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  “It’s lucky we’re all still near Belfast—odd seeing armoured cars with soldiers pointing rifles out of the backs, though, when we drove through the city.”

  “Odd, yes; scary, more like.”

  “I think Mister Chichester-Clark was right, after the riots in October, when he said we’re in for a bit of peace. I’m sure having the troops here helps. Not a squeak since October.”

  “Hope you’re right, Barry, but I read in the Irish Press on Tuesday about the old Irish Republican Army splitting and a new more radical group, called the Provisional IRA, being formed. Has me worried, I gotta tell you.”

  “We’ll have to wait and see—good Lord. What’s Emer McCarthy’s car doing here?” In the glare of Harry’s headlights, Barry could make out her red Mini. Was Sue all right? He felt his pulse speed up. “Thanks, Harry. Gotta run.”

  Barry didn’t wait for a reply but jumped out of the car, burst through the back gate, let himself into the kitchen, and charged past a barking Max into the well-lit living/dining room.

  Sue, now thirty-two weeks and one day, sat in an armchair while a worried-looking Emer perched on the sofa with Tigger curled up on her lap.

  “You all right, Sue?”

  “I’m fine, Barry. Honestly.”

  “Thank God for that.” Barry felt his pulse rate slacken. “I’m sorry, Emer, I didn’t mean to ignore you, but I’ve been feeling a little guilty going out with my mates and leaving Sue all alone.”

  “Silly. I told you I didn’t mind. It’s only once a year, for heaven’s sakes.” She looked at Max. “Quiet, you.”

  The dog obeyed.

  “When I saw Emer’s car outside, I assumed something was wrong, pet, and that you’d called the practice for help.”

  “Barry, I’m fine. Honestly.” She smiled at him. “It’s sweet the way you worry about me.” Her smile fled. “The one we need to worry about is Emer here.”

  Barry untied his black bow tie, undid his collar button, and collapsed into the other armchair. “What’s up, Emer?”

  “For a doctor who should know better, I have been remarkably stupid.”

  Barry frowned. “How?”

  “You know I’ve been seeing Eamon McCaffrey again.”

  “Yes, of course. Since July, right? I know how upset you were when you two broke up, just before you started with the practice. We’ve all been really happy for you.”

  She nodded but stayed silent.

  “Uh-oh. Don’t tell me he’s dropped you again?”

  She shook her head. “Certainly not,” she said.

  Barry frowned. “I see. Well, we could play Twenty Questions, or you could tell me what’s bothering you.”

  Emer shrugged. “Sorry, Barry.”

  “Emer, Barry and I are your friends. Would you like me to explain?”

  Her “Yes please” was whispered.

  “Barry, Emer’s pregnant. She’s due in early July. She’s ten weeks today. It’s got her very worried about—”

  “I see.” Barry was no prude, but what, since the early ’60s, was being called “the Sexual Revolution” had not yet hit conservative Ulster with any devastating force. He felt for her. She had few choices. Since the Abortion Act of 1967, termination of pregnancy was legal in the United Kingdom—except in Northern Ireland—and as a Catholic her church forbade it anyway. Adoption? Yes, but she would have to go away. Her shame would be great if she delivered, out of wedlock, locally. Marriage? Perhaps.

  Barry stood, took her hands in his, brought her to her feet, dislodging Tigger in the process, and gave her a gentle hug. “Emer, this must be difficult for you.” He held her at arms’ length and looked her in the eye. “Thank you for coming to us. Sue and I will do anything we can to help.”

  Emer managed a weak smile through some tears. “Thank you, Barry. Thank you both. I knew you’d want to help. That’s why I came here tonight.” She sat again and Barry followed suit. “It’s been a shock. But it’s not that I’m so worried about being pregnant. I’ve told Eamon. He’s asked me to marry him, and in case you’re worried about it being a shotgun wedding, he asked me two weeks ago, before I was even certain I was pregnant, and I accepted. Once I was certain, I told him. We hadn’t planned to start a family so soon, but he’s very happy. He’s a good man and he’s going to be a wonderful father. He hasn’t bought an engagement ring yet, but we’ll get married soon after Christmas.”

