convenient perch for a pair of pigeons.
A shadow fell over the table top, and Barry turned to see Jack Mills wearing a long white coat, his usual grin pasted to a country face that would not have been out of place on a farmer from Cullybackey--which was where Jack's folks ran a dairy herd.
"Sorry I'm late." Jack sat. "I'd a bugger of a night on call and this morning was murder." He pulled out a packet of cigarettes. "Fag?"
Barry shook his head. "I quit last year. Remember?"
"Right." Jack lit up. "I'm knackered." He stretched out his legs.
"Pint?" Barry asked, looking forward to spending the afternoon with his old friend. "Can't. Sorry." Jack inhaled deeply and shook his head.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. The registrar in Sick Kids is sick himself, and they need a hand on a surgical case in about an hour. I got the short straw, damn it." Jack's smile belied his words. "I wouldn't mind a quick bite to eat though."
Barry swallowed his disappointment. It was going to be a long day before the ten o'clock train. He imagined dark eyes and hoped the wait would be worth it.
"Grub," said Jack. He turned and called to the barman, "Brendan, could you manage a steak-and-mushroom pie, chips, and an orange squash?"
"Right, Doctor Mills." Brendan put down the glass he was polishing. "What about you, Doctor Laverty?"
"That would be good." Barry never ceased to be amazed by how Brendan, owner and barman, a man of indeterminate age with a face like a bilious heifer, remembered the names of the generations of students and junior doctors who used his establishment. "So," Jack asked, "how's the world abusing you?"
"Can't complain."
"And if you did, no one would listen." Jack ground out his cigarette. "So, go on," he said. "How's general practice?"
"It's different. I'm working with a Doctor O'Reilly in Ballybucklebo."
"O'Reilly?
Not by any chance Fingal Flahertie O'Reilly? Man of about fifty, fifty-five?"
"That's right."
"Good Lord. Before the war he was one of the best forwards to play rugby for Ireland."
"I didn't know that." Barry was impressed.
"You, brother Laverty, wouldn't know an Irish rugby player from a penny bap." He winked at Barry. "But you saved my bacon in anatomy class, so I'll forgive you."
"Rubbish." Barry remembered the trouble Jack had had when they were students. His Latin was poor, and learning the names of the body's structures, an easy task for Barry, had been a struggle for his friend. Jack's likelihood of progressing through medical school had been in doubt, but with Barry's coaching he'd managed to squeak a pass in the third-year anatomy examinations.
"Here y'are." Brendan set two plates on the table. "I'll get your drinks in a minute."
"Dig in," said Jack, picking up his knife and fork. "Come on, I want to hear about what you're up to."
Barry did his best to describe his first week as O'Reilly's assistant, and the older doctor's habit of riding roughshod over anyone who stood in his way. Jack made sympathetic noises. He chuckled when Barry described O'Reilly's eccentricities. "But you are enjoying it?"
Brendan reappeared and silently left their drinks. "I asked you, are you enjoying working in the country?"
"I think so. Mind you, there's an awful lot of routine stuff."
"That's easy," said Jack. "Remember what that plummy English registrar told you when you complained about all the boring things we had to do when we were students?"
"What?"
Jack, always the consummate mimic, declared in the tones of one of the upper class, "Old boy, in this life there will always be a certain amount of shit to be shovelled. I really would urge you to buy a long-handled spade and simply get on with it."
"Right." Barry laughed. "And I have seen some interesting cases." He told Jack how O'Reilly had driven the Kennedy girl to Belfast in his own car. Jack nodded, mouth full, when Barry mentioned that O'Reilly's knowledge of every patient seemed encyclopaedic.
"Now there's a difference," he said. "I never
A shadow fell over the table top, and Barry turned to see Jack Mills wearing a long white coat, his usual grin pasted to a country face that would not have been out of place on a farmer from Cullybackey--which was where Jack's folks ran a dairy herd.
"Sorry I'm late." Jack sat. "I'd a bugger of a night on call and this morning was murder." He pulled out a packet of cigarettes. "Fag?"
Barry shook his head. "I quit last year. Remember?"
"Right." Jack lit up. "I'm knackered." He stretched out his legs.
"Pint?" Barry asked, looking forward to spending the afternoon with his old friend. "Can't. Sorry." Jack inhaled deeply and shook his head.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. The registrar in Sick Kids is sick himself, and they need a hand on a surgical case in about an hour. I got the short straw, damn it." Jack's smile belied his words. "I wouldn't mind a quick bite to eat though."
Barry swallowed his disappointment. It was going to be a long day before the ten o'clock train. He imagined dark eyes and hoped the wait would be worth it.
"Grub," said Jack. He turned and called to the barman, "Brendan, could you manage a steak-and-mushroom pie, chips, and an orange squash?"
"Right, Doctor Mills." Brendan put down the glass he was polishing. "What about you, Doctor Laverty?"
"That would be good." Barry never ceased to be amazed by how Brendan, owner and barman, a man of indeterminate age with a face like a bilious heifer, remembered the names of the generations of students and junior doctors who used his establishment. "So," Jack asked, "how's the world abusing you?"
"Can't complain."
"And if you did, no one would listen." Jack ground out his cigarette. "So, go on," he said. "How's general practice?"
"It's different. I'm working with a Doctor O'Reilly in Ballybucklebo."
"O'Reilly?
Not by any chance Fingal Flahertie O'Reilly? Man of about fifty, fifty-five?"
"That's right."
"Good Lord. Before the war he was one of the best forwards to play rugby for Ireland."
"I didn't know that." Barry was impressed.
"You, brother Laverty, wouldn't know an Irish rugby player from a penny bap." He winked at Barry. "But you saved my bacon in anatomy class, so I'll forgive you."
"Rubbish." Barry remembered the trouble Jack had had when they were students. His Latin was poor, and learning the names of the body's structures, an easy task for Barry, had been a struggle for his friend. Jack's likelihood of progressing through medical school had been in doubt, but with Barry's coaching he'd managed to squeak a pass in the third-year anatomy examinations.
"Here y'are." Brendan set two plates on the table. "I'll get your drinks in a minute."
"Dig in," said Jack, picking up his knife and fork. "Come on, I want to hear about what you're up to."
Barry did his best to describe his first week as O'Reilly's assistant, and the older doctor's habit of riding roughshod over anyone who stood in his way. Jack made sympathetic noises. He chuckled when Barry described O'Reilly's eccentricities. "But you are enjoying it?"
Brendan reappeared and silently left their drinks. "I asked you, are you enjoying working in the country?"
"I think so. Mind you, there's an awful lot of routine stuff."
"That's easy," said Jack. "Remember what that plummy English registrar told you when you complained about all the boring things we had to do when we were students?"
"What?"
Jack, always the consummate mimic, declared in the tones of one of the upper class, "Old boy, in this life there will always be a certain amount of shit to be shovelled. I really would urge you to buy a long-handled spade and simply get on with it."
"Right." Barry laughed. "And I have seen some interesting cases." He told Jack how O'Reilly had driven the Kennedy girl to Belfast in his own car. Jack nodded, mouth full, when Barry mentioned that O'Reilly's knowledge of every patient seemed encyclopaedic.
"Now there's a difference," he said. "I never
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