Part 14 (2/2)

*Of course.' And I hope you'll be f.u.c.king walking, I nearly added.

He followed me out of the surgery and stood before his patients. As I crossed to the door on the other side he barked, *What the h.e.l.l's the matter now?' at the mother, but as he lifted the child into his arms I saw that a look of bright concern had enveloped his ragged face.

15.

It took me an hour. It had got a bit chilly. My bones were sore. I'd been in a serious accident and I was being made to walk home. My head hurt. The seagulls calling way up there sounded like they were laughing. Maybe they'd seen me being flattened by a big woman on a bike. Maybe they knew I was getting myself involved in something rather strange. Maybe they were just chatting about the price of fish.

I lingered for a few minutes by the shuttered pub. I leant against the wall. I tried to seep in some of its alcoholic energy, but all I could manage was some essence of cold brick and my legs felt heavier. I might have saved the life of the Messiah, but I couldn't buy myself a drink. I tried to cheer myself up by taking the long view: that maybe one day people would speak my name in the same awed manner in which they spoke of John the Baptist and Moses the Lawgiver a Dan the Accidental Hero a and preach earnestly of my suffering.

There were blessed few people around. I walked along the edge of the harbour, looked at the fis.h.i.+ng boats gently bobbing in the greeny water. At Charlie McMa.n.u.s's ferry. No sign of him. There wasn't even an ice-cream man. Or a child running or a parent shouting at him not to go too close to the water. There was a dead calm. It was odd. Or normal. I didn't know.

I trudged the trudge of the lonely trudger out to Snow Cottage. It might as well have been ten miles as two. I was miserable.

I stopped at the end of the lane. There was a light in the window, welcoming a yes, but odd too, different. Instead of knocking on the door I peered through the window. Patricia. Rocking gently in a chair before a coal fire. A lamp on a table a oil or paraffin a throwing out a weak, gentle light. A table set. A baby asleep on a cus.h.i.+on on the floor. And suddenly I had a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye because it all just looked so b.l.o.o.d.y beautiful. Time-warped and soft. Shortbread tin and Oirishy both, but beautiful.

I tapped lightly on the door. Patricia answered it quickly. She was wearing a long skirt. A brown s.h.i.+rt, slightly frilly. No make-up to speak of, but a smile that made the need of it superfluous.

*The French Lieutenant's Woman,' I said. I held her by the arms. *Or Lorna Doone?'

Her smile widened. She reached up and kissed me. Then touched my forehead. *Are you okay?' she said.

I nodded. *Fine.'

*They said you were fine.'

*Who did?'

*The priests came by to tell me about your . . . bravery.'

I shrugged.

*When I saw them, the two of them, coming to the door, I knew something had happened. And the way they started, all grave and gloomy, I thought they were going to tell me that you'd been killed in an accident. That I'd left you to make your own way home and you'd been knocked down by a car or a cow or struck by lightning or fallen down a hole and drowned. And I just thought instantly about how much I loved you and how much I would miss you and about how awful I've been to you. And then they told me you were okay and I just burst into tears. And now I'm going to do it again.'

And she did. She threw her arms round me and we hugged for a long time.

She pulled away. *I made you some dinner,' she said proudly, *it's in the oven.'

*No microwave?'

*No microwave.'

*I forgot the cat food. For the hedgehog.'

*It doesn't matter. He's in a box in the yard. I made a little house for him. I tried a little of your dinner out on him first. He gobbled it up. He seems to be thriving, so it can't be too poisonous. Have a seat.' She pulled the chair out for me. I sat. She opened the oven door. Lifted a steaming ca.s.serole across to the table.

*Looks delicious,' I said. *Smells divine.'

*Wait till you try it.'

*I can't wait.'

She started to serve it up. Then abruptly she set the ladle down again and turned to a cupboard. She reached up. *I forgot this,' she said, beaming.

I had to look twice.

*Jesus Christ,' I said.

A bottle of wine.

*Where on earth did you get that?'

*I brought it with me. From home.'

*But . . .'

*But I wasn't going to drink it until we had something to celebrate. And now there isn't anything better to celebrate than the two of us.' Little Stevie stirred on his cus.h.i.+on. *The three of us,' she corrected. Patricia put her hand out to me and I took it and together we looked down at him stretching.

*Do you think you could love him?'

I nodded.

*Really?'

I nodded.

*I think you could too. If you give him a chance.'

I nodded.

She took my other hand.

*Dan?'

*Mmmmm?'

*I've been practising my pelvic floor exercises.'

*We don't have a pelvic floor. It's wooden, I think.'

*Dan . . .'

*I'm sorry . . . I . . .?'

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