finally got twenty minutes to yerselves and you thought you’d make her cry! Yer a real fuckin’ arsehole sometimes James, ye know that!”

“WHAT!?” He yelled back, forgetting his surroundings. “When you asked me about this before, that’s what you wanted! Now you’ve changed your fucking tune!”

“You better fuckin’ watch it, James or it’ll be the last fuckin’ post for you next, ye great big English fanny!” Stepping forward as she shouted, they were in each other’s faces again. “And aye, maybe I have but Erin’s my friend, James and she should be yers! Why the fuck did ye reject her like that, ‘s not like I’d have known what you’s were up to!”

“Because! Because… I… I…”.

“Stop fuckin’ stallin’! Answer me, Dicko!”

Sighing deeply, the Englishman’s position was becoming more and more untenable. On the one hand there was so much he wanted to say, so much he wished to be honest about. Yet on the other, there was the thought of the reaction and what the newly discovered information for Clare and Orla would lead to. There was even the thought of Joe opening the door behind them again to throw into the mix, as well as the rest of Erin’s family within the house and Erin herself.

How could he be honest and heartful when there was so much on the line, especially with the repercussions. Throughout the day he’d diced with near death along with Michelle, but the thought of being cut off by the girls was worse than the end of time itself.

The exact scenario that his cousin wanted to prevent by splitting them up, looked to be a possibility anyway by her rearing its ugly head. She might have wanted to achieve a victory over him, to prove a point that those feelings from Donegal long ago were harder to bury than he wanted to admit but picking the wrong battlefield, she was risking a war.

“Dicko!” She shouted again, demand more evident. “WHY!?”

“I… It’s… I-I… Michelle…”.

“STOP. FUCKING. STALLING!” She spelt it out clearly. “Why did ye reject her!?”

“Michelle, you n-”.

“WHY!?”

“Michelle, you need to turn around!”

Immediately picking their heads up, Clare and Orla followed his eyeline to confirm his request to her, albeit without understanding quite why, a running theme for the pair of them since they’d reunited with James and Michelle. The latter wasn’t having any of it though, continuing to chip away at him, wanting a final answer before they went anywhere.

“Don’t you fuckin’ distract me, WHY!?”

“Michelle, I mean it!”. James shouted intensely. “Seriously, turn around!”

“Aye ‘Chelle, he’s… he’s not jokin!” Backing up a relieved James, Clare tugged at her arm.

Finally unnerved from the combination of the pair of them telling her to move, she glanced up at Orla who nodded her head to make it a third confirmation. Trust James, her mind quickly populated, to be able to weasel his way out of the situation thanks to someone or something behind her.

Still fuming from his behaviour, she started to chunter, slowly pivoting around.

“This better be fuckin’ good or I swear to fu-…”

She was stopped dead.

As soon as she clapped eyes on the figure behind her, Michelle’s whole internal system appeared to disintegrate. The visual definition of lost for words, she was staring gormlessly towards them through the night air.

Behind her, James was afforded the chance to smirk, knowing exactly who it was that was smiling at his cousin. He had a fair idea what they meant to her too, his smile made all the wider by spotting the roses in their hand. Either way, he would find whether they were who he suspected they were.

“J-J… J-Joel…”.

The name fell from her lips slowly, like a mobility scooter caught in a mud bath.

By the way her legs shook, the scooter might have been needed for her in the moment too.

James didn’t need to look too closely to figure out it was the same fella they’d met earlier in the day outside her flat block. He might have lost the pathetic excuse of a moustache he sported back in Belfast, now completely clean shaven, but his standing pose was distinctive. Ever since he’d been party to the conversation, then reinforced by another with her in the car, he’d held his suspicions. Joel turning up severely aided those thoughts.

“Michelle”. The fella replied softly, smiling.

“Joel… w-what… what are ye doin’ here? How did ye know where to find me!?”

Becoming aggressive towards the tail end of her questioning, Michelle’s demanding eyes that were moments earlier turned on her cousin were now fixed on the newcomer. However, the wee English fella knew full well that those lasers were a lot softer towards Joel than they were to him, without the need to walk around her to check.

“I… I asked someone at the train station. A erm, Nun, I think. She… she said ye’d probably here and… and here ye are”. Nervously, Joel tapped his foot as he stood still.

