“That would have been an awful letdown.”
“It was, but only for a little while. I’d already decided to specialise in cardiology and I’d come to terms with the possibility. A lot of patients do succumb. I don’t mean to sound callous, but for your own sanity you have to develop a fairly thick skin. Do not get personally involved.”
Barry thought of Rusky Peters. Although sorry that he had been readmitted, Barry was looking forward to seeing his friend and could already imagine the pleasure he would feel in helping him weather this latest setback. He would take John Geddes’s words under advisement.
“And that was the acorn from which I believe is going to be a mighty oak. We have a team of on-call medical staff who carry bleepers, a staff nurse on duty on wards 5 and 6, and two defibrillators. They can get to every ward in the hospital. Now you’re part of the cardiac team on 5 and 6 and I’ve trained you on the defibrillator, you join the on-call rota. It’s not very onerous. Here’s your bleeper.” He handed a pager to Barry. “You and I are going to be part of something that’s going to be implemented worldwide one day, but had its beginnings right here. I’ll explain the details in a minute.”
“Me?” Barry was flattered. “That’s an exciting thought, but how?”
“I’m working for my doctorate. My thesis will concern itself with recovery after coronary thrombosis. I came across a paper by Doctor Wallace Yater and his team, which found that sixty percent of those who die from a coronary do so within one hour of the onset of the symptoms. I told Doctor Pantridge that one morning when we were having our after-rounds cup of tea.” John laughed. “You know how he, no pun intended, cuts straight to the heart of any matter.”
Barry smiled. “I do indeed.”
“He said, and I quote, ‘Well if that is so, we must go out and get these people.’”
Barry nodded. “You mean like the obstetric flying squad that takes a registrar, a midwife, and a medical student to the patient’s home if there’s a complication to a delivery?”
“Exactly. On-the-spot defibrillation’s going to be one of the greatest medical achievements of the twentieth century. We’re working on a defibrillator that can be charged from car batteries. Our cardiac technician, Alfred Mawhinney, has discovered that if we use a thing called a static inverter, we can do just that. The engineer in the cardiac laboratory, John Anderson, has added more refinements.”
Barry was out of his depth. He was a complete bollocks when it came to physics, but just as one didn’t need to understand the workings of an internal combustion engine to drive a car, all the doctor would have to do was know how to use the defibrillator.
“We’ve already trained some nearby GPs in CPR, and to give the patient fifteen milligrams of morphine and an antiemetic. The GPO have set up a cardiac telephone hotline, telephone number two double four, double four, that will be connected directly to a red telephone at the main desk here. Doctor Pantridge is getting funding for a dedicated, specially equipped cardiac ambulance which should be able to reach the medical and nursing pickup point at the back of the hospital in forty seconds from receipt of the call to the ambulance depot.
“The team will be a junior cardiologist, me initially, and you if I’m not available, during the day, and all the other housemen on a rota from six P.M. to eight A.M., a staff nurse, and a medical student attached to 5 and 6.”
“Me?”
“At least until you finish your three months with us. We’ll be the only cardiac flying squad in the world—”
“In the whole world?”
“That’s right, Barry. I told you, you’re going to be part of one of the most exciting advances in medicine of the twentieth century.”
Barry took a deep breath. “A small part. And that’s quite the honour and responsibility.”
John Geddes smiled. “It is, but I’m quite sure when you have to, you’ll rise to the occasion.”
23
To Celebrate the Event
May 10, 1969
Judging by the increasing buzz of conversation coming from the Donnellys’ back garden, the housewarming hooley was already well on its way. Before Kinky had returned from delivering the twins, Bertie Bishop had joined the O’Reillys, John and Myrna, and Lars where they had stood at the front of the welcoming crowd.
“You made it, Lars,” O’Reilly said.
“Only just,” said Bertie, who had been driven to the party in Lars’s Jaguar E-Type. “Your brother, Doctor, drives thon hot rod like your man Stirling Moss used to in Formula One races. I think we were flying beneath the legal limit. I’m not sure if the tyres actually touched the ground. It’s a fine car, though, Mister O’Reilly.”
“It is, Mister Bishop. Sorry if I had you worried.”
