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“Abandoned at Londonderry station. Alone. Two Catholic teenagers forced to make their way in an uncertain world without friends or parents to guide them–”
“And whose fault is that?” Erin huffed, crossing her arms petulantly over her chest where they sat on the hard bench at Platform 2. “Can you put that thing away? I don’t exactly need a record of everyone leaving us behind.”
James glanced at her again for what felt like the hundredth time in the past 16 minutes, tried to keep his smile from creeping too far across his face, and tucked his camera into his knapsack.
She was right – it was his fault they were here, sitting together alone at Platform 2 waiting for the next train to Portrush to arrive. But, unlike Erin, he wasn’t very mad about it. In fact, he wasn’t mad at all; he was buzzing.
The day had been going smoothly up to this point; too smoothly, honestly. Erin’s grandad had picked him, Michelle, and Clare up in plenty of time to make it to the station, with Sarah in the front seat and an unexpected surfboard strapped to the top of the car. There’d been no delay in getting there, no issue meeting the others, nothing forgotten. If James really reflected on it, it made sense that something was bound to go wrong at some point along the way.
And so it had. He’d thought to pop into the toilet for a minute – really just a minute, he’d be quick, and the platform was right there, he’d be able to catch the train in plenty of time – but by the time he was walking out, he’d run smack dab into Erin who was careening around the corner.
“Ow, fuck! Jesus James,” she’d cursed when her head made contact with his chin, but before he could apologize, before he could make sure she was all right, she’d immediately sprung back into action, grabbed his hand, and pulled him out to the platform. “Come on, we’re gonna miss it!”
They’d hurried as fast as they could, but they never had a chance – the train was pulling out before they’d even crossed the bridge to Platform 2.
“You have to be fucking joking!” she’d yelled after it as it pulled off down the line. “They left me. I can’t believe they left me,” she moaned, letting her head drop into her arms as she leaned against the bridge railing. “Can you believe they left me?”
“They left us,” he corrected her as he leaned against the railing next to her and watched the train pull further and further away. He liked the way the word sounded coming from his mouth – Us.
“Right. Us,” she repeated. He liked the way the word sounded from her mouth, too.
This was highly inconvenient, to be sure. And more than a little off putting that not one, not two, but seven people had all forgotten about James and Erin. But James felt fairly unbothered by it all.
She’d come back for him. She had come back for him.
James had known Erin long enough by now that he knew this wasn’t nothing – this was something. He wasn’t quite sure he had the right idea of what it all came out to, but it added a big, bolded bullet point of evidence to what had become something of a mental list. A list that included other bullet points. Bullet points along the lines of:
1. looked at me that one time
2. her knee touched mine, twice in one night
3. told me she thought that one shirt suited me
4. grabbed my wrist when she got scared during Candyman
5. insisted on working on my film – not because she thought I’d be bad at it, but because I “have an eye for it.”
That last one he’d been thinking about for weeks.
And it all added up to what he supposed was the big, blaring title of the list: “Signs Erin Might Like Me.”
The list had started sometime earlier that summer, specifically when no one had wanted to see Contact with him at the cinema.
“It looks fucking boring, ok?” Michelle had groused over a basket of chips at Brennans. “Just some lady sitting in a field by satellites for two hours. I have better ways to spend my time.”
“Fine. I’ll just go by myself then,” he’d complained, sitting back tetchily in his chair. It wasn’t that he had to go with someone else. He just didn’t know what it was always the things he wanted to do that he had to do alone. The amount of times he’d been a walking clothes hanger for them – all of them. He thought he’d earned at least one film.
“We’re visiting my gran,” Clare had shrugged and avoided his eyes.
“I just don’t want to,” Orla said matter-of-factly.
“Great,” he’d griped and crossed his arms over his chest huffily for good measure.
“I’ll go with you,” Erin said from the other side of Michelle. They all turned to look at her, and her eyes widened back at them, mid bite of chip. “What?”
“It’s science fiction, you know,” Clare said, looking at Erin skeptically.
“I like science fiction!” Erin protested. “I…well, ok, I didn’t like Close Encounters. And Stars Wars is a bit crap. But I watch X-Files, I –”
“Right,” Michelle snorted. “You watch X-Files for the ‘story.’”