“Sister Michael…”.

“Not now Orla!” Clare whispered forcefully.

With Michelle whiter than a family of polar bears, an equally stuttering Joel took his time to look beyond her at the three figures he could see. James nodded back to him, the two sharing the gesture, a proper look shared as opposed to their brief meeting through the passenger side window. The two girls looked back at him with as equal shock as Michelle did, prompting him to clear his throat, coming to his senses.

“Ye… Ye must be Michelle’s friends”. He addressed them both, extending them warm smiles. “She… she always talks a lot about you’s”.

“We are so we are!” Orla answered confidently, though was yanked at by Clare for being so pleasant with a fella who was a stranger to them. “I’m Orla, Orla McCool and this is our wee Clare Devlin, so it is!”

“Hi… h-hello… I’m Joel… I’m-”.

“Joel”. Michelle spoke up, his attention drawn back to her with the interruption. “What… what are ye doin’ here?”

She looked up at him with a rumbling, tingling feeling in her stomach, her eyelashes fluttering unintentionally thanks to the chronic nervousness that had taken over.

The sort of look on her face and the emotions stirring inside her were completely alien when facing down a fella, never normally sporting such internal fuzziness when doing so. Joel too looked awash with worry, trying desperately to fight the tug of war within himself of mind against heart and come up with an answer that was only the truth, nothing else but.

The pair of them were both wringing their hands, practically bouncing on the spot in the eyelines of each other. James upsetting Erin at Christmas wasn’t even an afterthought for her, not anymore.

“I erm… I… I didn’t know what to… well…”.

“Has he got a speech impediment?”

Clare wondered aloud, quickly told to be quiet by James when he put a finger over his mouth.

“This mornin’ when we… when we were speakin’, like…”. Continuing his monologue, Joel laughed anxiously. “Ye… ye said ye were comin’ back here and… and I wanted to… I wanted to tell ye before, I just… I just didn’t want to… I… I should have told ye ages ago, but I didn’t a-and ye know, if this is too much, then I can… I can go…”.

“What… what did ye want t-to tell me?”

The tone of Michelle’s voice sent her friends spiralling, exchanging hurried glances between the three of them. Surely this wasn’t the same Michelle Mallon that they spent years at school with or the same Michelle Mallon that went round jumping on every fella she thought was a ride without any hesitation.

Whoever the woman stood just in front of them was, it couldn’t have been her. Worried, unnerved and seemingly coy, none of which being the usual qualities that she portrayed.

“I-I, I… I… well… well these are for you”. Joel almost threw the bouquet at her, some of the roses catching her in the face. “I’m sorry if they’re a bit… ye know, I-I… I didn’t have much choice when I bought them and-”.

“Joel”. She interrupted again, a wide, virtually indescribable look in her eyes.

The fella took a breath so deep that it could have travelled the world and back again for all to hear. Over and over in his head he’d played out the moment, but now faced with the gravity of what he was about to say, Joel was close to being overwhelmed.

“Michelle, I’ve always… I’ve always thought a lot of ye”. Wincing his retinas shut, he couldn’t bear to watch her reaction. “When ye said ye were comin’ home, I thought… well… it’s erm, it’s been on me mind all day a-and I-I thought I might have missed me chance, ye know. So I hopped on the train after me lectures were all done for the day and I… I came here”.

“Ye… ye came all that way for… for me?” Michelle too looked away, her bottom lip involuntarily bitten through subconscious anxiousness.

“A-aye… aye I did, so. I know we’re… we’re different, like and yer… more popular and more, ye know, adventurous and that but… but…”.

He took another painstakingly large breath, daring to break his concentration with a blink to check on her. In the split second he did, he saw the same piercing green backdrop as he had done since the moment he first met her in the flat block, noticing the roses clenched tightly into her chest.

The corner of his mouth began to raise, his eyes opening to drink in the sight, the courage sought after found in abundance.

“I like you, Michelle”. Confessing honestly, he dipped his head repeatedly. “I haven’t always had a flat out kick from watchin’ films, I-I just like ‘em more ‘cos… ‘cos I know ye’ll be there too a-and spendin’ time with ye is the… the highlight of me week”.

