Part 21 (1/2)

I got a can of Diet Pepsi. I took a couple of rapid gulps. Better to be safe than sorry, they all said. Always better. I found a basin, then the baby's flannel, soaked it in cold water and brought it back to the room.

*I'm worried,' said Patricia.

Baby wailed again. She hugged him close.

I held up the basin, and for a second she seemed reluctant to set him down.

*It's okay, love,' I said. I set the basin down on the bed and eased Little Stevie out of her arms.

*I'm really worried.' She knelt on the floor by the edge of the bed. She removed the thermometer. Stared at it. *This isn't good,' she said, *this really isn't good.' She squeezed out the flannel and bathed his face. He screamed some more. *We should call the doctor. This isn't right. He shouldn't be like this.'

*Honey,' I said, *give him a chance. You're only trying to cool him now. Give his body a chance to react. Let it cool itself. Christine a Moira's Christine, daughter of G.o.d, etc. etc. a wasn't well when I was there yesterday. Maybe there's a bug, maybe I brought it home.'

She turned her head back sharply. *Did Christine have a rash?'

I shrugged. *Not that I'm aware of.'

*Call the doctor, Dan. This isn't right.'

I peered over her shoulder. *Maybe it's nappy rash.'

*On his chest? Jesus, Dan. Call the doctor.'

*We haven't got a phone.'

*Go and get him then.'

*It's the middle of the night.'

*I don't care if it's f.u.c.king Christmas Eve! Go and get the f.u.c.king doctor.'

I made the mistake of tutting.

She leapt up and slapped me in the face. Hard.

I stepped back, shaken. By the time I raised my hand to fend off another blow blood was already streaming down my nose. I looked into her eyes. I saw anger, of course, but beside it, vying for supremacy, fear. *I'm sorry,' I said quickly, *of course.'

I pulled on my jeans. Zipped up my tracksuit top. Grabbed the keys. *I'll be as quick as I can,' I said.

One thing, I wasn't going to get caught in a Wrathlin traffic jam. The only thing that moved between me and the doctor's was a collie out sniffing and the odd spot of blood still escaping from my nose. I burnt rubber. Or as close to burning rubber as you can in a Ford Fiesta.

The doctor's house was in complete darkness. I banged on the door. For several minutes. Eventually there was a light, a single bolt was shot back and the big door opened a fraction. An elderly woman, blue dressing gown, hairnet, peered out.

*Is your husband there?'

She shook her head vaguely. Stifled a yawn. Said, *I was asleep,' through bunched fingers.

*Where is he?' I demanded.

*He's . . . up on the hill . . . but . . .?'

*What hill?'

She shook her head again. *The hill. The cemetery.'

I let out a deep sigh. *What's he doing there?'

*I don't understand . . .'

I tutted. I leant into the door. *I'm looking for the doctor.'

She shook her head, rubbed at her eyes. *Oh . . . yes . . . I'm sorry . . . you're looking . . . I was asleep. Of course. The doctor. I thought you meant my husband . . . silly . . . he's been up there these twenty . . . I'm sorry . . . the doctor . . .'

*Yes. The doctor. Where is he?'

*He went out. Earlier.' She turned and, twisting her head, examined a grandfather clock in the hallway. *Much earlier. I'm sorry, I . . .'

*Can you bleep him?'

*I'm sorry . . .'

*Page him. Can you page him?'

*. . . page . . .?'

*Jesus,' I spat.

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

*Do you not even know where he went?'

She shook her head.

*Is he seeing someone? Is he on call?'

*I'm sorry, I . . .'

*Is there anyone else?' I snapped. *Is there another doctor? A nurse?' She looked confused. *A f.u.c.king witch doctor?'

I turned on my heel. I got back in the car. I drove right up the hill and into the churchyard, then round the back. I banged on Father Flynn's door. He answered in half a minute. He was in his bed gear. I explained my situation to him.

*Oh dear, oh dear,' he said earnestly. He beckoned me into the hallway as he searched about for his shoes. He found them, began to push his feet into them without untying the laces. *He does have a habit of disappearing off. And old Mrs McTeague's no better . . . she's really not compos mentis these days at all.'

*There must be someone else.'

With a grimace he finally lodged his second foot into its shoe, smiled, then put a rea.s.suring hand on my shoulder. *There's always someone, Dan. We'll go down to the McCooeys'.'