An Irish Country Family--An Irish Country Novel

by Patrick Taylor

  Barry nodded. He’d known that about his friend for quite a while.

  Jack pushed his empty plate aside. “Can I bum a smoke, Harry?”

  Harry smiled. “Bloody cadger,” he said, but handed over a Gallaher’s Green and gave Jack a light.

  “So, Harry and Jack seem to have picked,” Norma said. “Me? I loved paediatrics when we were students, so I’m thinking I’ll finish this year and then decide. I’m on 3 and 4, Professor Bull, the prof of medicine’s ward next. It’s a general medical unit like 5 and 6, but where Franky P. has a special interest in hearts, Prof. Bull’s field is renal disease. Then we’ll all have two more rotations, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be applying for a six-month houseman’s post at Sick Kids.” She looked at Barry. “How about you, chum?”

  Barry hesitated. “There’s not a rotation I didn’t enjoy when we were students. I got a bit bored with a lot of the run-of-the-mill stuff in casualty—”

  “I reckon we all did,” Norma said.

  Jack laughed. “I know I did.”

  “But, I still enjoy meeting people. Getting to know them. And I hope I’ll be able to do that on my next three stints, starting tomorrow on 5 and 6.”

  Harry stubbed out his cigarette. “That’ll be up to you, Barry. It’ll mean spending more time with each patient, and you’ll have to deal with losing some of them.”

  “I know, Harry, but I’m beginning to think I’d like to give general practice a crack.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Norma said, “and if you don’t like it, you can always come back into a junior hospital post for training in whatever speciality you fancy.”

  “Anyway,” Jack said, nipping the end of his cigarette into the ashtray and rising, “we still have the rest of the year to decide. I’m heading for my room. Coming, Barry?”

  “Right.”

  Barry left the room and joined his friend in the hall.

  “You sounded pretty miffed about working tomorrow night,” Jack said.

  “I am. It’s about the first chance I’ve had to see Virginia for ten days. Now I can’t get free, because 5 and 6 will be on take-in.”

  They turned onto the main corridor and headed for the stairs down to the passage past the cafeteria on the way to The Huts.

  “She’s off tonight and tomorrow, but I wanted to take her out to dinner tomorrow night. I don’t want to take a drink on my first night on 5 and 6 in case I’m called after twelve and arrive on the ward stinking of it.” He made a huhing noise. “I’m still daft about Virginia. In September I was thinking I might have a future with her.”

  Jack shook his head. “You’re a glutton for punishment, Barry. You fall in love so easily. I feel for you. I really do.”

  “Says he who doesn’t know the meaning of the word and thinks anything in a skirt except a kilted pipe band is fair game?”

  “Unless it’s the Dagenham Girl Pipers,” Jack said, and laughed.

  “Oh for God’s sake, Jack, be serious. I think she’s cooling off.”

  “Oh-oh.” Jack frowned. “But if she is cooling off, don’t forget your uncle Jack’s advice about numbers of fish in the sea, or student nurses in Musson House.”

  “Are you ever serious?”

  “Sorry, bye.”

  “I should bloody well think so. Here I am, worried I might lose her, and your advice is there’s plenty of fish in the sea. The first time I let her down was early October. I was meant to be off at six. I had a patient with a perforated ulcer so I couldn’t just say, ‘Right. It’s six, I’m off duty now,’ and leave the poor bugger. I was forty minutes late picking her up. She was miffed but said as a nurse she had to understand. It seemed all right for a while, but the same sort of thing happened ten days ago. She wasn’t happy. Not one bit. I said I’d make it up to her. I promised I’d take her to the Causerie for dinner tomorrow.”

  “But the best-laid plans are scuppered by take-in,” Jack said as they left the hospital and walked under dim lighting past the tennis courts and into The Huts. “Well, you heartsick Romeo, I’d suggest you nip over to Musson House. You’re off duty until midnight.” He looked at his watch. “Seven fourteen? You could explain about tomorrow and take her out for a coffee. Bring her back to your room.”

  “By God, you’re right. I just need to get my coat.”