“Ok, Star Wars isn’t science fiction and it definitely isn’t –” James started.
“Oh for the love of God, will you shut the fuck up about Star Wars?” Michelle snapped at him. “We know. It’s a ‘space opera.’ We still don’t give a fuck.”
“Listen, whatever! I’ll go with you! Do you want me to or not?” Erin asked heatedly, gesturing in irritation with an uneaten chip in her hand.
“Yeah. I do,” he said back, mirroring her tone.
“Great. What showing?”
“Tomorrow. 5:30.”
“Great. See you there then,” she said, still in clipped tones.
“Fine,” he’d answered back just as shortly.
But he hadn’t felt peeved about it. Not at all. The opposite, actually.
The thought hadn’t really occurred to him before: doing anything alone with Erin on purpose. He found that he liked the idea very much.
Him and Erin were never alone. There were always people around, always someone else. The only time they’d really ever been alone together was when he’d picked her up for prom and they had walked side by side the whole way there until they were finally at the front doors of the school. James had felt surprised; he hadn’t remembered most of anything on the way there, just the way there had never been a lull in the conversation and never her arm missing from the crook of his elbow.
And now – this. Seeing a film together. That’s when he’d started to feel nervous. What if they didn’t have anything to talk about? Well, that wouldn’t matter much; they’d be watching a film. But before the film started? What if she really didn’t like it? Would she be annoyed afterwards? Would she fall asleep? That was always the worst – when he liked something and no one else did.
In the end, he wasn’t sure why he’d been nervous. She bought him popcorn. He shared his fruit pastilles. And she didn’t fall asleep. Once, he’d glanced over at her in the middle of the film, and her attention was rapt and directed towards the screen. They shared the armrest, and their elbows kept bumping, and once it was over she’d said, sounding sort of in awe, “That was incredible.”
“It was good, wasn’t it?” he asked brightly.
“The others should have come. That wasn’t boring at all.”
It was all over for him after that.
He’d always noticed Erin. Like, beyond being friends. She was pretty and sort of mental in a charming, albeit exasperating, way and she wore a nice smelling perfume and always looked cute in whatever she wore and, even if she didn’t seem to be very good at it, she cared a lot about writing. He liked that she cared so much about it.
But he’d never given it much thought. Erin definitely didn’t think about him. She’d made that very clear. What would be the point? And he didn’t even want to begin to think about what Michelle’s reaction would be if she ever even thought he looked at Erin any differently than the rest of them.
But now – well, that sort of became all he could think about. Especially when he’d gotten his camera and he’d started his film and she was around all the time. With the others, as usual, but alone too. And that’s when he’d had her attention in ways he’d never had it before.
That’s when he had started his list. And this – them, stuck together at Londonderry Station while everyone else was merrily on their way to Portrush – was the latest and by far most important addition to the list.
She had come back for him. Which meant that now they were seated side by side at Platform 2 waiting for the 9:35 train. Together. Alone again.
“I forgot to ask. Is your head all right?” he asked, trying to get a good look at her.
“What?” she asked, looking up at him. He motioned to his forehead to remind her of where his chin had connected with it only a quarter hour before. “Oh. Aye, I think so. I didn’t even think about it. Do I have a bump?” she asked, feeling around on her forehead for a lump or bruise.
He examined her for a brief second before deciding, “No bump.”
“Good. That would have really been the icing. How much longer do you think?” she asked, trying to crane her neck over at his watch. Between the head examining and the neck craning, she had gotten close. He swallowed.
“Hopefully 2 minutes. If it’s running on time. Want me to go check?” he asked, half wishing for an excuse to get up and walk away from her, half hating himself for offering.
He was relieved when she answered, “No. Knowing you, you’d miss it again and then I’d have to wait even longer.”
“You’d have my permission to leave me behind. Because then it’d just be getting ridiculous,” he offered.
She hmphed in agreement, but said, “Trust me, I’d be tempted. But then I’d have to ride the train all by myself and that sounds even worse.”