Myrna said, with a sardonic smile, “Still mad about speed, Lars. I thought you might have grown out of it by now.”
“I make no apologies, Lady Ferguson. I’m too set in my ways now.”
O’Reilly, sensing the tension, changed the direction of the conversation. “Kudos to you, Bertie Bishop. Your crew must have worked like blazes to shift the furniture, set up the marquee, and put up the tables and chairs. It was a brilliant surprise.”
“Och, sure it’s praise to everyone, not just me, particularly Dapper Frew. It was really his idea.”
“It was. I was there that night in the Duck. Remember?”
John O’Neill asked, “Will you join Mister O’Reilly and us at our table, Mister Bishop?”
“I’d be delighted to, sir.”
“Good. And O’Reillys, after you’ve seen to the dog? We’ll get our food and keep seats for you.”
“Thank you, John,” O’Reilly said. He turned to Kitty. “I’ll get a bite to make up for my missed lunch.”
“I thought I heard your tummy rumble in the car.” Kitty laughed.
“And do you fancy a drink, Mrs. O’Reilly?”
“It’s early for a G and T, but it’s a warm day. Lager and lime would be nice.”
Kinky came out through the front door and joined the O’Reillys. “Wasn’t that grand altogether? The two families all content.”
“Two families?” O’Reilly said as he and Bluebird, Kitty and Kinky started to walk round the house toward the back garden.
Kinky’s chins wobbled as she laughed. “The Donnellys and our village.”
“You’ve got that right, Kinky,” Kitty said.
They passed the Neolithic burial mound, stopped at the dog run, put Bluebird inside, and closed the gate. The greyhound charged round with head down, sniffing, and, clearly remembering, gave a contented yip, glad to be home.
Beneath a canvas canopy, a small crowd clutching paper plates and cutlery moved from left to right past a table covered in plates of sandwiches, smoked salmon on wheaten bread, slices of cold roast ham and chicken, sausage rolls, hard-boiled eggs, and salads.
Cissie Sloan and Flo Bishop stood behind, advising diners, handing out portions, and, when asked, carving.
O’Reilly heaped his plate. Ham, chicken drumstick, smoked salmon, a couple of sausage rolls.
“Before you sit down to eat your lunch, sir, can you come to the dessert table with me?” Kinky said. Maggie Houston, née MacCorkle, stood behind a second table, three blue cornflowers in the band of her hat. She grinned at them and O’Reilly noted that, as was her habit on formal occasions, she was wearing her false teeth. Sonny Houston stood behind her.
Kinky offered O’Reilly a plate. “Please sample that, sir.”
O’Reilly accepted Kinky’s offering. “What is it?”
“Maggie’s plum cake.”
I’ll kill you, Kinky, O’Reilly thought. I’m trapped. I’m trapped by courtesy. I’ll have to eat the bloody stuff and spoil my lunch. He looked at his full plate, then closed his eyes and took a bite. Chewed. “Holy Mother of— Sorry, ladies. That’s Maggie’s, is it? It’s—” He stopped. If he made too much of a point of how delicious it was, surely the woman would be hurt.
“What do you think
, Doctor?” said Maggie. “Kinky has a different way of making it. It doesn’t have as much texture as mine, but Sonny says his oul’ teeth are getting a bit loose, like, and this cake’s easier to chew. I still think mine is better, but I don’t want my Sonny losing any teeth over a silly cake. So I’ll do it Kinky’s way from now on.”
“I think that’s a very compassionate thing to do, Maggie. It’s a sacrifice, but it’s for a good cause.”
“Ah,” said Sonny, holding both thumbs up where Maggie couldn’t see. “If Kinky—I mean if Maggie was a Catholic, I’d be putting her up for sainthood.”
Maggie turned to face Sonny, pecked his cheek, and said, “You could charm the birds from the trees—you oul’ goat.”
“Well done, Maggie MacCorkle,” O’Reilly said. “Well done.”
He was rewarded by another of Maggie’s dry, cackling laughs as he headed toward the drinks table. The grass underfoot was springy, its newly mown scent filling the air. The surrounding hedge of lime trees sheltered the garden from a light breeze that shook the pale green new leaves and added a whisper to the low hum of many conversations. Folding tables and chairs borrowed from the sporting club were scattered on the grass.
