An Irish Country Practice

by Patrick Taylor

  “Mrs. O’Reilly and I ran into Guffer and Anne this morning. They reckon somewhere close to six hundred pounds.”

  “Oh dear,” Flo said. “We only came up with one hundred and thirty-seven pounds, fourteen shillings and thruppence.”

  O’Reilly heard the disappointed “aahs” and wondered if his sense of showmanship would best his compassion for the disappointed friends in his sitting room. He allowed the moment to stretch out, but then had to say, “All is not lost.” He produced Kinky’s wad of ten-pound notes. “This very afternoon a donor, who is insistent on anonymity”—he kept a surreptitious eye on Kinky—“came around and handed me the princely sum of four hundred pounds.”

  There was a communal indrawing of breath.

  “My God,” Bertie said, “that’s ferocious, so it is. Dead on. That comes til—” By the way he was frowning, it was clear Bertie Bishop was doing mental arithmetic.

  “It’s a veritable king’s ransom,” Alice Moloney said.

  “Aye,” Flo Bishop said, “and who round here has that kind of money? Not me and Bertie. Maybe the marquis?”

  Archie said, “If the donor wishes to be anonymous it’s not our place to pry, but to give thanks.”

  O’Reilly saw the tiniest of smiles flit across Kinky’s lips. More power to your wheel, Kinky Auchinleck. You’re a saint.

  Bertie said, “Archie’s right, and we now have five hundred and thirty-seven pounds, fourteen shillings and thruppence, so we’re still sixty-two pounds, five shillings and nine pence short.”

  “Fifty-two and change,” Barry said, digging into his jacket pocket and producing his wallet. “Here’s another tenner.” He handed O’Reilly a note.

  “Forty-two and change,” Kitty said, reaching down for the slim black leather handbag at her feet. “Nursing sisters do get paid too, you know.” She handed O’Reilly another note.

  “Twenty-two and change,” O’Reilly said, adding to the wad.

  Bertie Bishop said solemnly, “Flo and me’s no family and there’s no pockets in a shroud.” He gave O’Reilly a final twenty. “But I’ve no change.”

  Archie said, “Milkmen always do, so their customers can settle up on Fridays. Here’s two pounds five and nine, sir.” The coins rattled in O’Reilly’s hand.

  “And that’s that. Six hundred pounds exactly. Well done, everyone,” O’Reilly said. “There’s only one more thing to do. Get this money to the Galvins.” He held the wad and change in his great paw.

  Archie produced another thick red rubber band. “Put that there round the notes, sir, and then put the notes and change in the envelope.”

  “Right,” said O’Reilly, and did so. He looked straight at Barry. “Anne’s your patient. The collection was your idea. I’d like to suggest that Doctor Laverty be the bearer of glad tidings—and the lolly.”

  Everyone applauded.

  “Thank you, Doctor O’Reilly,” Barry said. “I’d like that.” He accepted the bulging, jingling envelope.

  Bertie Bishop, as befitted his station as councillor and worshipful master of the local Orange Lodge, stood and tucked his thumbs under the lapels of his dark blue double-breasted suit. “And may I just say, congratulations to my Flo and Alice Moloney for raising what they did, a big thank-you to all who have contributed, including those here today, and an enormous thank-you to the anonymous donor.” He beamed round the room. “Now youse all know me and Flo goes til church every Sunday, but I’m not a deeply religious man. Nevertheless, nevertheless I’m going til ask youse all til stand, close your eyes, and bow your heads, and say a silent prayer for Anne Galvin and her family.”

  All rose.

  The silence stretched.

  “Thank you,” Bertie said.

  “And now,” said O’Reilly, “everyone is invited to stay and enjoy the tea.”

  People sat, but Barry remained standing. “If you’ll all excuse me?”

  “Off you trot,” said O’Reilly, handing Barry the money, “and I know Guffer and Anne will be flabbergasted.”

  “They’ll likely near take the rickets,” Flo said, “but when it sinks in they’ll be so happy.”

  O’Reilly said, “They will that, and, Barry, take Kenny with you. That’ll make Anne feel even better.”

  * * *

  “Doctor Laverty?” Guffer half opened the door. “Is something the matter? God knows you shouldn’t be out here on a Saturday afternoon. We never sent for you, so we didn’t.”