  “I’m delighted for you both,” Barry said, “and I know Sue is too, but I can’t quite see why you’re worried.” He smiled. “It’ll be just another premature birth.”

  Sue said, “That’s not what’s got Emer worried. I didn’t explain it very well.”

  Barry said, “I cut you off. I’m sorry, but the news came as a bit of a shock. Why don’t you explain it to me, Emer?”

  Tigger had returned to her lap, and she rubbed the cat’s head. “You, and Fingal, and Connor, you’ve all been wonderful to me. Getting the assistantship with a view to partnership was everything I could have wished for, and now this. I’ll work as long as I can…” Her voice trailed off into uncertainty.

  Sue said, “The state pays maternity benefits for eighteen weeks: eleven before your due date and seven after.”

  Emer shook her head. “I’m not worried about the money. Eamon’s a solicitor. He’s paid well. What I’m concerned about is putting an extra load on everybody else in the practice, but I’ll have to take maternity leave before and after I’m due, and I don’t want to work full time again when my leave’s over until the wee one’s going to school.” She inhaled through her nose. “I think the honest thing to do would be to resign, but I love my job here.”

  Barry beamed. “And that’s what you’re upset about?”

  She nodded.

  “Emer. Emer. Don’t be. I can tell you exactly what we’ll do. Stop worrying. Join Sue and me in a cup of cocoa now. Stay the night. We’ve everything you need—spare toothbrushes, pajamas, the complete works of Agatha Christie, the lot. If you’re very good, Tigger might even sleep on your bed. And tomorrow, you and I will go tell your troubles to Fingal and Kitty. I’ll phone him in a minute or two to let him know we’re coming.”

  “You do mean that, don’t you? I’ve been dreading the idea of telling him.”

  Barry shook his head. “Emer, yes, I do mean it, and I know Doctor Fingal Flahertie O’Reilly better than anyone here. The man has a heart of corn and when it comes to wisdom, beside Fingal, King Solomon would be forced to wear a dunce’s cap. Fingal will know exactly what to do, and I’m sure you’ll be very pleased.”

  * * *

  “Come in. Come in.” Fingal opened the front door of Number One to Barry and Emer. “We’re just finishing breakfast.”

  Barry let Emer precede him into the hall and turn right into the dining room.

  Kitty smiled from where she sat at the big bog oak dining table. “Morning. Have a pew. Have you two had breakfast?”

  Barry, seating himself, said, “Yes, thanks.”

  “Coffee, then?”

  Barry and Emer both said, “Please.”

  Kitty poured.

  Fingal took his place at the head of the table. “Right,” he said. “Barry was very cagey last night and didn’t tell me much. What seems to be the trouble?”

  Typical of the man, Barry thought. No small talk, but a simple nudge to get to the heart of the matter.

  Emer put down her coffee cup. “I’m—I’m … engaged to be married to Eamon McCaffrey.”

  Kitty said, “That’s wonderful news, Emer. Fingal and I wish you every happiness. If it was teatime instead of breakfast time I’m sure we could find a cold bottle of something bubbly to raise a toast.”

  “Thank you.”

  Emer was looking down at her hands. She was taking another circuitous route to the important detail, but Barry could understand that for a Catholic woman like Emer, admitting to being pregnant out of wedlock would be difficult. He was here for support, but he’d let her do this her way. Fingal�
��s initial smile of delight had been replaced by a puzzled expression.

  “That is great news, isn’t it, Kitty?”

  “Indeed, it is.”

  Fingal inclined his head and asked gently, “But it hardly calls for a meeting on a Saturday morning. Is something wrong?”

  Emer looked Fingal in the eye. “Not exactly. I do love Eamon very much.”

  “Then whatever the problem might be, love will have a solution,” Kitty said.

  Emer clasped one hand with the other. “I’m—I’m ten weeks pregnant. I’m due in July.”

  Barry glanced from Fingal to Kitty. Neither showed any sign of disapproval. He’d not have expected them to.

  “We hadn’t planned to start a family so soon, but a baby brings its own welcome. We’re happy about it. Truly we are. Eamon says starting our family young means we’ll still be in our forties when they’re off to university.” She hesitated before saying, “But that’s the future. In the here and now, it’s going to affect my job at Number One Main. I’m not going to be able to work at all for several weeks before and after I’m due. And I don’t want to make more work for everyone else.”

