An Irish Country Christmas (55 page)

“Hello, Doctor Laverty.” She grinned and pointed to a facecloth on her forehead. “I hit my head a quare rattle, so I did, when the donkey ran into the wall of the inn.”

Barry removed the damp cloth. There was a bump right above Jean-nie’s left eye. It was about an inch in diameter and was raised for a quarter of an inch above the surrounding skin of her forehead. The skin was shiny and turning a dusky shade of blue. It was probably nothing more than a bruise, but Barry had once missed a diagnosis of bleeding inside the skull. He was not going to take any chances now.

He rummaged inside his pocket for a pencil torch. “I’m going to examine you, Jeannie.”

“That’s all right.”

“And before I do, I’m going to ask you some questions, like what day is it?”

“Don’t you know, Doctor?” He heard concern in the child’s voice and a soft laugh from Sue.

“I do,” he said. “I want to know if you do.”

“Sure it’s Monday. It’s four days before Christmas.” She looked around her. “And this here’s a wee room in the Parish Hall, so it is.”

Barry smiled and explained to Sue, “She’s not disorientated. That’s a good sign. Now . . .” He shone the light into one eye, pleased to see the pupil constricting.

In less than five minutes he had completed a neurological examination and was relieved that, as far as he could tell, everything was normal. He stood. “You’ll be fine, Jeannie. Just a bit of a bump.”

“So she can act out the scene?” Sue asked.

“Of course.”

She bent down to Jeannie. “Come on then. Let’s get you ready.” Barry watched as she smoothed down Jeannie’s dress, produced a brush, and brushed the little girl’s hair. “Off you trot,” she said. “Take your place with Joseph in the stable. We’ll not need the pillow or the donkey because we’re going to start after the birth of Jesus.”

“Good. I’ll maybe have a baby one day, but I’m never getting back on one of them donkeys, so I’m not.”

Barry smiled at her vehemence.

“Fair enough,” Sue said. “When the curtains open, start from ‘It’s not a bedroom, Joseph, but it will do rightly.’ ”

“Yes, Miss.” Jeannie left.

“Thanks, Barry,” Sue said. He saw how she smiled. It was an intriguing smile.

“My pleasure,” he said. “I thought before Armageddon struck, your kiddies were doing very well.”

“They are fun,” she said. “I—”

Before she could continue, Father O’Toole appeared.

“Are you ready to go, Sue? The natives are getting restless out front, and the set’s jury-rigged.”

“Excuse me, Barry,” she said. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Damn it. The moment to get her phone number was gone. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. He knew he’d be devastated if he found out Patricia had given her number to another man.

“Why don’t you stay, Barry, and watch from the wings?” Her eyebrow lifted. He swallowed. “I’d like that,” he said. “Very much.”

Sue vanished and the priest left. Barry walked to the wings above the doorway. He stood silently watching Sue Nolan positioning her charges, and he smiled when she ran across the stage and joined him. “It’s a good thing the innkeeper’s not needed for the rest of the play.”

Barry grinned at her.

She held a finger up to her lips.

He heard applause and the rustling of the curtains, and he watched in silence, aware of her nearness and her light perfume.

The children acted the old story of the nativity of the Christ Child; of heavenly hosts and shepherds abiding in the fields; of stars in the east and wise men. Barry recognized many of the little performers as patients he had seen in the surgery.

The curtains were drawn on the final scene. “Barry,” Sue said, as they waited for the applause to die down. “I’ve to conduct the closing carol.”

“Off you go.”

Her voice was soft. “Will you wait here for me until it’s over? I’m
leaving for Broughshane as soon as the performance is over. I’d like to wish you a Merry Christmas properly.”

He knew he should say no, find some excuse, but instead he said, “Of course.” And why not? She was going away that night.

She stretched up and kissed his cheek. “I’ll not be long.”

He whistled under his breath and felt the place she had kissed. It was a good thing she was leaving tonight. He watched her cross the stage and marshal the combined forces of the actors and the choir.

The curtains reopened. The choir stood stage left; the actors, stage right. Shepherds and wise men knelt before Joseph and Mary, who in her arms held a dolly wrapped in swaddling clothes.

Sue Nolan took the mike. The footlights outlined her. Damn, but she did have
very
good legs.

“My lord, ladies and gentlemen, ‘Our revels now are ended.’ Well, almost. There’s one last carol, and we invite you to join in the singing. Father O’Toole?”

The harmonium played the introductory chords. Barry listened to the piping of the children onstage and the singing of the entire audience. He silently mouthed the words.

Once in royal David’s city
Stood a lowly cattle shed,
Where a mother laid her baby
In a manger for his bed
.

Jolly Gentlemen in Coats of Red

O’Reilly took one peep into the waiting room. Holy Mother of God. It seemed to him as if there were more people in there than you’d see at an international rugby match. He’d never get them all seen in time to go to the Rugby Club party that night. He closed the door and walked quietly back to the dining room where Barry sat finishing his coffee and reading the
Belfast Newsletter
.

The paper rustled as Barry looked up. “There’s an interesting article here, Fingal. Canada’s dropped the old Red Duster, and now they have a new red and white flag with a red maple leaf on it.”

“Wonderful. I’m happy for them, but we have a bigger problem. How many home visits have you to make?”

“This morning? None. Why?”

“Because the entire populations of Ballybucklebo, the townland, and for all I know the Outer Hebrides and parts of the Isle of Man are in our waiting room. I need your help.”

O’Reilly had deliberately said “our,” and he was gratified to see Barry smile. It was good the lad felt that way about the practice.

