An Irish Country Love Story (6 page)

She nodded. “He's getting awful forgetful, and he has headaches and he says his hands and feet are numb.”

“Mmmm,” said O'Reilly, stroking his chin. Those symptoms were not usually associated with heart failure and sounded more like a disorder of the nervous system. That and the sudden outbursts? O'Reilly was still at a loss. “Anything else?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. But he's not right, so he's not. I'm scared he might—he might hit me or, or hurt himself. I think he's losing his mind and I don't want til see him locked up in Purdysburn.”

It was a distinct possibility that Sonny Houston was going to require psychiatric help in the province's asylum, Purdysburn Hospital, but although O'Reilly could not formulate a working diagnosis now, perhaps there was an underlying physical cause that might be amenable to treatment?

Maggie was crying quietly when she said, “I want yiz til do something, Doctor O'Reilly. Give me something til make him better. Please?”

“Give me a minute,” O'Reilly said, trying and still failing to arrive at a diagnosis or at least a list of possibilities. Despite patients' beliefs that the examination was all-important, the physical findings in most instances simply confirmed what had been suspected by analysis of the symptoms. Not in this case. O'Reilly knew that all he could do was take a thorough look at Sonny and hope something helpful turned up. Either that or, and it was something O'Reilly disliked doing unless absolutely necessary, admit he was out of his depth and simply refer him to a specialist at the Royal or Purdysburn. But which specialist? “Maggie,” he said, “I know your husband doesn't want to see a doctor…”

“He'll not let you near him. You know how pig-headed he can be.” She was wringing her hands. “What'll I do?”

Jasper woofed once and got to his feet as the door opened.

O'Reilly turned to see Barry in the doorway. “I just got in. Kinky told me Maggie was here. Morning, Maggie.”

Maggie sniffed. “Morning, Doctor Laverty.”

Barry said, “And that you had plans to take Kitty out. Can I help? I am officially on call now. Is Maggie sick?”

O'Reilly shook his head. “It's Sonny.”

Barry frowned. “But he's not here. I don't understand.”

“Maggie,” O'Reilly said, “I'm going to ask Doctor Laverty's opinion.”

“Fire away, sir,” Maggie said.

“Sonny has a number of symptoms that have got Maggie worried. I'm afraid they don't quite add up. I'm not sure what's going on.”

Maggie's sniff was huge. She dabbed her eyes with her hanky.

“And he's refusing to see a doctor.” O'Reilly whipped off his spectacles. “Typical Sonny Houston. Gets a bee in his bonnet and ten strong men wouldn't move him. Huh. Well, he's not the only bloody-minded man in this village. Yes, Doctor Laverty, I would like you to take over Sonny's case, but a bit later.” He turned to Maggie. “Doctor Laverty knows a lot more of the new medicine.” He saw Barry smile at the compliment. “And sometimes two medical heads are better than one.” He looked out the window to see snow falling more heavily. “Maggie, wait here with Jasper for a wee while until I come back for you. Doctor Laverty, it's your case, but what was called in the navy ‘a ship of force' is sometimes required. That's me. He'll see me or else.”

“Fair enough.”

“The Rover's in the garage. Barry, get your coat on again and your Wellies and go on out to the car. I'll nip upstairs, tell Kitty where we're going, then come back and we'll put snow chains on the tyres. I'll tell you what I've found out about Sonny while we work and on the drive out.”

“Right,” said Barry, and left.

“Sit tight, Maggie,” O'Reilly said, then rose and left to climb the stairs.

“How is she?” Kitty sat in an armchair before a fire where Arthur Guinness lay stretched out. Lady Macbeth was on Kitty's lap, along with an open magazine.

“Maggie's worried about Sonny, and I'm not sure exactly what's wrong with him. He's refusing to see a doctor. Both Barry and I are going out to see him. Sorry about that, but…” He stared out at the blizzard. “I'm not sure we'd have made it out for lunch anyway.” He thought of the dining room curtains. Nor would they get to Bangor. Inwardly he smiled.

“That's all right,” she said. “Now drive carefully. I'll let Kinky know there'll be two more for lunch.”

O'Reilly bent and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I'm off,” he said, heading for the door.