As much as he would have loved to be standing there smirking, James could only watch on genuinely moved by the admirable confession. Unless he’d left some of the details out, Joel hadn’t needed a near death experience to admit his feelings, his guts far more substantial. Orla’s hand meanwhile was looped into Clare’s, the wee blonde’s jaw almost on the floor from what she was hearing.

None of them were as wiped out as Michelle though, stock still and unable to speak as her friend from Belfast continued on in earnest.

“Yer… yer so different, unique, like… I-I’ve not met anyone like ye in me entire life and… and from the first time ye said hello to me, I… I’ve always loved seein’ ye”. His endearing honesty drew an unexpected smile from her. “And look I… I know ye… ye probably don’t feel that way a-and if I’ve offended ye, I’ll go now and… I’ll move out the block and I won’t bother ye again, but I-”.

Joel was interrupted again, only this time without words.

Michelle didn’t need vocabulary for her answer; she’d leave that to Erin.

Instead, her hand shot up, roughly tugging his grey knitted scarf forward to pull his lips down to hers. He stooped down the cover the height advantage unexpectedly, finding himself attached to her by the mouth, being snogged heartily, her fingers in his hair.

From his front row seat behind, James’ jaw joined Clare’s, scraping along the path like rusty old shovels in a thick evening’s snow. He was right, Joel was the fella that she’d described in the car, the one she really liked but didn’t think she could make it work with. The evidence suggested otherwise.

Never in a million years did he expect her to melt apart and kiss a bloke with actual passion and not just as the means to an end.

“She’s really enjoyin’ it…”.

Vocalising what they could all see, Orla stared on with the same sort of shock in her eyes. It might have been absolutely Baltic, but they were all strangely warmed from watching a different side to the friend and cousin they thought they knew.

Joel’s hands steadily moved down to Michelle’s waist as the kissing continued, pleasant humming moans eliciting out of their mouths. The three of them watching on were beginning to look pleased for them, if still a little shocked.

“So, Michelle owns the fella”.

Just as he’d began to grin at the scene, James suddenly froze, expressionless, hearing the voice in his left ear.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20: Cottage Pie

“Erin”.

He’d slowly turned to the voice, knowing he had to even if the prior few minutes made him more nervous to do so. Michelle might have been snogging the face off a fella, but she was still only a few metres away and well within literal striking distance should she want to separate them. Angering her before a word was even spoke in defence was not wise.

When their eyes met on the chilly plains of the Quinn’s front garden, the familiar sparkle glinted in the corner of the Englishman’s eye. Erin was a beautiful as ever to him, the picture perfect image of divinity that had been engrained in his mind for many years. An adolescent sojourn it might well have began as, an all-consuming and ever blossoming love it had developed into it. Nobody else could compare no matter how hard they tried.

Fate might have sent him Hayley and an unexpected introduction to manhood in a nightclub toilet, but she was only ever a stopgap. The devastation and moping around after she’d left him wasn’t so much about her choice as whilst it did hurt him, the extent of it was a truth he still guarded with silence. The mildly depressive episode had more to do with the realisation of a love and a heart wasted than anything else, time lost too. With more guts, with more determination, there might not have been a Hayley.

Only an Erin.

The James of the past couldn’t deliver such results though, only the crushing blow he’d apparently landed with his brutal honesty at Christmas. Only now was he going to discover how far honesty had got him or if he’d made the most fatal misstep of all.

“James”.

Her reply was short and sweet, just a name and nothing more. There was no smile nor was there a grimace, limiting herself to a look longer than the Giant’s Causeway that he thought so little of, though thankfully without her knowing. Feeling his soul being scraped by such a razor-like stare, the wee English fella took a small step to the side involuntarily, a nervous look about him as he maintained the contact.

Both of them were almost saying the same to each other without verbalising. There was so much to say yet so little ability to be able to follow through with it, leading to baseless staring instead. Awkward, uncomfortable, unnatural… it felt like all of them.

“I-”.

“Ye… ye like me then?”

Stopped before taking the chance to convey himself, both their attentions were drawn to the cessation of kissing behind them, the question asked by Joel. Luckily, Clare and Orla’s attentions were diverted as well, the pair of them having already clocked Erin’s arrival on the scene, the former with eyes of suspicion directed on the two closest to the door.