  Barry was still panting ten minutes later when Virginia appeared on the steps of Musson House. The night porter, Joe, clearly had succeeded in delivering Barry’s message.

  “Hello, Barry. Sorry I’m a bit of a mess. I’d just taken off my makeup. Can’t stay long. I’ve staked out one of the bathtubs and I was going to wash my hair. I’m looking forward to tomorrow night and I want to look my best.”

  So, they’d not be going out tonight. That was obvious. “You look fine,” Barry said. “I mean—you always look lovely to me.”

  She smiled. “Tonight, I think you need your eyes tested, but you’re sweet. Anyway, what brings you here tonight?”

  “To apologise.”

  “What for?”

  “You know I start on 5 and 6 at midnight. When I asked you out for tomorrow I didn’t know that 5 and 6 will be on take-in. I can’t get away—”

  Her smile fled.

  “Look, I’m really sorry, but—”

  “Sometimes your job has to come first. You told me that the last time you were late.” She shook her head. “And I’ve just bought a new dress I thought you’d like.”

  Barry didn’t know what to say. Another sorry would do no good. He tried to move closer to her, but she took a step back.

  “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. As soon as I can get free.” He stopped talking as two laughing student nurses in civilian dress trotted down the steps and one called out, “Goodnight, Virginia.”

  “Goodnight, Noreen. Phyllis.”

  Their laughter faded as they walked away.

  Barry said, “I will make it up to you. I love you, Virginia.”

  It seemed an age before she said, “All right. And I love you too, but my bath’s getting cold. I’m working on 9 and 10 starting tomorrow. Come and tell me when you’ll be free, but please don’t let me down again.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Goodnight, Barry.”

  He could only stand and watch as she climbed the steps and closed the door.

  21

  Bless This House

  May 10, 1969

  O’Reilly peered through the glass front door of Alice Moloney’s dressmaker’s shop. Inside he could see Alice standing behind a glass display case. Perhaps, he thought, cowering was a better word, because leaning across it, with his face close to hers, was none other than Colonel Oliver Mullan.

  The red-lettered “Closed” sign swung on its cord and the bell tinkled as O’Reilly opened the door. He snibbed the lock and strode inside.

  Mullan spun round. He was looking dapper in polished black shoes, grey flannels, and a dark green blazer bearing the Royal Ulster Rifles’ harp crest on its left breast pocket. What O’Reilly would at first have described as a leer was now transforming into a welcoming smile. “Doctor O’Reilly, how pleasant to see you. In to buy something chic for your lovely wife, are you?”

  “Not exactly.” O’Reilly kept his voice level.

  “I do hope you’ll accept my apology. While I do not intend to withdraw my complaint to the borough council, I feel my abrupt withdrawal from his lordship’s dinner the other night was less than courteous, but I was upset, you see.” He offered his hand, which O’Reilly ignored.

  Mullan frowned.

  O’Reilly stepped past Mullan and asked, “Are you all right, Alice? You sounded very shaken on the phone.”

  “Oh, thank you for coming, Doctor O’Reilly. I’m sorry to interrupt your luncheon. I’m all right now you’re here, but would you please ask this”—she stopped, then squared her narrow shoulders and continued in a lower tone—“this horrid man to leave and never come back?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Indignation
from Mullan.

  O’Reilly ignored him. “Tell me what happened please, Alice.”

  She wrung her hands. “The colonel came to my shop two weeks ago. Introduced himself. Told me he’d been stationed in India. He knew I was an old India gal and asked me out for dinner. I refused, politely of course. I’m walking out with Ronald. I thought for the colonel, being an officer and a gentleman, that would be that, but he’s kept on pestering me.”

  “Pestering,” Mullan mumbled. “Is that what you call friendly overtures in Ballybucklebo?”

  O’Reilly looked at Mullan, who had stepped away from the counter and stationed himself beside a rack of women’s summer dresses.

  “I see,” he said, turning back to Alice. “Yes, it was Lady Ferguson who suggested the colonel might like to meet you.” He sensed movement and spun to see Mullan slipping toward the locked door. “Stay where you are.” It was a voice he had little call for these days, but he was still able to summon the authority of his former title, naval surgeon commander.