  “I know,” Barry said, “but”—he pointed to where an impeccably mannered Kenny sat at his feet—“Kenny and I have some news for you and Anne. May we come in?”

  Guffer took a deep breath. “I don’t like the sound of this, Doctor Laverty. What kind of news?”

  “Something I know is going to make you both very happy. I promise. Honestly.”

  Guffer, still sounding uncertain, opened the door and said, “All right. I hope so.”

  “I’d not lie to you, Guffer,” Barry said. “It’s just I want to tell you both together.”

  “Fair enough.” He stood aside. “Me and Anne was playing Monopoly.” He lowered his voice. “She can’t play for toffee, but I’m letting her win. It cheers her up, so don’t you be saying nothing.”

  Barry smiled, shook his head, and wondered at the love that sentence held. He himself would certainly do the same for Sue if they were in like circumstances. Love, he thought, is as much in the little considerate things as passionate embraces. “Not a dicky bird,” he said. “By the way, how is she since I saw her last?”

  Guffer shrugged. “About the same. She has her good days and her bad days, but all in all I’d say she’s bearing up bravely. Like she likes to say, ‘One day at a time.’” He ushered Barry into the hall.

  In the living room, the ceramic mallard still clawed for height above the fireplace. Anne sat at a baize-topped card table where a Monopoly board was dotted with tiny green houses and red hotels. It looked like someone had hotels on both Mayfair and Park Lane. A small silver racing car pursued a black boot round the squares. Two dice lay on the board. Anne shrank back.

  All patients were convinced, Barry knew, that an unannounced visit by a doctor presaged bad news.

  “See who’s come til see us, love,” Guffer said. “And never you worry your head. He says he has some good news, that’s all. He’s promised it’s really good, but he wants you til hear it first, like.”

  “Doctor dear,” Anne said, “and Kenny. I seen him this morning with Doctor and Mrs. O’Reilly. The wee pup’s certainly growing into his paws and ears.”

  “Call him,” Barry said.

  “Come.”

  Kenny trotted over.

  “Sit.”

  “Good.” Anne Galvin patted Kenny. “Thank you for bringing him, sir. Can you and him stay for a wee while? Would you like a wee cup of tea in your hand?”

  Barry smiled. “No thank you. I’ve just come from afternoon tea at Number One. I’d be awash.”

  “I’ll not twist your arm,” Anne said as she continued to stroke Kenny, “but take a pew anyroad, sir.”

  Barry sat in an armchair facing her as Guffer stood beside his wife and put a hand on her shoulder. He said, “You’ve news for us, sir? Fire away.”

  Barry said, “I’ll get to the point straightaway. You’d like to see Seamus, I know. Everybody in the village knows.”

  “I’d so love til see him.”

  “And you shall. Here.” He handed her the envelope. “A group of people in the village and one anonymous donor have raised six hundred pounds.” She stared at it. Shook it. Opened the flap. “Oh my God,” she said, “it’s full of money, so it is. Here, Guffer you take it. My hands is shaking too much.” She tried to haul in an enormous breath, but she gagged and coughed. She swallowed. Shook her head. Tears welled. “I don’t believe it. It can’t be true. Six hundred pounds? Six hundred?”

  Guffer, who had peeped into the envelope, patted Anne’s shoulder and said, “There’s a brave clatter of notes in here, pet, so
there is, and Doctor Laverty’d not have us on about something so important.”

  “That’s right. The money comes from your neighbours and a donor who wanted the gift to be anonymous.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Anne said. “Such kindness. Doctor, I’m not for asking you til tell a secret, but if you know who that person is, please tell them thanks very much.”

  “Of course.”

  Anne patted Kenny. “Do you hear that, Kenny? We’re going til get til see our wee boy again.” She kissed the dog’s head. “We’re going til see our Seamus.”

  And Kenny, the best-behaved of dogs, must have sensed her joy. He let go a “woof” that made the rafters shake.

  When the laughter had died down, Barry said, “I don’t want to spoil your excitement, Anne, but please put the cash somewhere very safe for now. First thing on Monday, go and bank it and ask the manager how to get it to Seamus. Then nip into the post office. Send him a telegram so he won’t get a shock when the money arrives.”