His stomach flipped pleasantly at the idea that she’d do it all again. That belonged on the list, too, didn’t it? Though at the speed new list items were coming in, maybe he should exercise some discretion. Maybe he should see just how much she meant it –
“Yeah. At least you have me,” he suggested, watching her carefully out of the corner of his eye.
“Aye. That’s true,” she answered immediately, but casually, as she tightened her scrunchy. “It’s definitely better with you.”
Was that enough to make it on the list? She said it so easily – because it was nothing for her to think, or because she was so used to thinking it? He wasn’t sure he liked that first option as much, but maybe there was a silver lining even in that. It was decided: it made the list.
“By the way, thanks for coming back for me,” he said. “Because then I’d have been alone. And it’s definitely better with you, too.” He looked off down the tracks, trying to focus his gaze in the far distance to see if the train was making its approach. He wished he were brave enough to look at her instead.
She was silent long enough that he forgot he wasn’t brave and looked anyway – had he said too much? It seemed he had. She was fiddling with the hem of her skirt where it fell somewhat dangerously high up on her thigh (really, what an impractical skirt for a day at Barry’s. Not that he minded.) and had let her hair fall just perfectly into her face so he couldn’t see her expression.
He was opening his mouth to apologize – for what, exactly, he wasn’t sure, but the fluttering in his stomach had turned to something more like a churn at the thought that he had said something too revealing – when she said, “I didn’t want to leave you behind. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”
He let the words hang in the air – like she had, just a moment before – because he couldn’t think of a response that didn’t sound totally lame. He opened his mouth, hoping something would come, only instead to be interrupted by the station announcement, preceded by the usual accompanying ring: “THE 9:35 SERVICE FROM LONDONDERRY TO PORTRUSH WILL NOW BE ARRIVING ON PLATFORM 2. CALLING AT CASTLEROCK, COLERAINE, AND PORT STEWART.”
“That’s us,” he said instead.
They bundled onto the train and found a table to themselves. Erin immediately stretched her legs across both seats and sighed. “At least there’s room to spread out. There’s never room to spread out when Orla’s sitting next to you,” she said, adjusting her sunglasses on the top of her head and leaning back against the window behind her. “What should we do now?” she asked him.
“Snack trolley’s bound to come around soon,” he shrugged. “Other than that…I don’t know. Do you know any games?”
“No,” she said, shrugging in return.
“What about…I have my camera. We could film.”
She considered for a moment, before swinging her legs back around under the table to sit up properly and sighing, “Seems like our only option.”
“Try to sound a bit more enthusiastic,” he chided good-naturedly, digging his camera out of his bag. “Ready for your close up?” he asked, holding the viewfinder up to his eye and focusing it on her.
For all that she sighed, James knew she’d be eager for the camera to be on her. Erin liked the camera. So much so that it was sometimes a little disconcerting for him being the one filming her with the way she made eyes at it. He always reminded himself that it was at the camera, not at him – she never directed a glance like that his way otherwise – but sometimes, in the moment, it was easy to forget.
It was a whole new experience of looking at Erin and being looked at by Erin when the camera was between them. He thought he was generally a pretty observant person, and generally a pretty good observer of Erin, but he noticed and appreciated so much more about her like this – the way her bangs swept right along to kiss her cheek, and how sweetly her nose curved up to match the way her lips curved ever so slightly down when they were at rest. Except for right now – right now they were curved ever so slightly up into a smile.
“What should I do?” Erin asked.
“Just sit there. Pretend I’m not here,” he suggested.
“Harder said than done,” she said simply, stretching her legs out across the seats again and leaning back against the window.
“You can ask Michelle for tips when we get there,” he groused.
“Aye, she probably has some good ones,” she shot back lightly.
“Shut up,” he said good-naturedly from behind the camera.
“How’s this?” she asked, turning to look out the window.
“Perfect,” he answered.
For a girl who always seemed to be in motion and always with something to say, Erin sat quiet and still for a long time, looking contemplatively out at the rolling hills they passed by. He kept his eyes trained on the camera’s viewfinder the whole time, watching her watch the landscape and studying the shape of her face. He wondered idly what it might be like to be with her alone alone. Not in public alone like they were now. What other things might he be able to observe of her?