  Mullan froze.

  “Please go on, Alice.”

  Alice looked at Mullan and then quickly looked away again. “This is the third time he’s come and asked me out. Ronald’s spoken to him, but he just laughed at poor Ronnie. ‘All’s fair in love and war,’ he said. Now he’s here again. And this time he tried to kiss me.” She screwed up her face in disgust. “I didn’t know what to do. I told him I had to go to the toilet. He said he’d wait. That he was a patient man. That’s when I phoned from my flat above the shop. Thank you for coming so quickly.” Her voice was cracking.

  “It was brave of you to come back down to the shop.”

  “I knew you’d be here in minutes, Doctor, and I wanted you to catch that man here.”

  “I see.” O’Reilly turned on Mullan. “Quite the officer and gentleman, Colonel.” O’Reilly curled his lip before the last word.

  Mullan resorted to bluster. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, O’Reilly. Miss Moloney’s a single woman. I find her very attractive.” His smile was a rictus. “Faint heart never won fair lady, don’tcha know?”

  O’Reilly stepped close to Mullan, and although they were of equal height, the man seemed to cringe and shrink slightly. “When a lady says no once, Mullan, she means no. Do you understand?” O’Reilly put an edge into his voice.

  “Not always.” His voice had lost its bluster. “Sometimes they’re playing hard to get. Honestly. Come on. You’re a man of the world.”

  Good God, had the man actually winked? O’Reilly raised his eyes in disbelief, then stared at Mullan. “Then I’ll say it for her, and I’m not playing hard to get—although I can play very hard indeed if pressed, so repeat after me: ‘No means no.’”

  “That is your opinion.” Mullan stood more straightly. “And if I choose not to share it?”

  O’Reilly took a step back. The trouble was that short of threatening violence, he held no trump cards if Mullan refused to back down, although perhaps John MacNeill might have found something. “I hoped a man with your background would have had the decency to leave Miss Moloney alone. Tender an apology.”

  A slow smile spread over Mullan’s face. He made a mocking bow to Alice. “I do apologise, madam, for not being more charming.” He turned toward the shop entrance. “And, now if the good doctor would open the door?”

  O’Reilly had no choice but to comply.

  “Councillor Bishop was kind enough to invite me, a newcomer to Ballybucklebo, to the party this afternoon, but I’m afraid I have a previous engagement. So I bid you both a very good day.” Mullan left.

  “What a horrid man. Thank goodness he’s not coming this afternoon,” Alice said. “But thank you, Fingal. You tried very hard. I do appreciate it very much.” She smiled. “And if you couldn’t convince him, I don’t think Ronald would stand much of a chance. He said last time Mullan came that he was going to speak to the man again. At least you’ve saved Ronald from embarrassment. Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to do more. Perhaps he’ll leave you alone now he’s saved his bruised pride.”

  “I do hope so.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, my, look at the time. Ronnie’s coming to take me to the Donnellys’ and I have to get ready. Will you excuse me, Doctor?”

  “Of course. We’ll see you there. I’ll be off.” And as O’Reilly closed the door behind him he realised that John would be at the housewarming. Perhaps he would have some more compelling arguments with which to discomfit Colonel Mullan.

  * * *

  “I thought you was taking us home til our wee cottage on the estate,” Donal said from where he sat in the passenger’s seat of O’Reilly’s Rover.

  He had just driven past Ballybucklebo House’s driveway where it met the Belfast to Bangor Road.

  Lunch with the Donnellys was over. O’Reilly hadn’t finished his, but there’d be plenty of grub where they were going.

  “I’m sure Doctor O’Reilly knows what he’s doing, Donal,” Julie said from the back, where she sat with Tori. The twins’ double pram was in the boot.

  Kitty was following in her Mini with the twins, along with Kinky as their babysitter and dog minder to Bluebird.

  “More surprises,” Donal said. “First the family picture. Then me going til be a partner with Bertie Bishop. I’m still in shock about that, so I am. I would not of had of believed it if I had not of would’ve been there.”

  O’Reilly chuckled. “It’s true, all right. And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer fellah.”

  “Thank you, Doctor O’Reilly,” Julie said.