  “We’ll do that, Doc, right enough,” Guffer said, “and Annie? I can spring for a few bob to put an ad in the County Down Spectator til thank all the people who gave. Jaysus Murphy, Doctor, how can we thank you enough?”

  Barry said, “I didn’t do anything. I’m just the delivery boy, but in truth it’s made my day to see you both so excited. So happy.” And it had. He’d had enough gloom in the last weeks with Lewis Miller’s death, Anne’s cancer, his spat with Sue, losing the bungalow.

  “Aye,” said Guffer, grinning like a slice of watermelon, “and you know how at Christmas we all give the postie, and the milkman, and the bread man a wee present, like?”

  “Yes.” Barry wasn’t sure what Guffer was getting at.

  “Doctor Laverty, yiz has made our Christmas come in June. So wait you there a wee minute. If you’re just a delivery man, you’re for getting your present early. I’ll have one. Anne’ll have one, and, sir, you’re going to take a wee half with the two happiest people in Ballybucklebo.”

  “I’ll be glad to. Thank you.” And he sat and watched Anne quietly crying tears of joy into Kenny’s fur.

  Barry Laverty let himself be lulled by the deep warm sea of happiness that at least for a while in this house was drowning out any thoughts of sadness that might yet come to pass.

  38

  A Baby Brings Its Own Welcome

  “You don’t mean to tell me your dad got married in that morning suit twenty-eight years ago and it fits you to a T?” Sue said as Barry modelled the black, double-breasted tail-jacket and black trousers with white pinstripes.

  “I do, and he did, and it does,” Barry said. “Might as well use it again. It’s one less to rent.”

  He was on call tonight so they were confined to his quarters at Number One for the evening. The wedding was only ten days away and they were planning seating arrangements at the reception and trying to decide if the florist in Ballymena, who would be arranging the flowers in the church, should also provide the groom’s party buttonholes. It was good practice for Sue, Barry thought, to be together during call. She was, after all, on the verge of becoming a country GP’s wife.

  The evening had not been interrupted until Miss Haggerty, the midwife, had phoned at five past ten to say that Julie Donnelly’s waters had broken eight hours previously, that her contractions had gradually increased in strength and intensity and were only three minutes apart, and that the cervix, the neck of the womb, had been dilating at the anticipated rate. The midwife had been present supervising the labour all along.

  “That was Miss Haggerty,” Barry said as he put down the phone. “Julie Donnelly’s in labour. She’ll call when it’s time, probably in another hour or so.”

  “Oh, Barry. How exciting. Well, then, I’d better get on home. It’s after ten and I’ve school tomorrow.”

  “Stay,” Barry said. “Come with me, why don’t you, when it’s time.”

  “I couldn’t, could I? I mean, it’s a private time for the family. Wouldn’t the Donnellys mind?” She looked both excited and alarmed by the suggestion.

  “Not at all. I can’t bring you in for the delivery, but Donal will be glad of your company. And it will give you a better feeling for my work.”

  “All right, Barry. I will. I—I’d like to be there. After all, I’m going to be a doctor’s wife,” Sue said. “And a mother—someday.”

  She looked at him shyly and he gathered her into his arms and pressed a kiss on her hair but said nothing. “Why don’t you take a nap until Miss Haggerty calls again. I’ll keep working away at this seating arrangement for the reception.”

  Sue was soundly asleep, curled up on his small sofa, when the extension in his quarters rang again.

  “Laverty?”

  “Miss Haggerty here. It’s time, Doctor.”

  “Be right there,” he said, and replaced the receiver as Sue opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Hello, sleepyhead. Hang on. Just realized I was still in this monkey suit. It’ll only take me a tick to change.”

  In minutes he was wearing jeans and a sweater. “Come on. Miss Haggerty’ll have all the equipment there. I’ll tell you all about Julie on the way.”

  The Volkswagen had the pitch-dark country road to itself. Fluttering moths and low tree branches were the only things the headlights picked out.

  “I thought Julie wasn’t due until July 12, the anniversary of the Battle of the Boyne. I remembered the date. You told me that Donal was going to call a wee boy William, after King William of Orange.”

  Barry laughed and said, “I think he’s more favouring soccer players now.”

  Sue chuckled. “What if it’s a girl?”

  “We’ll just have to see.”

  Sue sounded more serious. “Are you worried about her being two weeks early?”