As he went downstairs he felt regret about missing lunch with Kitty but an even greater curiosity to find out what the devil was wrong with Sonny Houston.

 

5

And They Ran Awa'

“Hellfire and damnation,” O'Reilly yelled as the final clip on the tyre chain snapped shut—and skinned his knuckles. He reflexively sucked them.

“You all right, Fingal?” Barry asked.

“I'll live,” he said. “Time we were off, and I want you to drive.”

“Oh?”

“That hill up to the Houstons' can be a bugger when it's slippy,” O'Reilly said. “You drive and if needed I'll get out and push.”

The two men got in and Barry reversed out of the garage.

As they drove up to the front of Number One the snow was falling fast, whirled into spirals by a vicious northeaster. Although it was only midmorning, the steeple of the Presbyterian church opposite Number One was difficult to make out, and the old yews were bowing under the weight of the damp flakes.

“I'll go and get them,” O'Reilly said when Barry had parked. It really was as cold as a witch's tit, he thought as he hurried along the short path and on into the house. “Come on, Maggie, and bring Jasper.”

On the way back to the car the gormless animal kept bounding and clicking his jaws, trying to catch snowflakes in his mouth.

“In you get,” he said, holding the back door open and closing it behind them. He climbed in the front. “Off we go.”

Barry pulled away from the kerb and drove along roads where the few vehicles caught out in the storm crept along. Nobody in their right mind would be driving in this unless they had to.

“Can yiz no' go any faster, Doctor Laverty?” said Maggie from the backseat. “I'm main worried, so I am. We're only hirpling along like an ould snail with rheumatism.”

“I'm going as fast as I can, Maggie. There's a lorry up ahead and I can't pass him in this lot.”

The swirling snow was barely kept at bay by the windscreen wipers.

“Poor Sonny's all alone, bless him,” Maggie said, “but for his dogs. I hope til God he's had enough wit til get a fire lit. It would skin you alive out there.”

“I'm sure—” O'Reilly began, but Maggie continued. “Och, but I don't know. The last wee while I've had til remind him til brush his teeth. Comb his hair. I telt him yesterday he'd forget his head if it wasn't screwed on his shoulders.”

Memory loss, O'Reilly thought, emotional lability, and the loss of temper she'd already described? He knew they occurred with toxic confusional states or—and please don't let it be—dementia. But how did that relate to numbness of the extremities and shortness of breath? O'Reilly shook his head and stared at the red taillights of the lorry that Barry was using as a pathfinder through the blizzard.

“Maggie,” O'Reilly said, “I've been telling Doctor Laverty most of what you've told me about Sonny. I'm going to tell him the rest now.”

“You fire away, sir, but don't make the young doctor slow down any more.”

“I'll not,” Barry said.

“Right. I've told you Sonny's physical symptoms, but there was also an instance this morning where Sonny lost his temper with Maggie, and yelled at her when she spilt some milk—”

“Och, it was only a wee yell.”

“She said she was worried he might hurt her—”

“Not at all,” Maggie said. “My Sonny's gentle as a lamb, so he is. He'd never take a fit of the head staggers like that. Not at all.”

Ahead the lorry signalled for a left turn, slowed, and made its departure. Now the road ahead was empty.

“Maybe I'm making a big fuss out of nothing, Doctors?”

Barry glanced back, trying to reassure her. “Maggie, if a body's worried enough to come to us in the middle of a snowstorm, it's our job to—Look out!” he yelled.

O'Reilly saw at once that the momentary distraction had made Barry miss a bend. He'd tried to correct, turned the steering wheel too violently, and skidded.

Maggie moaned with the passion of the banshee. Jasper the dog yodelled, O'Reilly muttered, “Bloody hell,” and Barry simply muttered, “Hang on.”

The car juddered, jolted, and shuddered to a halt with a distinct list to starboard.

“Lord Jasus, are we near all killed? Jasper, quit your noise. I'll never get home to poor Sonny now. I'll need til get out and walk. Will youse for the love of God do something, Doctors?”

O'Reilly began, “Beëlzebub's blue, bleeding, blasted, blazing, brimstone…” He took a deep breath. “Sorry, Barry. It could have happened to a bishop in these conditions. I'd better get out. Take a shufti. There's a torch in the glove compartment. Maggie, sit tight and don't let that dog out.”