  “And not a dickie-bird til no one,” said Donal, “until Bertie gives me the go-ahead til tell people.”

  “So, it’s Bertie now, is it?” said Julie, smiling.

  Donal puffed out his chest as he turned to the backseat. “Mister Bishop said as I should call him Bertie now. I know it sounds strange, love, but we’ll have to get used to mingling with our betters from now on.”

  O’Reilly said, “You two have no betters. Not in my book, anyway.”

  “But you’re a learnèd man, sir. A doctor,” Donal said.

  “And so are you, Donal Donnelly. Making a perfect mortise and tenon joint takes skill and precision, much like surgery.”

  “I never thought about it like that.”

  O’Reilly indicated for a left turn at the crown of the hairpin bend. In his rearview mirror, he noted the Mini following.

  “This is the lane til Dun Bwee,” Donal said. “What sort of shenanigans are you up to, sir?”

  O’Reilly parked in the front yard. “Everybody out.”

  The Mini parked behind him as O’Reilly lifted the pram out of the boot and set it up. He joined Donal, Tori, and Julie. Kitty, with a large brown-paper-wrapped parcel under one arm, Kinky, the twins, and Bluebird piled out of the Mini. Kinky put the twins in their pram.

  “Mother of God, would youse look at that,” Donal said, pointing to a banner hung along the eave line of the rebuilt Dun Bwee. Its new yellow thatch, red door and window frames, and blindingly white walls all sparkled in the early May sunshine. “‘Welcome Home the Donnellys.’”

  The front door flew open and what seemed to O’Reilly to be the entire population of Ballybucklebo and the townland poured out. Led by Bertie Bishop and followed by Lord John MacNeill, Lady Myrna Ferguson, Lars, Father O’Toole, and the Reverend Robinson, they were cheering, “Welcome home.”

  By now O’Reilly, Kitty, and Kinky had withdrawn a little so the rest of the Donnelly family could be the centre of attention.

  Donal stared, looked at Julie, back at the crowd, and started to laugh.

  “Quiet please. Settle down. Quiet.” Bertie Bishop had taken on the role of master of ceremonies. He stood beside the family, facing the now silent crowd. “My lord, my lady, Father O’Toole, Reverend Robinson, and ladies and gentlemen. It is with great pleasure that we welcome the Donnellys back to their own home. I’m only going til say a few words of thanks til some very spec
ial people who helped make this happen, then we’re going til have a hooley til beat Bannagher, a housewarming of the first magnitude.”

  Applause, cheers, and whistles filled the air.

  Wide-eyed Tori, with one thumb in her mouth, clung on to Julie’s leg. The twins both looked startled.

  “Youse all know what a terrible thing it was when fire destroyed this cottage just after Christmas last year.”

  Low murmurings.

  “Youse all know how lots of people chipped in the next day with clothes and grub and things, how his lordship and her ladyship loaned a cottage on their estate that was fixed up by volunteer work—”

  “And donated materials from you, Mister Bishop.” O’Reilly recognised Alan Hewitt as the speaker.

  “That’s as may be,” Bertie said.

  “It is not,” Lenny Brown called from the front row, “for you donated your vehicles and tools at the weekends while volunteers was helping to rebuild Dun Bwee too. You’re a sound man, Bertie Bishop.” Lenny turned to face the crowds. “I want a big hand for his lordship and her ladyship, and Mister Bishop.”

  The applause was deafening and scared a clamour of rooks from the tall limes at the far end of the back garden to circle, cawing, before the shiny black birds settled back on their perches.

  Donal’s greyhound, Bluebird, barked once.

  The marquis, his sister, and Bertie Bishop all bowed their acknowledgements.

  “I am proud of everybody here, for every one of youse has helped in some way. Everyone, no matter what persuasion. And while there’s rumblings in the rest of the wee north, we’re still a big family here. That’s why we have two men of the cloth here the day til bless this house, and they will in just a wee minute, but a bit of housekeeping first. We’ve a marquee loaned by the Ballybucklebo Highlanders set up round the back of the house. Willie and Mary Dunleavy will pour the drinks—”