  “That’s understood,” Fingal said. “I don’t see why it should affect things here. I’m sure we’ll be able to get a short-term locum.” He looked at Kitty. “You know Kitty’s going part time in August, and frankly I’m getting used to less on-call, and more days off, and free weekends.”

  “Me too,” said Barry, noticing the way Kitty looked at Fingal and raised one eyebrow. What did that mean?

  “But that’s what’s making it difficult for me…” She sighed and her words tumbled out. “Eamon will go on working, so money won’t be a worry, but I want to look after my baby until the little one goes to school.”

  Fingal said nothing but nodded his shaggy head slowly, as if digesting this information and already formulating a plan.

  “I talked it over with Barry and Sue last night. I told them how much I love working here but that I thought I should resign so you could find another assistant.”

  She glanced at Barry, who recognized the look as a cry for help. He said, “I thought that was very honourable, but suggested before Emer took such a drastic step she should talk it over with you, Fingal.”

  “And you were right on both counts.” He fished out his briar and lit up, a tactic Barry had come to recognize as O’Reilly’s way of getting more thinking time. “All right,” he said, “let’s look at some ideas, but first let me ask you, Emer, how would you feel about working part time when your maternity leave is over?”

  Emer’s eyes widened. “Part time?”

  “For half your salary, of course.”

  “I think—I think—I think, in fact I know, I’d like that very much.”

  Fingal nodded and let go a puff of smoke.

  “Barry, we’ve had Sebastian here for four months. Your opinion?”

  Fingal already knew Barry’s opinion was good. “He and I have become friends. He is well trained, a quick learner, and popular with the patients. And I’m sure he’ll ace his Royal College of GPs exams next year.”

  “I agree. By late May he’ll have only three more months of training to go, and George Irwin is happy to let his trainees work unsupervised once their supervisors give him the go-ahead. I think Sebastian could easily fill your spot, Emer, until July the thirty-first, when his training’s officially over.”

  Barry said, “I’ll miss him when he goes in August, but that’s the time newly qualified GPs will be looking for positions. And because you’ve been so honest with us, Emer, we’ll have lots of time to find one who’d like to work part time. Thank you.”

  Fingal let go another little cloud. “I have another solution, one that I believe will make the half-unemployed Kitty, with all that spare time on her hands, very happy.”

  “Go on,” Kitty said.

  “For me,” he said, “‘at my back I always hear, Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near…’”

  “To His Coy Mistress, Adrien Marvell,” Barry said with a grin.

  “Incorrect,” said Fingal. “His name was Andrew.”

  “Blow you, O’Reilly,” Barry said, laughing.

  “Simple matter of grannies and eggs, young man,” Fingal said, “but more seriously, Kitty my dear, I think it would suit me to go part time on August the first.”

  Kitty gave a shriek of pleasure and clapped her hands, and Barry made a swift deduction. “Two half-time positions vacant makes one full-time position available. Offering it to Sebastian gets my vote.”

  “And mine,” Fingal said, “and for a young, about-to-be-married, expectant mother, Doctor Emer McCarthy, to quote the redoubtable Inspector Clouseau, ‘All the problems are solvèd.’”

  Emer was in tears. She reached out and touched Fingal’s hand. “Thank you, Fingal. Thank you. I think I love you too.”

  “Sorry,” Kitty said with a massive grin, “he’s taken, but I couldn’t be more pleased. Thank you too, Fingal. I can’t wait for August.”

  “It will be my pleasure, and on a more practical note, please don’t mention any of this to Sebastian. I’ll have a word with George Irwin, set things up.” His grin was wicked. “I think it’ll make a wonderful late Christmas present for the young man.”

  Barry sat chuckling to himself and contemplating the mysterious ways that life worked. Emer McCarthy’s pregnancy and abrupt change of plans would now affect the trajectory of someone else’s life. Like the ripples that spread over a calm pond when a stone is cast in. It had been a difficult time at the Carson household, but now, with his mother seemingly on the mend and a new job on the horizon, the young man’s future looked more secure. Barry looked over at Emer and thought about Sue and their coming baby. What might the fates have in store for their wee one? One thing was for sure, with two sets of grandparents, two parents, and Fingal and Kitty who would be wanting to help, everything humanly possible would be done to protect the wee mite.