Michelle’s lips curved up at the question from her neighbour, only pausing in answering to regain the breath in her lungs after a solid half a minute or so’s snogging.

“Aye”. She confirmed, her voice sounding as if it was floating on air, hands moving onto his chest as he held her by the waist. “I’ve… I’ve liked ye for a while too ye know. I-I know… that… that well, I know I’m me and we’re… we’re different, like but, but yer a grand fella, Joel. I feel… I feel different when I’m with ye”.

“Ye do?” He asked almost in shock, looking down at her welcoming eyes.

“’course”. Gleefully replying, she wrapped her arms around his back. “From that first time we met ye’ve always tried to help me a-and always included me in stuff. I didn’t know anyone when I moved in and I… I don’t know, I just felt like I’d known ye for years whenever we met. The wee Film club’s cracker as well, so it is… the highlight of my week too, dead on!”

Grinning impishly at each other, Michelle was sufficiently distracted from James muttering ‘boke’ jokingly under his breath. She would have done the same to him and perhaps more meaningfully too, though his rendition was done without any real meaning. The reality for him was one of elation for his cousin, watching her finally settle down with someone properly instead of denying herself the chance to build true heartful connections with the opposite sex.

If she hadn’t pissed him off all day, there might have been a tear in his eye.

“I never thought ye’d like me, ye know”. Joel chuckled, pulling her in close and resting his chin on her head. “Would’ve been an expensive trip if ye’d have told me to go”.

“Well I might still send ye back ye know, ye’ve still got some provin’ to do as me boyfriend, so ye have”.

“I’m yer boyfriend then?”

“Aye, ye are, so ye are. I’ve not had a proper fella before, so ye know, no pressure. Tough start as well, I’m like the biggest ride in Derry, so ye’ll have no respect from the lads out. They’ll be dead gunnin’ for ye, green eyes an’ everythin’”.

“They’ll have to watch themselves, so they will! I tell ye, they’ll be respectin’ you or-”.

“Joel, ye won’t be scarin’ them like that so, ye won’t”.

Michelle’s chuckles left her fella sighing, head shaking loosely.

His attempt at defiance was heart-warming but hardly convincing. As loved up as she might have suddenly become, Michelle couldn’t let her new fella go out with that sort of attitude within the walls, less wanting a bruising. If it came to absorbing punches, it was James’ job to take the blows not his. Her cousin losing a bit of blood was acceptable damage control over Joel losing a tooth or having an eye blackened.

“I never thought our Michelle would end up with a boyfriend”. A bemused Orla spoke aloud, Clare nodding along next to her. “She looks happy, so she does”.

“I can’t believe it!”

Another shriek left the diminutive blonde, splintering the calm night and leaving eardrums ringing like she had done for years. Apart from during her time in Strabane, the citizens of Derry were never safe from her howling foghorn.

“Maybe pigs can fly…”.

“Oi! I can hear you’s, ye know!” Michelle, reminding them of her presence, shouted whilst remaining warmly tucked into Joel’s torso. “I’m proper happy, so I am. My Joel’s come all the way from Belfast to tell me he likes me, so he has. How the fuck am I goin’ to be anythin’ but buzzin’!?”

“Are ye sure it’s not incest?”

Eyebrows raising in surprise, Michelle jumped out of Joel’s arms.

Both cousins had now been equally surprised by Erin’s voice, though one a lot more pleasantly than the other. Rapidly, the pair closed the distance before meeting in a warm embrace. Much like reuniting with Orla and Clare, the giddy excitement from only a few weeks apart brought back the feelings of old. They barely saw each other now, making the time together all the more special when they took their opportunities. Sometimes they hadn’t always been the best of friends either, but the two of them were inseparable at heart.

In reality, all of the gang were, even the maligned James.

The rest of the street were certainly getting some entertainment for an evening too, from hamsters to incest and then warm embraces between friends, it was quite the operatic experience.

“Is that actually you in there ‘chelle?” Erin asked cheekily. “I’ve never seen you cosy up to a fella before!”

“Aye, it is so! I’m dead mature like”. She replied as they stepped back to stand face to face. “Yer lookin’ well, Erin. New shampoo on ye as well?”

