An Irish Country Love Story (45 page)

“And we thank you, Miss Moloney,” Mister Robinson said. “Now,” he said, “while I'm sure Doctor O'Reilly is busting to say a word of thanks, I have another speaker. Mister Bishop, the floor is yours.”

Bertie rose, hooking his thumbs behind his lapels in his characteristic stance. “Right,” he said, “I'm dead proud of what Miss Moloney and my wife Flo has done. I only helped out a wee bit and I think the petition should do the jibby-job, so I do. But I do want to caution you that while the petition is admirable, it's still true that money talks.”

“The penny is mightier than the sword,” Donal Donnelly yelled.

“Well, I hope it doesn't come to that, Donal,” Bertie said, “I certainly hope it doesn't. But if council changes its mind and opts til go south, everyone's rates will need to go up to cover the cost, and that will weigh heavily with the councillors. I don't want til pour cold water on our hopes. I just want to be clear about what we're up against and back up Miss Moloney's request. Every signature counts.” He paused to let that information sink in.

O'Reilly glanced at Kitty, who was no longer smiling. Kinky, in the front row, looked tense.

“Any comments or questions for either Councillor Moloney or Councillor Bishop?” Mister Robinson asked.

Hands went up.

“Mister Shanks?”

Gerry Shanks rose and said, “I don't see why it has til go on the rates…”

A chorus of boos echoed through the hall.

“Houl your wheest, Gerry.”

O'Reilly did not recognise the forceful voice telling Gerry to shut up.

“Now hold your horses. Hang about,” he said, “I'm not done yet. I'll bet youse that if we did a door-til-door whip round, passed the hat like, we'd raise the ready in no time flat.” He sat, to a chorus of now approving noises.

“Councillor Bishop?” Mister Robinson said.

Bertie said, “That's a very nice suggestion, Gerry. It shows the kind of support we know we have for each other here, but, and I am speaking as a member of council now, things must be done through the proper channels. That's how councils work. It's not a charity. I'm in favour of the bypass, but I do want to bring a wee touch of realism into the proceedings.”

“Thank you, Councillor,” said Mister Robinson drily. “You've certainly done that. I for one would much rather see any increase in lorry traffic diverted away from the village main street. One of our hymns says, ‘The church's one foundation is Jesus,' and that is true in the spiritual sense. I mean no blasphemy when I say that First Ballybucklebo Presbyterian's worldly foundations are very old bricks and mortar that do not benefit from the passage of what politicians in England are starting to call Juggernaut lorries because of their size.”

More heads nodding. A few loud chuckles.

“Yes, Cissie Sloan?”

Cissie rose. “I've a wee question for Doctor O'Reilly. I'm not very good at public speaking. Mind youse I did once give the toast to the bridesmaids at my cousin Jenny's wedding back in '56 … or was it '57?” She frowned, then smiled. “It was '56, so it was. That was the year them Hungarians reared up agin the Russians and—”

“Forgive me, Cissie, but your question?” Mister Robinson asked.

“Right enough. Doctor, if they do knock down your house, where'll we go for corn if we need a doctor?” She sat.

“Doctor O'Reilly?”

“Good question, Cissie. I don't think, if the worse comes to the worst and we do have to go, I don't think any demolition would be started until Mrs. O'Reilly and I have found somewhere to live and I have found alternative premises for the practice. Doctors Laverty, Stevenson, and I will still look after you all.”

“'At's a great comfort, so it is. We don't want to lose any of youse, sir,” Police Constable Mulligan called. “Sorry for speaking out of turn, sir.”

“Thank you, Officer,” O'Reilly said, and remained standing. “Now,” he said, “I don't want to cut off any more questions or statements, but seeing I have the floor, I want to take this opportunity to say how very deeply touched Mrs. O'Reilly and I are by the way that Councillor Moloney and Mrs. Bishop have organised the petition on our behalf, how you have all come out tonight to give us your support. No one could accuse me of ever showing false humility, but I am humbled and touched to the quick. If I were alone I think I might shed a tear.” He felt Kitty's hand slip into his and heard her whisper, “I know what you mean.”