She turned towards him so abruptly that he half worried she had heard his thoughts and said, “You never get to be filmed. You’re always doing the one filming.”
He looked up at her in surprise and lowered the camera. “No, I guess not. I mean, sometimes I have. It’s not ‘never.’”
“Not usually,” she corrected herself, sitting up and holding her hand out to him. He stared at it. What was she – “James? The camera?” she said, and beckoned him to hand over his camera.
He tried to keep the immediate heat he felt in his cheeks at bay. He had almost reached out his hand too. God, that would have been embarrassing. He handed over the camera without fuss, eager to erase any thoughts of what could have happened if he’d acted a moment sooner, and watched as she held it up.
“Do I need to do anything special?” she asked, looking at him presumably by way of the viewfinder.
“I don’t think so,” he said shifting awkwardly in his seat, already too aware of the camera on him. “It should already be recording. The little red light will be on if it is.”
“Oh aye, I see it,” she said, and more confidently held up the camera to his face. “Now’s your chance to pretend like I’m not here. What would you be doing?”
“That,” he said, pointing to the camera. “Probably.”
“Oh,” Erin said, and shot him a smile. “Well…then tell me, James, what’s it like to be English, abandoned by all your family and friends, and forced to make your way to Portrush all on your own?”
“Not too bad,” he said, affecting an exaggerated tone of consideration. He rubbed his chin for extra effect. “Especially when I wasn’t the only one abandoned.”
“All right, all right,” she said. “What’s it like to be abandoned by all your family and friends, and forced to make your way to Portrush with me?”
He looked at what he could see of her face with her holding the camera up in front of it, watched her watching him, and considered his answer. With the camera between them, it somehow seemed easier to say something, anything, with a whole machine in between her eyes and his.
“It’s pretty great,” he said, looking straight into the lens the way he’d never be able to look straight into her eyes saying it.
He saw her peek at him over the top of the camera.
“This is on the record you know,” she answered after a beat. He shrugged at her as if to say, “So?” She fumbled with the camera while turning it around to direct the lens onto her own face. “You heard it here first, folks. James Maguire thinks it was pretty great getting abandoned by his family and friends.”
“Ok, give me that,” he said, grabbing the camera out of her hands to which she willingly acquiesced, giving him a look that he had never before seen directed at him when he didn’t have his camera in his hands and pointed towards her. With pink cheeks, too. His stomach felt fluttery. He added it to the list.
“Oh finally,” she said, looking off past him down the train aisle. “Snack trolley’s here.”
“What’ll it be?” the attendant asked kindly as she wheeled her cart up next to them.
“I’ll have a Kit Kat,” Erin said, then glanced at James to prompt him to order.
“I’ll have one too,” he said. “How much for both?”
“Both?” Erin asked, looking at him abruptly in surprise.
“That’ll be a quid,” the attendant replied, and James pushed a note into her hand.
“On me,” he said to Erin. He held out his Kit Kat to hers. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” she said, tapping her candy bar against his. “What’s this for?” she asked, unwrapping it.
“For coming back for me. Obviously,” he said.
“Oh. Thanks,” she said, breaking off the first wafer and taking a bite. “That’s only worth 50p?” He fixed her with an exasperated look to which she responded, “Thank you! I said thank you. It’s the thought that counts, anyway, right?”
“You’re not making it better,” he said dryly.
“That’s not what you said before. Before you said I did make it better,” she said lightly, and he glanced up at her surreptitiously to see her hyper-focused on the candy bar in her hand and decidedly not looking at him. He felt his heart stutter in his chest.
He turned his focus back to his own Kit Kat to say, “You said it first.” And when he looked up at her again, he wondered if his cheeks matched the colour he could see in hers.
Was what he thought was happening actually happening? Maybe taken on its own, it was nothing. But in the context of the list, in the context of Erin noticing that he hadn’t been on the platform with them and booking it in the opposite direction to collect him from the toilet. Well maybe…maybe it was something. A sort of something that went along with all the other somethings he’d observed and maybe, maybe, added up to a conclusion: Erin did like him.
The thought zinged through his gut, not at all unpleasantly, and he glanced at her again, feeling shy, only to just briefly catch her eye before she turned her head towards the window, as if that’s what she’d always meant to be doing.