“It is new, so it is. That’s one of the perks of selling Avon now, I get a decent load of samples, so I do”.

“It’s a bit shit though, sellin’ Avon”.

“Money’s, money and Mammy’s not forcin’ me to work behind a feckin’ bar”. The blonde shrugged. “And I’m not workin’ stupid hours like our Clare, here”.

“They’re not stupid!”

Huffing, Clare angrily started to defend herself from the accusations. From the disapproving looks of Erin and Orla though, it was clear that it was an argument that she’d already lost.

“Alright fine, they could be better, but needs must, girls!” She defended herself. “I have to pay me way livin’ next door here a-and I need money for new clothes and I want to make sav-”.

“That doesn’t mean ye need to work stupid hours though, does it?” Michelle pointed out to her in return.

“Yeah well, I’ll do what I have to!”

Folding her arms in a huff, it was abundantly clear that Clare wasn’t best pleased with the intrusions into her decision making. Taking shifts both before and after her Uni lectures didn’t do her fatigue levels any good at all and whilst the concern of her friends deep down was touching, on the surface it was also unappreciated. If she needed to work a set number of hours a week to remain afloat financially then their opinions were near enough irrelevant.

Realising that the conversation was only heading in a direction that needed to be steered away from, Erin’s attention went back to Michelle.

“Aren’t ye goin’ to introduce us to yer new fella, then?” She tilted her head towards Joel as she spoke.

“Wha-… Oh, aye right. So I should…”.

Initially bemused, a subtle nudge in the back from her fella reminded her of the setting and the unfamiliarity of his presence within the pack. The whole situation was alien in itself; he was the first one of her fellas to have ever properly met the gang.

“Erin, this is me fella, Joel”. Taking a step to her right side, she angled her thumb towards him. “Joel, this is our Erin”.

Thrusting his hand out sharply, he was almost too eager to make the acquaintance. His expression soothed rapidly though, owing to the combined look of surprise from Erin and the glaring, telescopic gaze of the Englishman behind her. Although the two men might have been on amicable terms, James’ trust still hadn’t seemingly been earnt.

“Right, right, Erin…”. He spoke slowly as they shook hands. “I’ve heard a lot about ye, so I have. Ye do the writin’, no?”

“Aye, I love me poetry!” Responding excitedly, her pitch rose. “Do ye want to read some of me latest!? I can run in an-”.

“Not now, Erin, christ! We’re goin’ out gettin’ battered, not havin’ a night in with little miss fuckin’ Shakespeare!”

Saving the day in her own mind by diving in, Michelle would not subject her new boyfriend to the horrors that would lie in store. Her best friend didn’t lack for effort with her poetic musings, but severely lacked the talent for her work to be considered remotely reasonable. Joel wore a slightly disappointed outlook when she glanced up at him, completely unaware of the favour she was doing him.

She knew the day he read one of the monstrosities, that he would understand.

“This here is our Clare, as ye’ve heard”. Michelle continued the introductions sarcastically, an annoyed Erin stepping away. “And this is Orla, Erin’s cousin”.

“It’s lovely to meet you’s. My ‘chelle talks about you’s all the time at our Film nights, so she does”.

“Has she told ye about that time we met a polar bear on the way to Belfast!”

“Orla, for fu-”.

Muttering under her breath, Michelle shook her head at the unnecessarily dredged up memory. There were only certain things that she’d told him, especially with the limited amount of time they’d actually spent chatting back in the flat block. That wasn’t one of them.

Luckily, her perceptive fella seemed to understand not to push for the full tale.

“It’s all been grand, ye know… well, mostly”.

“Mostly!? MOSTLY!?” Once again, Clare made her thoughts known to every nest of ants in the north west. “What do ye mean, mostly!? What have ye been sayin’, Michelle!?”

“He means me”.

With a loud, somewhat depressing sigh, James finally spoke up from behind them. All five of the rest of them turned to the figure closest to the house, his hands roughly shoved into his pockets, a couple of fingers sticking out on either side like an outlaw from the days of old preparing to reach for the revolver at his hip.

“Ach, still here, Dicko!?” His cousin asked, snorting. “I thought you’d fucked off, ye’ve been like a wee church mouse! Stupid prick…”.