“And, damn it all—pardon me, Reverend—but sometimes petitions do sway councils, Councillor Bishop. I appreciate your comments, but I won't let them stop me hoping for the best and that Mrs. O'Reilly and I and, bless her, Kinky Auchinleck, and the young doctors are still carrying out our duties in Number One long after the bypass is completed.”

The cheers and applause were deafening.

O'Reilly waited for silence then continued, “And finally, may we thank Mister Robinson for the use of the parish hall, and for so skillfully chairing the meeting. Thank you all.”

He sat, to resounding applause, and when it had died, Mister Robinson rose and said, “I believe that now concludes our business. Please do try your best to get more signatures, and let us give three cheers for the petition. Hip-hip.”

The three hurrahs rang into the rafters and when they had died, the assembly began to break up.

O'Reilly turned to Bertie. “Thank you, Bertie. I know it wasn't easy being the one to have to bring the voice of reason to the proceedings.”

“I just hope the petition works,” Bertie said.

“You said you'd another line of attack up your sleeve, Bertie,” O'Reilly said. “I don't want to twist your arm, but—?”

Bertie shook his head. “Doctor,” he said, “I'm not good at the quotes like you, but there's one about secrets shared not being secrets anymore. I've been in politics for a brave wheen of years. No harm til youse both, but it's up my sleeve now and it'll stay there unless I really need it.” He grinned. “There is one thing I can do up front though. I'll give Mister Baxter a ring tonight. Tell him there's already near seventy percent in favour of the southern route. Ask for the meeting and the taking of the vote to be open til the citizens. That might sway a vote or two our way.”

“Fair enough,” O'Reilly said. He inhaled deeply. “Thanks for that, but…” He exhaled. “It's still going to be a very long two weeks until the next meeting of council.”

 

37

In the Valley of Decision

“Hello, Doctor, dear,” Kinky said. “I'm getting your tea ready.”

O'Reilly had just returned from a home visit to the sight of Kinky, her eyes streaming, standing at her chopping board, chopping and sniffing.

“Kinky Auchinleck. Please don't cry. Everything will be fine. Really.”

“Get away with you, Doctor. It's the onions. They do make a body's eyes water. I'm not worried about this evening at all. Now, if you're looking for Doctor Laverty—you were looking for himself, were you not?” She inclined her head to the door to his quarters. “He's working on his little boat, so.”

“Thank you.” He'd not ask Kinky, either about why she wasn't worried about this evening nor how she knew he was looking for Barry. O'Reilly shook his head, felt a shiver travel up his spine, and crossed the kitchen. He knocked on Barry's door and opened it when a voice said, “Come in.”

“Coming up for a jar, Barry?”

“Love to,” Barry said, rising from his worktable to join O'Reilly. “Smells good, Kinky,” Barry said as he and O'Reilly headed for the hall, where they met a jubilant Nonie Stevenson coming in through the front door. She was carrying what looked like an overnight bag. “Fingal, Barry,” she said, and the words poured out, “I've just driven down from Belfast. I saw Doctor Millar this afternoon and guess what?”

O'Reilly opened his mouth to speak, but Nonie laughed and said, “I never was very good at telling stories. I just gave it all away by saying I just drove down from Belfast. It's exactly four weeks and three days since I started taking the lowest possible daily dose of amphetamine. I've not had a single daytime episode since. He had said it could have taken a couple of months to get me stabilised, but he's sure we've done it in one. Doctor Millar's amazed, says it's the fastest recovery he's ever seen, and is confident my narcoleptic episodes are under control. I'm sleeping better at night too, and you'll probably not believe this, but I'm not craving tobacco anymore.”

“I am absolutely delighted,” Barry said, “and congratulations about the fags. I quit four years ago. It was bloody murder.”

“Thank you,” she said, “I can believe that. The first couple of weeks were hellish.” She looked from man to man and said, “I want to celebrate my cure now … well, not actually a cure. The narcolepsy will never go away, but it's under control. It's under control, and I want to celebrate that in a special way.”

“Go on,” said O'Reilly.

“Now don't laugh, but I'm still feeling guilty about having been difficult about swapping call. I promised not to let that happen again, and it won't.”

“We know that, Nonie,” O'Reilly said, his voice level.

She lowered her head. “Thank you. It is comforting to be trusted.”

Barry nodded.