After that, his heart beating out a little too quickly in his chest, they passed most of the time in easy conversation – cheeks pink a little too long, camera totally forgotten, talking about how long there still was to go, what the others might be doing, which chocolate bar was best – Kit Kat or Mars Bar – what they would do once they got there, who’s solo album was better – Robbie Williams or Gary Barlow – and about the other passengers, and, as Erin had put it, their “hopes and dreams.”
“I’m going to be a writer, obviously. A novelist, probably. Though lately I’ve thought about trying my hand at playwriting, especially after writing the script for the film. And I’ve written some other scripts, too. Just drafts,” Erin had said self-assuredly, before directing the question to him. “And what do you want to do? In life?”
“In life?” he asked, looking at her skeptically.
“Aye,” she said, looking at him expectantly. “Hopes. Dreams. What do you want to be?”
“Be? I dunno,” he shrugged. James knew what he liked to do – which, most days lately included having his camera in his hand – but he didn’t know what he wanted to be.
“You don’t know of anything? If you could do anything, what would you do?” she asked.
He considered for a minute, looking down at the table in front of him. He had an idea – had had the idea for a while now – but it seemed especially ridiculous. But…well, it was just Erin, alone. Erin alone was someone who he could say the ridiculous things to. “I guess…I’d want to make films. Something like that. If I could do anything,” he said, before quickly adding, “But I probably won’t. I don’t even know how to start doing that. So I probably won’t.”
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting her to say. Maybe half expecting her to be dubious, or teasing. What he didn’t expect was –
“No, that sounds so class,” she said immediately, nodding approvingly and sounding impressed. “I didn’t know you liked it that much. If you want to do it, you can. There are all kinds of uni programs. And you’re already making films. So you do know how to start doing it. You can do anything. And I think you’re good at it.”
Something warm bloomed in his chest and diffused out toward his limbs and all of his fingers and toes – she thought he was good at it.
“Oh! Since I’m going to be a writer, and you’re going to make films, maybe we can make a film together. Someday. Like a real one.”
He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face at the idea. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be really cool.” He felt like he could see how pleased he felt reflected back in her face.
Maybe Erin liked him. Maybe Erin liked him. He could feel his heart in his throat, in his mouth – should he say something?
But what if she didn’t? The thought came to him viciously. What if his list added up to nothing? What if it was a lot of nothing with absolutely no somethings? He might mess everything up. He didn’t want to mess everything up.
He just wanted…he just wanted her to know, maybe. Or maybe he was the one who wanted to know. To stop wondering. To maybe change the title of his list from “Signs Erin Might Like Me” to “All the Ways Erin Likes Me.” And there she was, across the table from him, looking at him with very bright eyes, and maybe he wasn’t wrong, wasn’t wrong at all.
She had come back for him.
He opened his mouth, could feel the words bubbling up. He wasn’t sure what they would be yet, but they’d be right, if she could just keep looking at him like that. She gave him an expectant look.
“PORTRUSH. PLEASE DEPART SAFELY,” came the automated voice from the speakers.
He closed his mouth. And then opened it again only to say, regretfully, “That’s us.”
Erin nodded, and he grabbed his bag, and they deboarded to the sight of Mary Quinn with Anna in her stroller beside her on the platform.
“Oh thank the Lord,” Mrs. Quinn breathed out, hand over her chest in relief before a cloud of anger crossed over her face. “Have you lost the run of yourself, Erin? What were you two thinking, dilly dallying around like that?”
“Sorry, Mrs. Quinn,” he muttered, feeling sheepish under Mary Quinn’s reprimand.
“Sorry, Mammy. It was James’s fault though,” Erin said, shrugging to her mum as if to say “what else what I supposed to do?”
“Erin,” he huffed.
“What? You’re just lucky I thought to go back for you,” she said archly, glancing up at him to catch his eye. He couldn’t argue with her – he was lucky. Lucky in all kinds of ways. He hoped he’d keep being lucky. Judging by the soft look in Erin’s eyes, maybe he would be. He added it to the list.
“Ok, that’s enough out of the two of you,” Mrs. Quinn groused. “Let’s go. The others are waiting.”