Cissie’s husband, Hughie; Gerry and Mairead Shanks; Lenny and Connie Brown; and Alan Hewitt occupied one. Each had a full plate and a drink. Alan stood up and touched his duncher. “Good afternoon, Doctor and Mrs. O’Reilly.”
“Good afternoon to this table,” O’Reilly said, and was rewarded by a chorus of greetings. “How’s your Helen getting on, Alan?”
“Bravely. She sits her finals next month.” The man’s pride could be heard in every word he spoke.
“I’m sure she’ll do you proud.”
“She already has, sir. More than I can say.”
“Wish her luck from us,” Kitty said. “And, Lenny, does Colin sit his national school exams in June too?”
“He does, Mrs. O’Reilly. And he’s revising and cramming like billy-oh.”
“Wish him luck too.”
“Thank you.” Alan sat and the O’Reillys moved on. “That table is Ballybucklebo in a nutshell. It’s what Ulster should be. Hughie and Cissie Sloan and Alan Hewitt are Catholics, and the Browns and the Shanks are Protestants.” He sighed. “If only the wee north could look that way at every table.”
Soon they spotted John and Myrna, Lars, and Bertie Bishop. The men rose as Kitty approached. “I’m going to get drinks for us, love.”
“Then please sit down with us, Kitty,” John MacNeill said, “and I’ll get another chair for Fingal when he returns.”
“Thank you, John.” Kitty set her parcel on the grass beside her and O’Reilly set his lunch plate on the table.
“Guard that with your life. Won’t be long.” He was eager to find out what John MacNeill might have discovered about Mullan, but he knew the marquis was a great believer in imparting that kind of news all in his own good time. O’Reilly left and joined the end of the queue. There was no mistaking the tall gangly man and the shorter woman immediately ahead. “Ronald. Alice.”
Both turned. “Hello, Fingal,” Ronald Fitzpatrick said. “Alice contributed some clothes after the fire, and when she was invited to this do, Bertie Bishop said it would be perfectly all right if I came along.”
“It’s better than all right. You’re part of the family now. I’m afraid you can’t escape us.”
“I wouldn’t want to. I thought the whole little ceremony was extremely moving. It reminded me how I can never forget your kindness to me when I was in trouble.”
“I—” But Ronald wasn’t finished.
“And Alice told me what happened earlier. Thank you, my old friend. Thank you very much. I’ve become very attached to Alice. I despise anything that hurts her. I know, because Alice told me, that Mullan stood on his dignity, refused to apologise, but we can hope that when he’s calmed down, had time to think, he’ll not bother Alice anymore.”
“We can hope so.” And I can hope John MacNeill’s got something on the man.
The line shuffled forward.
The customer ahead of Ronald and Alice, Mister Coffin the undertaker, moved away carrying two drinks. “Afternoon all.”
“Afternoon.”
From behind the bar, a perspiring Willie Dunleavy asked, “What’ll it be, folks? And the drinks are on Mister Bishop’s company.”
Ronald said, “A small dry sherry and a brown lemonade, please.”
“Well, I can’t vouch for how dry it is, sir, I never drink the stuff myself. But I do have some sherry. And for Doctor O’Reilly?”
“Lager and lime. Have you Harp?”
“I do.”
“And a pint.”
“Coming up.” Willie bent to his work with glasses and bottles. “Here y’are, folks.”
“Thanks, Willie.”
“We’re sitting with the doctors,” said Ronald, pointing to Connor Nelson, Nonie Stevenson, and Emer McCarthy. “I gather Doctor Laverty couldn’t make it today. What a pity. I would have enjoyed seeing him.”
“It is a pity,” O’Reilly said, but he knew why. Barry had confided in his senior partner when he’d asked for time off eight days ago about Sue’s surgery and the reasons for it. He’d begged off today because, as he’d explained, Sue didn’t feel like partying. God knows, O’Reilly thought. I’ve dealt with enough apparently infertile patients in the last twenty-three years to know how much turmoil they go through. His heart bled for them, but he said, “Enjoy your afternoon,” as their paths parted. He arrived at the marquis’s table and put down their drinks. “Kitty, before we settle down, let’s give the Donnellys their housewarming presents.”