Nonie said, “And I can never repay you, Fingal, for keeping me on with limited duties until I recovered—”

“That, Doctor Stevenson, is a load of bollocks,” he said with a broad smile. “Any decent person would have done the same. You were ill and the last thing you needed was to lose your job at the same time.”

“Well, you and Barry have been more than decent about it, and so I want to start paying back right now.” She lifted her bag. “I've got my toothbrush, my jammies, and the book Doctor Fitzpatrick so kindly gave me,
John Millington Synge and the Irish Theatre
.” She giggled and held up the overnight bag.

O'Reilly glanced at Barry and saw a look of amazement cross his young friend's face.

Nonie's tones brooked no argument. “Whoever is on call tonight isn't anymore. I am, and I will be every fourth night and weekend from now on, and I'll take my share of home visits too.”

Barry laughed. “Good for you, Nonie. I was on tonight, but I'll be perfectly happy to have the night off. I'm only a few hours away from finishing my model ship, and I had planned to work on it this evening while I was waiting for any emergency calls.”

“Your model that, but for the grace of God, I nearly completely finished off for you in January.”

“Water under the bridge,” Barry said with a smile. “We didn't know you were sick then.”

“Thanks, Barry.” Her smile was open and beautiful.

Barry turned to O'Reilly. “I'd like to come to the meeting with you and Kitty. I'm as anxious as you are, Fingal, to find out what's going to happen.”

“‘Anxious' is the right word,” O'Reilly said, “but it'll be over soon, and there's a pressing practical matter. If you two would like to go on up, I'll join you in a minute for that predinner tot, but I'll need to ask Kinky to ‘throw another spud in the pot.'” He turned back to the kitchen as Barry and Nonie climbed the stairs.

“I have a favour to ask please, Kinky,” he said, inhaling the scents of beef, onions, and carrots stewing. “But I also have some great news for you about Doctor Stevenson.”

“Oh?” Kinky said, turning from where she was making suet dumplings.

“Doctor Stevenson has been cleared by her specialist to come back to work full time.”

“Now that does be grand news altogether,” Kinky said. “I am very pleased, for I think her a nice young
cailín,
so.”

“And she's going to—”

“Take call tonight, sir?”

“Well, yes, how did you … Never mind. Kinky, she'll need—”

“Feeding, sir. There will not be any difficulties. I've made plenty of stew.” She began to grate the suet for another dumpling. “Kitty will know when to put the dumplings in. I'll set another place upstairs. And it will not stop me getting home to feed Archie and myself and still have plenty of time to get to the March council meeting on time. We'd not miss that for love nor money. I've a notion you'll be pleased, sir.”

He felt the hairs on the nape of his neck rise again. Kinky Auchinleck, lately Kincaid, née O'Hanlon, had inherited the gift from her mother. And she'd said he'd be pleased. There was still good reason to hope.

*   *   *

O'Reilly's, Kitty's, and Barry's heels clacked across the parquet flooring of the packed town hall. Old councillors, some with muttonchop whiskers, others bearded or wearing high wing collars and cravats, still looked down with dignity from a few ancient daguerreotypes. Their dour looks matched O'Reilly's mood.

Conversation was muted and O'Reilly felt the intensity of the sympathetic stares directed at him and Kitty. In contrast to the lighthearted air of the church hall meeting—at least before Bertie had had his say—the atmosphere was subdued.

He ushered Kitty and Barry into a seat in the front row beside Kinky and Archie and noted that his housekeeper was again wearing her prized green hat that O'Reilly had given her two years ago. O'Reilly bent and said to Kinky, “I have to tell you, Kinky, that beef stew with dumplings beat Bannagher. Thank you.”

She smiled. “You're welcome, Doctor. And I hope it'll not be the last one I do cook at Number One. My wish is for many years to come in my kitchen, so.”

“We all wish for that,” O'Reilly said.

“We certainly do,” Barry agreed.

O'Reilly sat, and looked up to the dais where the nine-member council sat at the table. John MacNeill nodded to O'Reilly and Kitty from his seat beside the chairman, Mister Robert Baxter. John, at least, was one staunch ally. So were Bertie Bishop and Alice Moloney, but that was only three votes. O'Reilly sighed.