“Just get a move on, sir. Please.” Her voice quavered. “I want til go home, so I do.”

About an inch of snow had fallen. O'Reilly felt the chill on his face and was glad of his overcoat and gloves. He switched on the torch and ploughed past the front of the car. One of the front wheels was sagging over the ditch. “We,” O'Reilly yelled, “are somewhat bollixed, but put her into reverse. I'll go and push. See if we can get her back on the road.”

“Right.”

Barry had opened the window, presumably so he could hear any instructions.

O'Reilly marched to the front of the car, found a secure footing, and put his shoulder to the radiator grille. He yelled, “Try her now,” and heaved. Spinning tyres whined, but there was no movement.

“Hang on,” O'Reilly said. “We'll have to lighten the car. Ask Maggie to get out and stand aside. Leave the dog inside.”

“Right.”

Maggie, muttering something about Captain Scott's polar expedition, clambered out. The dog bounded past her and despite her screeches of “Come back here, Jasper,” the animal was soon out of range of the headlights and heading at great speed into the whiteness.

“Never mind the bloody dog,” O'Reilly yelled as he bent to push again. “He'll probably be home before us at this rate. Try her again, Barry.”

The tyres spun, but then O'Reilly felt them catch and the car lurch back. Deprived of the support of the radiator, he fell forward, knocking off his paddy hat. “Holy thundering Mother of—”

“One more shove and I think we can get her out,” Barry called from the car.

O'Reilly heard Maggie wailing, “We're doomed. I'm going to start walking. I have to get home to Sonny.” And off she set, Wellies crunching through the snow.

“Let her go. We'll catch her up,” O'Reilly called as he tried to stand. Still muttering imprecations, he struggled to his feet, dusted the snow from his hair, grabbed his hat, and crammed it on his head. He was panting like a hunted stag and his breath hung in the air. He put his hands on his knees and yelled, “Give—me—a—minute.” His breathing was easing. He took two paces forward, lowered his shoulder, and yelled, “Now.”

Barry inched the car backward. O'Reilly plodded after. He was gasping and his chest was heaving.

Barry shouted, “She's back on the road.”

“Thank—Christ—for—that.” O'Reilly tramped around to the passenger door.

“You all right, Fingal?”

“No. I'm colder than a stepmother's breath.” He started to clamber aboard. “And from the sound of it I think the car heater's gone on the blink—again. But there's only about a mile more to go.”

They'd not gone far when the headlights picked out a solitary figure heroically plodding on in the direction of her home.

Barry pulled up alongside, stopped, and called, “Hop in, Maggie.”

She climbed in and shut the door. “Sonny'll have a carniption when he finds out I've lost one of his dogs.”

“Never worry,” O'Reilly said. “Most dogs are pretty good at finding their way back home. We'll not stop to look for him. We need to get to your place, Maggie, get warm, and see to Sonny.”

“Can you not hurry up?” Maggie asked as soon as she was settled in the backseat.

“Maggie,” O'Reilly said, “in five minutes we'll be at the bottom of your hill. If Doctor Laverty takes a run-race at it like a bull at a matador's cape we'll skid. Now just bide, hold your tongue, and we'll get you there.” He said to Barry, “Take her up the slope in second. You'll get better traction.”

Barry dropped the car into the lower gear and soon they were over the hill's crest.

“Well done,” said O'Reilly. “And, you didn't need my assistance on the hill after all. Remember, I just came to help us get here, and get Sonny to see you. It's your case. You're the one on call.”

“Thanks, Fingal. I appreciate your confidence.”

“Pah,” he said, shaking his head. “You managed on your own when Kitty and I were on holiday in Barcelona last year, and I want you to take on even more responsibility this year.”

“Fine by me,” Barry said. “I'll enjoy the challenge.”

That was something O'Reilly admired about Barry. He never shirked his responsibilities. He was, in local parlance, a sound man.

“And speaking of holidays,” Barry said as the lights of the Houstons' house came into view, “how'd you feel about giving me a week off in February to go and see Sue?”

“As long as Nonie and I can cope, I don't see why not.” Good for him, he thought. The lad deserves a holiday.