Part 23 (1/2)

*I mean . . .'

*Rabbits,' he said. *We're coming down with the little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, Dan. Just doing my bit to help. I'm surprised n.o.body realised.'

I wasn't absolutely convinced by his story. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. There was a split shotgun in the back seat of his car and, sure, he had four b.l.o.o.d.y carca.s.ses lying on some plastic sheeting in the boot, but I still had my doubts. I supposed great white rabbit hunters (that's the hunters, not the rabbits) could go shooting at night-time, using their car lights to blind the rabbits or guide the shooting, but I had my doubts about how successful such an expedition would have been in the fog. Perhaps he'd managed to bag them before it descended.

I didn't even know if they were rabbits.

But I suppose I was too happy about Little Stevie to split hares.

*They're such a b.l.o.o.d.y hardy lot,' he said, bending back into the vehicle for his keys.

*The rabbits?'

*The people. They seldom have any use for me. I suppose I should have let Mrs McTeague know where I was going, but she's such a dozy old biddy it seemed pretty pointless. Anyway,' he said, abruptly changing the subject, *what about you, lad? Howse the head?'

*Fine.'

*Told you. Okay then, we'll take a look at this kiddie, will we? Told me down home there'd been a bit of a miracle. What do you say?'

*I really couldn't say. I don't see them that often.'

He gave me a thin smile. *Of course,' he said, and walked ahead of me into the cottage. *Moira has my case, has she? Good on her.'

Father Flynn had fallen asleep in one of the armchairs. On the narrow settee Moira and Patricia were chatting animatedly, a pot of tea on a tray balanced precariously on a small stool before them. They both turned and looked at me and for a very brief moment I thought perhaps they'd been discussing me and my propensity for unfaithfulness, but then I realised that Moira's head was still attached to her shoulders and not nailed to the wall, so she mustn't have brought it up.

Christine was tickling Little Stevie on the floor.

*Well!' boomed the doctor, bending down and scooping the baby up. *Let's see the wee man then.'

Flynn bounded suddenly from his chair. *Whoooooah!' he shouted.

We stood in shock for a moment. Then the priest reddened up. *I'm sorry. I was asleep.'

We all nodded sympathetically at him. He sat down again. Dr Finlay took the baby into the bedroom to give him a thorough examination. Flynn tried to follow, but the doctor insisted on privacy. Patricia and Moira returned to their chat. I strolled out into the garden.

I walked round to the side of the cottage and found the box in which Patricia had placed the hedgehog. It was empty save for some leaves and a side plate.

Then Flynn was at my elbow. As I turned, he stifled a yawn. *Sorry,' he said, *I'm not as fit as I used to be.'

*You didn't used to be fit. You had a heart transplant.'

*You know what I mean.'

We looked at the garden for a while. The jungle. I shook my head at it. A jungle it would remain. I had once tried to weed a window box by spraying petrol on it from a soda siphon and setting fire to it. A neighbour had called the Fire Brigade. It wasn't even my house. I was just pa.s.sing by and trying to be helpful.

*You know,' Flynn said, *you've had quite an impact, and you're only here a few days.'

*Aye,' I said.

*First you save Christine's life. Then she saves your son's. I hope you're writing all this down.'

I nodded. I would have to. Once I bought a quill.

*We were hoping a the Parish Council, that is a we were hoping that you'd come along to our meeting tomorrow night.'

*Oh aye, what's up?'

*Just our regular weekly meeting. But there's been so much happening that we have to talk about. And there's a lot would like to meet you properly, and thank you for what you've done. Would you come along?'

*Love to,' I said.

Patricia stood in the hall, cradling Little Stevie. It was the first time we'd been alone since he'd taken ill.

*Happy?' I asked.

She smiled at the baby. *Relieved.'

*Do you think it was a miracle?'

*I don't care, Dan, as long as he's alive.'

*Fevers break,' I said.

*I know.'

*Rashes disappear.'

*I know.'

*It happens.'

*I know.'

*But . . .'

*I know it.'

24.

Of course I was late. Patricia and I bickered the whole way. My driving too fast in the fog, which stubbornly refused to lift. My clothes. My lack of a.s.sistance with the little one. My attempts at a.s.sistance with the little one. The little one cried healthily throughout.

I wore black jeans and a black s.h.i.+rt and my black zip bomber jacket. My wife wore culottes. For fifteen years I thought a culotte was a badly p.r.o.nounced idiot, but then you learn something new every day. She looked lovely.

I dropped Patricia and the baby halfway up the hill at the end of the narrow lane which led to the schoolhouse. She'd accepted an invitation to a gathering of the church mothers. I was surprised that she'd accepted so readily. Before, she'd have laughed heartily at the suggestion that she might get involved with the sort of women who spent their time discussing the social history of linen or how to create flower arrangements depicting a five-point fall in the Dow Jones Index. Maybe giving birth changes you. Maybe having a six-pound ginger bap fighting his way sideways out of your birth ca.n.a.l for eight hours f.u.c.ks up your mental faculties. I don't know. Maybe men and women are just different.

She gave me a sarcastic smile and slammed the door. I blew her a sarcastic kiss then sped off in a cloud of ironic dust. Yeah.