“Oh I’m sorry, was I supposed to start dancing or playing the guitar? My apologies Michelle, I left all my instruments in London, along with my fucking brain it seems!”

“Oi! Watch that temper of yers! Don’t ye be makin’ a bad impression with my Joel, ye hear! We made ye into a Derry girl James, but that can be fuckin’ revoked and I will revoke it like the fuckin’ clappers, so I will!”

“No it can’t!”

Almost as if acting upon reflex, Erin instinctively went into bat for James. Without even realising it she’d taken a step across him as a rather limp human shield, the expressions on the faces of Michelle and James both changing to mark the surprise. The blonde’s nostrils flared for a couple of seconds too, only for her thoughts to catch up with her and prompt her into realising exactly what she was doing. The visible cooling off of her stare turned into bright red, embarrassed cheeks.

“I thought a-a… a Derry Girls’ a state of mind, ‘chelle”. Tamely, Erin tried to defend her cavalier response. “James will… will always be one of us”.

“He’ll always be the world’s biggest fanny too!”

Michelle didn’t need to look at him to know he’d rolled his eyes at the latest barb thrown his way. Instead she copied Clare and Orla in focusing on Erin, who looked increasingly uncomfortable from where she stood in front of the wee English fella.

Unbeknownst about the conversation held minutes earlier, she screamed at herself internally for making such a blatantly caring stand for James, opening the door to further suspicion of her motive. Considering the rest of the girls all knew she was upset at Christmas and to some extent were aware it was because of something James had said when he departed during the holidays, the turn around was bewildering. Worse so with Michelle, who she’d confided the whole truth in.

“But fanny or not, it’s the time the two of you’s sorted yer shit out, so it is!”

“Michelle…”.

“Shut yer hole, James! I am not spendin’ another fuckin’ minute with the pair of ye until ye’ve talked! It’s not fair on the rest of us!”

Fists curled up, a look of fury on her face, Michelle wasn’t playing around. Her cousin had witnessed that stare more than once during the day and as tired as he might have been from being up for so long, he didn’t fail to recognise it again. Neither did Erin, who’s previously challenging eyes were now frantically darting around all over the place, trying to signal Michelle to back off without needing to make the request audible.

“Ye can fuckin’ stop that, so ye can, Erin, they know about Donegal”.

Knowing her friend well but retaining her own method of dealing with such a problem, Michelle spoke what was literal horror to her best friend. The blonde’s head shot round to look at Clare and Orla, who both dipped their heads to corroborate.

“I… I… girls, I-”.

“Jesus Christ, Erin, will you get back in the fuckin’ real world, here!” A lecturing Michelle waved her previously clenched fists in the air in exasperation. “What happened there happened, so it did and as much as I might actually fuckin’ boke if I think about it again, we are past that now! The two of you’s need to talk about this… shite, that you’ve got yerself in with each other!”

Clare and Orla nodded at Erin again, both in agreement with Michelle even if they didn’t fully comprehend the scale of the issue at hand. Their stance worsened the sickening feeling in Erin’s stomach. The door to the room was locked and the key thrown away the other side; there was no escape from a confrontation with James.

Listening carefully to everything that was being said in front of him, Joel talked himself into believing he was the umpire of the whole conversation for a brief few moments. Sensing that he needed to withdraw sent those thoughts away, his hand rising up to sit on Michelle’s shoulder.

“I think its best I give you’s some space, love”. He whispered into her ear, a hum received in return. “Why don’t ye pass us yer car key, James? I’ll get yer stuff so you’s can get yourselves changed”.

“Here”.

Already having the car key in his hand, James launched it towards the fella who nearly stumbled to the ground catching it, caught off balance. He was spared any mocking however, the atmosphere between the gang having descended into such a thick mist that his gaffe was glossed over. Quickly he departed the scene, leaving the old friends to settle what they had to without him interfering.

“So…”. The loudest, and also the only, voice operating, Michelle asserted her control and focused directly on her cousin. “Why did ye reject her, Dicko?”

Blinking rapidly, he barely held himself in check. As he stared back at her, the smirk threatening to jump out at the corner of her lips brought him to battle.