  He sighed and just wished January might come a little faster.

  34

  The New Year’s Ruin

  O’Reilly looked up from where he sat at the rolltop desk in the empty surgery. Now that Christmas and the New Year’s festivities ushering in 1970 were over, it was back to porridge. A number of forms had to be filled in and prepared for signatures. The ballpoint he was using left a blue blot where the date was supposed to be, and he threw the pen aside and cursed. The shrill sound of the front doorbell interrupted his frustration. Who would be ringing at six on a Friday evening? Even if it was a patient, they’d be a relief from this bloody paperwork. He whipped off his half-moon spectacles, crossed the room and the hall, and opened the front door. “Bertie. Home from your globetrotting, I see. You’re a sight for sore eyes, my friend. And Donal.”

  “Aye,” said Donal, “but a real site for sore eyes is an eye hospital.”

  O’Reilly chuckled. “Donal Donnelly, you get worse.”

  A deeply tanned and noticeably rounder Bertie was carrying a parcel. “Flo and me’s been desperate busy since we got home two weeks ago, and I’ve not had a chance til see you, Fingal. Donal and me’s just come from the flats, they’re going up a treat, and we’re going to the Duck for a quick one. I said why don’t we pop in and wish Fingal a happy New Year and have a wee natter with him?”

  “Why not, indeed, and the same good wishes to you, Bertie. Donal and I have already exchanged the greeting.”

  “He’s right, we did. We was in the Duck and Fingal stood me a pint.”

  “And if you want to chat, why are we footering around on the doorstep? Come on in. I’ll not take you upstairs. Kitty and Kinky are getting things organized. We’re having a dinner for the practice doctors this evening but come on into the dining room.” He led the way. “Can I get you anything?”

  Bertie shook his head. “My doctor has prescribed a ration of one pint a day since I had my heart attack, and we’re going on to the Duck.”

  “And I’m keeping Bertie compan
y,” Donal said.

  “Fair enough. I’ll wait for the party to start, but have a pew.”

  The three men sat.

  “So, how was your cruise, Bertie?”

  Bertie beamed. “The greatest thing since sliced pan loaf,” he said. “Worth every penny, and the food on board was amazing.”

  That would account for his increase in waistline. This wasn’t the time to suggest a diet. That would come later.

  “I took a great clatter of snaps and I kept a wee diary. Give Flo and me another week or two to get organized and we’ll have you and Kitty round, and we’ll tell you all about it. Once she got used to it, my Flo became the world’s greatest tourist.”

  “Sounds like you had a wonderful time. I’m delighted.”

  “And I’m pleased too. With how the Harvest Festival went. Thanks for your letter, Fingal. I got it in Honolulu, and by the way, Flo and me took a trip to Pearl Harbour. Thon Arizona memorial is something to see. All them poor sailors.”

  Fingal, ex–Royal Navy, and a battleship sailor at that, nodded in sympathy.

  Bertie shook his head. “Anyroad,” he leant over and clapped Donal’s shoulder, “since I got home and found out how Donal and Dapper had done a great con job on that shyster Finlay, I’m even more proud of him too. Saved the company a bundle of do-re-mi and a lot of men’s time now we don’t have to check every last nail. We’ve his signed confession and that promise to supply good materials. We can all rest easy knowing this is a top-of-the-line building we’re constructing. Making good homes for a bunch of Ballybucklebo folks.”

  Donal smiled. “Bertie give me ten percent more shares in the company for my Christmas present, and he was dead generous to Dapper too.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. The pair of you earned it. Dapper’s performance was outstanding. Maybe Mister Greer did clean his brain?”

  Bertie chuckled. “The lads did a great job, but they couldn’t have pulled it off without your help, Fingal.” Bertie held out the parcel. “There’s wee somethings in there for you as a wee thank-you, and a souvenir from Bombay for your missus from my Flo.”