“Is there a flu epidemic, Fingal or—?”

“No. It’s the same every year on the last day the surgery will be open until January. I’ve always shut down, except for emergencies, two days before Christmas. The locals know that, so everyone and their cat comes in. Some
will
have a recent complaint that’s blown up last night or today, but the rest want to get prescriptions refilled at the last minute, or they have vague aches and pains seen to in case they
might flare up and spoil the holidays. I think some just come in to say, ‘Merry Christmas.’ It’s been like this every year I’ve been here. I have a theory about why it happens.”

“Why?”

“I think it goes back to pagan times. The country folks, professed Christians as they may be, haven’t left all their pagan roots behind.”

“You mean like . . . like Kinky and her gift?” Barry asked.

“Exactly.” The boy’s still worrying about his girl, O’Reilly thought. Then he said, “Yule marks the winter solstice, the time when the days start to lengthen and the year has turned. People used to clear out their rubbish so they could start the New Year with a clean slate. I think there’s a sort of communal health spring-cleaning too. They come in to leave behind whatever has ailed them this year.”

“I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“It took me a year or two to work it out, and I could be wrong . . .”

“You Fingal? Never.”

O’Reilly laughed and said, “Less of your lip, young Laverty.” Inwardly he was pleased to see how Barry’s self-confidence, so badly rattled when he was facing a possible malpractice suit in August, had grown enough that he was able to risk teasing his senior colleague. “I did think I was wrong once . . . in 1956 . . . but I turned out to be mistaken about it.”

Barry laughed. “To err is human,” he said.

“Alexander Pope. And ‘to forgive divine.’ But there’ll be no forgiveness for us from the customers if we don’t get into the trenches right quickly.”

Barry didn’t hesitate. “Fair enough.”

His response pleased O’Reilly. Barry would have been quite within his rights to say it wasn’t his turn to take surgery today.

“So I’ll work in the surgery,” Fingal said. “You work in here, Barry. Just keep going down to the waiting room and yelling, ‘Next!’ until the place is empty.”

“All right, but even with two of us working, some folks are going to have to wait forever to be seen.”

“Not at all.” O’Reilly shook his head. “I’ll show you. Come on.” He
headed for the waiting room with Barry at his heels. O’Reilly opened the door a crack and allowed Barry to peep in. “Do you still think Fitzpatrick’s a threat?”

Barry shook his head and grinned.

That was one less thing for the boy, who was a congenital worrier, to fret over. O’Reilly flung open the door. “Gooood morning, all.”

“Good morning, Doctor O’Reilly.” It sounded like the roar of the supporters when a winning try has been scored.

“Right. Listen to me. There’s one hell of a lot of you here. Doctor Laverty’s going to help out, but it’s still going to take time.” He waited for the muttering to die down. “I have a couple of suggestions. First. Is there anyone here just to wish us a merry Christmas?”

There was a muted chorus of “Me, sirs” and “I am’s.”

“It’s very nice of you, very civil indeed, so Doctor Laverty and I thank you and wish you the same in return.” He hoped they’d get the hint. O’Reilly waited and watched Kieran O’Hagan hold the outside door open for his wife Ethel. He noticed Kieran was carrying a brown paper–wrapped parcel. “I don’t mean to be ungracious, and I know some folks have been like the three wise men and are bearing gifts.”

The room was filled with chuckling.

“If you are, go round to the front door. Mrs. Kincaid will be happy to accept them and say thank you very much on our behalfs.” As several other people rose and left, O’Reilly continued. “Rather than have you all hanging about for two or three hours—or more, because Doctor Laverty and I will break for lunch . . .”

“I hear your Santa suit needed letting out, sir,” a voice from the back of the crowd observed. It was greeted by a round of laughter.

“I’ll let that pass in the spirit of the season, Connor O’Brien.” O’Reilly waited. “And are you in for your usual very deep injection with a big needle?”

“I am not, sir.” Connor’s voice sounded anxious. “No, sir.”

The second round of laughter was louder than the first.

O’Reilly thought to himself, Barry thought I’d been joking when I told him my first law:
Never let the patients get the upper hand
. “So rather than hanging round, I want a third of you—and you all know
who came in early and who came in late—to go home and come back at one o’clock, unless you reckon you’re so sick you need to be seen at once.”

Even as the procession started to file out the back door, O’Reilly yelled, “Who’s first?” Then he waited until Agnes Arbuthnot had risen. “ ’Morning, Aggie,” he said, then turned and headed for the surgery.

He heard Barry’s loudly spoken “Next” and felt confident that his assistant, who he hoped would stay on as a full partner next year, would do a first-class job in the dining room.

O’Reilly parked the Rover and let Arthur out. He’d really enjoyed his late afternoon run on Ballybucklebo beach. The big dog had slept in the car, while O’Reilly made two home visits that had been requested in the middle of the morning. Barry had stayed in Number 1 to deal with the patients who returned after lunch.

“Into your kennel.”

Arthur obeyed.

O’Reilly let himself into the kitchen. Kinky had her back to him. She mustn’t have heard him come in. She was taking small sausage rolls on a baking tray from the oven and putting them on a wire-mesh rack to cool. The smell of the freshly baked pastry was tantalizing.

“Hello, Kinky.” He snaffled a hot roll and juggled it from hand to hand.

“Doctor O’Reilly, sir.” Kinky turned and stood foursquare with a hand on her hip. “I’d have thought my leek-and-potato soup at lunchtime would have been enough, so.”