Kitty picked up the parcel and joined him. “Lead on.”
In moments he was knocking on the front door.
Donal was beaming when he opened it. “Doctor and Mrs., come on in. The twins is having a nap in their bedroom, but Julie and Tori’s here.”
“Mrs. O’Reilly has little presents for you,” he said, and followed her into the spotless kitchen/dining room. There were bright chintz curtains for the windows; the table from the cottage had a red tablecloth and a vase of blue-with-yellow irises. A Welsh dresser was adorned with willow-pattern dinner plates. Julie sat on a love seat with Tori, her Christmas dolly beside her.
Tori said, “Hello again. It’s nice to be home, but I didn’t see the unicorn.”
“I think she’s back in the Lilac Wood,” Kitty said, bending to be closer to the girl.
“With Schmendrick,” Tori said, her small face serious. “I hope so.”
Kitty straightened and handed the bulky parcel to Donal. “We hope you’ll like these.”
Donal laid the parcel on the table and carefully undid the tape securing it. “Och,” he said as he revealed what was inside. “Youse remembered I said I’d lost my Gilbert and Sullivan records, and here’s the Gondoliers, The Mikado, and The Pirates of Penzance. Thank youse very much. And look here, Tori. It’s your very own kitty. He handed her a tabby-striped stuffed animal. “Say thank you.”
“Fank oo very much, Doctor and Mrs. O’Reilly.” She took the cat and hugged it to her. “It’s a pussycat, just like the lady kitty at your house.”
“And would youse look at that?” He held up what O’Reilly knew was a pure silk, semi-transparent spring green scarf. “That’ll keep my neck dead warm when I go til cheer for Linfield.”
Before O’Reilly could interrupt, Donal laughed, handing the scarf to Julie. “I’m only having you on, love. You’ll look smashing in it.”
Kitty laughed. “The ever-practical Doctor O’Reilly wanted to get you an electric mixer. I thought it should be something pretty that would go with your hair.”
Julie took it from Donal. “It’s lovely, just lovely,” she said, draping it round her shoulders. “Thank you so much.”
“And look,” Donal said. “Two wee pandas for the twins. Thanks again.”
“So,” said O’Reilly with a smile, “are you coming to your party?”<
br />
“Aye,” Donal said. “Julie’s going til look after the kiddies and I’m going til thank as many people as I can.” His voice quavered. “That there December night of the fire, I never thought I’d be back in here. I thought the place was going to be just a heap of ash, and me and mine would be de-destituted, so I did. But I should have known better than to doubt. Before long I was singing a different tune, all right. I mind saying til you, sir, that maybe, just maybe, the new Dun Bwee would be better than the old.” He gasped, swallowed, and said, “It is, and I swear til God you can feel the love of those good people out there coming through the walls.”
O’Reilly clapped him on the shoulder. “Health to you and yours to enjoy it.”
“We’re the luckiest family in the whole omnibus.”
O’Reilly had to think on that before saying, “Universe, Donal. Universe.”
“Aye, right enough. Anyroad, come on.” He turned to Julie. “When the twins wake up, please come out, love, and bring the girls.”
“I will, Donal. But don’t be worrying about me. I’m enjoying just sitting in my own kitchen again. Have fun,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”
Donal stood aside to let O’Reilly and Kitty leave, followed, and shut the door. “I never thought I’d see the day when the whole village would pull a fast one on me, but they did. I never seen this coming—and it’s sticking out a mile, so it is. Thank you, sir,” Donal said, and wandered off with a grin on his face that would have made the Cheshire Cat’s look miserable in comparison.
“Welcome back, O’Reillys,” said John MacNeill when they arrived at the table. He held Kitty’s chair and pushed it in to seat her.
“Bertie’s off to mingle,” Myrna said. “Never know when he might need a vote or two at the next council election.”
“That’s Bertie Bishop, all right.” O’Reilly lifted his pint. “Sláinte.” He started to gnaw on his chicken drumstick. “And speaking of elections, I was very pleased when our prime minister, Captain O’Neill, announced universal suffrage, one man one vote, for the next local council ones.”
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