“That’s none of your business, Michelle!” Rediscovering some confidence, he jabbed a finger her way. “In fact, your interference has made everything worse!”

“My interference! MY interference!?” Aggrieved, she shouted back her reply. “Ye weren’t the one consolin’ our Erin here when she was cryin’ her feckin’ eyes out at Christmas! I didn’t ask to be dragged into yer bullshit, but here I am! And unlike you, I’m not goin’ sit on my hands and pretend nothin’ happened!”

“I’m not sitting on my hands!”

“Aye he’s not, Michelle look, his wee hands are in front of him, so they are!” Orla joyfully added, to Michelle’s disdain.

“You are too, James!”

The number of arguments that the cousins were having were threating to make a new number series beyond the realms of scientific discovery, standards once again raised for battle between them. Like Erin, he too was trapped on a slippery slope towards one of the most difficult conversations he was ever going to have.

For all he might have feared dealing with Michelle though, the world started to turn on its head when his eyes flickered downward. Erin had taken a step back in his direction, her wide pupils searching him, the tears not hidden in the slightest. They weren’t streaming down her cheeks just yet, but they were there, ready.

He was not ready. Not at all.

“Why… why James?”

The world most certainly had vaulted right over, breaking its back and the straw of the camels back of whatever the relationship between the two of them was considered as. Her pitiful, almost distraught questioning thrust itself deep into his conscience. Regret began to bubble as the two of them locked eye contact, the inevitable showdown finally playing out in the most likely yet least favourable arena of all.

If Joe happened to be stood at the window listening, he was a dead man.

“Why?” She asked again, swallowing hard right after. “I thought… I thought ye sai-”.

“I can’t!” Suddenly, he rumbustiously stopped her proceeding, though instantly calming when noticing the distress it caused. “I can’t do… I can’t do it like how you suggested, Erin. I… I should have said that a-and been honest at Christmas but… but I was still…”.

“Mopin’!”

“Michelle!” Clare jumped in, reprimanding her quietly. “Come here, leave them be!”

Doing as she was told, she joined Clare, the diminutive blonde now flanked by taller friends on either side. They were soon given nourishment for the occasion too, Orla silently handing over a fruit pastille each as they watched their eejit friends dance around each other.

The first to pick himself back up after the interruption, the wee English fella gently asked permission to take her hand. So lost on the emotional battlefield, Erin nodded her approval unconsciously.

“I was still bitter about what happened with Hayley and I just… I just had to get out of here and get away, I couldn’t deal with anymore! I’m… I’m sorry Erin, I-I… I should have thought about your feelings and not just mine”.

“But I was offerin’ ye what we both want”. Her voice small and timid, Erin countered. “All ye had to say was yes. I-I… I don’t understand”.

He shook his head, a crestfallen look reflected back at him.

“Not like that though, Erin. A casual relationship, only meeting up when we can get away from Michelle…”.

“O-”.

As soon as she tried to stand up for herself, a thump in the side from Clare reminded her to keep her trap shut. There would always be ample time for any revenge against James.

“I can’t do casual with you, Erin”. He admitted, slowly dropping her hand.

“But-.”

“I don’t want to have to hide my feelings for you!”

Speaking from the heart, his voice rose. The look of shock upon the faces of their friends, even Michelle, said everything. He wasn’t holding back anything.

“I want to be with you Erin, to be in a relationship but… but if I’m in, I’m all in”. As he started to explain again, he took back her hand. “No hiding and no shame. I want to be able to call you my girlfriend openly, not in the shadows or when everyone else is busy looking the other way”.

She wasn’t entirely shocked by his sincerity, but Erin still displayed a look of a rabbit in the headlights. A hamster under a kitchen light perhaps more appropriately. Every word he spoke to her was the truth but trying to process and accept the truth was far from simple. There was no doubt that there were feelings between them. She’d checked him out, she’d kissed him and they’d danced together, feeling the ripples of fusion through their jackets on more than one occasion.

To tell the world about those sparks took courage though, a lot more courage than she could muster. Michelle’s haunting words about a potential breakup broke out of the mist, surrounding the heart that was racing from James’ touch.

Logical senses taking over, her barriers were raised.