  Barry shook his head. “Being two weeks early is not going to be a concern. I’ve been following her with regular prenatal visits, and apart from the fact that she’s put on a bit more weight than I would have liked and at her last visit her ankles were swollen, not unusual in late pregnancy, all as far as I can tell is proceeding according to Hoyle.”

  “Good,” said Sue, “and it’s not as if pregnancy was some kind of disease. It’s a natural event, isn’t it?”

  Barry, who had seen or read about enough pregnancies going wrong, but who was not going to scare Sue, kept the thought to himself that no pregnancy was uncomplicated until a healthy newborn was in the cot and the mother was recovering. “I’m sure you’ll sail through our first one,” he said, “and second ones are even easier,” and was rewarded with a quick squeeze to his thigh.

  A screech pierced the night and a ghostly white shape floated across the headlights’ glare.

  Sue jumped.

  “Barn owl,” Barry said.

  He pulled off the main road and in moments was standing, Sue at his side, when the door to Dun Bwee was opened by an unshaven Donal Donnelly. “I heard your motor, sir. Come on on in, the pair of you.” He hustled them into the hall. “Come to keep me company, have you, Miss Nolan?”

  “I hope you don’t mind, Donal. Barry and I were making some last-minute plans for the wedding when he got the call.”

  “Mind? Would a kiddy mind if Santa Claus popped in for tea and brung one of his elves? I’m dead happy to have you both in our home, so I am. I’ll enjoy your company, Miss, when Santa here,” he inclined his head to Barry, “is at his work. Miss Haggerty says Julie’s doing great, so she is. She’s in our bedroom.” He nodded his head along the hall. “Away you go, Doctor, and Miss Nolan, come you into the parlour and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  “Thanks, Donal,” Barry said, and headed off.

  * * *

  The odours of disinfectant and amniotic fluid filled the small bedroom.

  Barry, wearing a red rubber apron, masked, and gloved, stood to Julie’s left. Miss Haggerty stood at Julie’s head as she struggled to sit up to see her newborn. The second stage of labour had progressed smoothly over th
e twenty minutes Barry had been in attendance.

  He held a baby covered in white vernix caseosa, the waxy waterproofing that protected the infant’s delicate skin and helped ease its passage through the birth canal. Julie lay on the rubber sheet that Miss Haggerty had put underneath to protect the bedclothes. The wee one registered its disgust at leaving its warm secure nest to face the perils of the big wide world by giving rise to a series of powerful yells and passing green meconium, the first bowel movement of a newborn’s life. It was a good sign. Some babies were born with bowel obstruction, but fortunately very rarely. This one clearly did not have that condition. “Time, please, Miss Haggerty,” Barry said. The date of birth was required for the birth certificate, and it must be close to midnight.

  “Eleven fifty-six,” she said. “Still Tuesday, June the twenty-seventh.”

  “A beautiful wee girl for you and Donal,” he said, holding the little one up for Julie to see before wiping the child off with a green towel.

  “Och, look at the wee mite. She is beautiful.” Julie giggled. “But she’s not going to be called Danny George, is she?”

  Barry chuckled. Though not a soccer fan, he knew Donal had been suggesting first names of famous players for his boy. Danny Blanchflower and Georgie Best were two outstanding players from Ulster. “No, this little one doesn’t look like a Danny or a Georgie. More a Danielle or Georgina,” he said, clipping and cutting the cord and handing the newborn to Miss Haggerty.

  “I’ll go and let Donal know soon,” Barry said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought Miss Nolan along tonight.”

  “Why would I mind, sir? Isn’t she practically your wife, and doesn’t Doctor O’Reilly sometimes bring his missus along?”

  “True enough,” Barry said, not mentioning that Kitty was a qualified nurse and Sue was not.

  “And don’t you worry your head about Donal not getting a wee boy,” Julie said, staring with love in her eyes at her new daughter. “He’ll be just as chuffed. You’ve never seen a daddy love a wee girl like my Donal loves Tori. And,” she said, “seeing it is a wee girl, we agreed I’d get til pick her names. I’d been thinking of Susan, I’ve always liked the name, and seeing your Miss Nolan’s here and all, sir, if that’s all right, and Brigit. It means ‘powerful’ and ‘strong’—and our wee girl will be.” Julie lay back on her pillows.