“What about the distance, James? We won’t hardly see each other o-or do anythin’ together? We can’t be… be a… a-a couple if we don’t… see each other”.

“We can work it out, can’t we?”

He enquired, almost pleading but to little avail. The look he read from her was enough to stop him, dropping her hand again. So disconsolate from what he’d seen first, he missed the utter downtown in her facial expressions as he pulled himself away.

“Or if we can’t then… then maybe its best we just stay together as friends and then… move on…”.

“NO!” Out of the blue, she jumped forward, grabbing his hands back. “I-I… I don’t want it to be like this, I… this is just all… sudden a-and… I need time t-to think. Please James don’t say… I don’t want ye to move on, I still…”.

She paused, looking down at her feet.

“I still like ye, James. Please don’t…”.

As she squeezed his hands tightly, the first of the threatening tears began to dribble down onto her cheeks. The realisation of losing the sparks didn’t quite ignite the fire but was enough to set off the first few cinders. Letting go what they’d found in Donegal was not what either wanted deep down, but he wouldn’t push her into doing something she wasn’t ready for.

If they were going to be together, they were going to do it properly.

In the complex game of their young, carefree lives though, they weren’t the only players. Raising his field of vision over Erin’s head, he looked to his cousin out of habit. It could have been a subconscious need for permission or the more glowing need to check if he was about to be belittled, but either way she nodded. More was said in that gesture than any words could have managed, a bond of unexpected trust being formed.

She wouldn’t stop them. That was the message, the change of not necessarily heart but certainly of mind. The warnings of the messy aftermath of a breakup were still issued with the nod too, all the while leaving it in his hands to control the destiny of.

Buoyed by Michelle’s reaction and without any dissenting remarks from Clare nor Orla, he took charge of the branch of fate that his cousin dropped into his lap.

“Then maybe we should talk… privately”.

His fingers slowly began to interlace with hers, lips curving up just a little more when she did not stop him but in fact joined him. Burrowing her head onto the top of her right arm, she brushed the tears away roughly, a small smile creeping up on her.

“We’ve got some leftover cottage pie, so we have, and I’ve not eaten”.

“Neither have I”. He replied, daring a well-received smirk.

“Mammy and Daddy are goin’ out to the pictures tonight so Anna’s goin’ next door with Granda”. She explained seriously, hoping he didn’t misunderstand her intentions. “Maybe we can have a wee chat over some dinner and then join the girls later?”

“I’d like that”.

From the jaws of ever lasting defeat, the two grinning eejits had stolen a victory. Minor, without any guarantees of a future relationship. However it was sliced though, the gatekeeper to exploration in Michelle had stood aside to clear the path.

Albeit, that didn’t mean she was thrilled. On the contrary…

“Oi! You fuckers, what about me!” She broke out of the silence Clare imposed on her. “I’ve not eaten either, where’s my fuckin’ cottage pie!”

“WELL!” Another voice pierced the night, their hands covering her eyes. “It’s not needed because yer fella’s goin’ to be treatin’ ye to whatever ye want tonight”.

The returning Joel, having waited patiently for his moment, was the one to surprise her. Only minutes into admitting their feelings for each other, they were all over one another, his arms wrapping her up in an embrace, head planted on top of hers. The other four watched on in total bemusement as the normally hardened Michelle completely flaked apart at his touch. The little giggle she gave was one of the strangest sounds that any of them could say they’d heard.

“See Erin, yer fella’s no good!” She called out, still in Joel’s clutches. “Mine treats me to whatever I want and yer left to cook for him! Honestly, ye could do so much better!”

“Thank you, Michelle”.

James muttered back, rolling his eyes. Almost simultaneously, Erin rolled hers too.

“Don’t you be gettin’ all big with me now, Jamesie, we still have another road trip to do! AND I will put you through fuckin’ hell on the way back next week if yer a dick, mark my words!”

For a moment he seemed to be suspended in time, at first laughing off the comment to himself internally after the day they’d had. She’d done just about everything imaginable to make his day a misery and the fact they were still alive back home, in just the one piece, was remarkable.

Only it was Michelle.

And they did have a trip back. They would have to share a car again. She was definitely going to torture him no matter what happened over their short break.

Erin being his girlfriend or not, the cycle would start again.

“Shit…”.