broke it. “You see, your tiredness is down to the fact that antidepressants and alcohol don’t mix, James. How much do you drink?”
Jamie shifted in the chair, uncomfortable. “Ah, well now . . . maybe a couple of half ones and a stout now and again.”
“Half ones being whiskey, I take it?”
“Aye, a wee Johnny Powers . . . now and again.”
“‘Now and again’ would be how many times a week? Once, twice, three times?”
“Oh . . . well, now . . . It’s hard . . . hard to say right, Doctor, ’cos . . . ’cos I don’t count them, like.”
Henry suppressed a grin and scanned his notes again. “Hmm . . . I see you’d been off it for ten years. That’s quite an achievement. Not many people are as strong-willed as you, you know.” He pushed the notes aside and leaned across the desk. “So, James, together—you and me—over the next few weeks, we’re going to talk about ways to get you back to your sober self. You can tell me anything and it will stay in this room.”
“Aye . . . maybe. God, Doctor, is that the time?!” Jamie jumped up and pulled on his cap. “Me cows will be up in ten minutes. I’ve got tae go.”
“Don’t forget your appointment next week!” Henry called out to Jamie’s back as he fled the room.
He went to the window and watched the farmer clamber up into the seat of his tractor. Winced at the swiftness with which he reversed the vehicle, narrowly missing the rear fender of the Mercedes convertible, and roared off.
A sharp tap had Henry turning round. Miss King stood in the doorway.
“I apologize for that, Dr. Shevlin. I should have warned you that often the care of one’s livestock takes precedence over the care of one’s mental health in these parts. I fear it’s a hazard of the job.”
“I have a lot to learn, Edith.”
“Yes, a country practice must be quite a jolt after a hospital in Belfast. Not to worry. I’ll keep you on the straight and narrow.”
Henry smiled. He was in no doubt Miss King meant what she said.
“A cup of tea, perhaps? I’m sure you could use one.”
“Splendid, Edith. Just splendid!”
Chapter eleven
R uby, are you in there? Wake up this minute!”
Ruby woke with a start, her mother’s voice clanging in her ears. She sat up in the bed, shocked to see she was still fully clothed. Around her lay the contents of Edna’s case.
Reality dawned.
“Oh dear God!” She jumped up. “Aye, Mammy, I’m comin’. I’m comin’. I must of slept in.” She piled everything back in the case and stuck it under the bed.
The door handle was being agitated vigorously. “Open this door this minute!”
Ruby straightened the bedspread. Checked that nothing had fallen. Ran a brush through her hair at the mirror. Took a deep breath and pulled the door open.
“What in God’s holy name’s going on here? What time d’you call this? Where’s my breakfast?” Mrs. Clare stood in her night attire, firing queries into the dartboard that was Ruby’s heart.
“My-my alarm mustn’t have . . . have went off. W-What . . . what time is it?”
“A quarter to nine: that’s what time it is, and I’m seeing the solicitor at half past. What’s got into you? Why weren’t you up at seven like you always are?”
“Don’t know. Wasn’t . . . wasn’t able to get to sleep. I’ll make your breakfast now.”
“About time, too.” The mother scanning the bedroom, keen for clues to this untypical transgression. “What’s that on the floor?”
Ruby froze. Had she forgotten to lift something?
“Nothing. I need to clean up later. The room’s a mess.” She bundled her mother into the corridor and pulled the door shut. “I’ll get us a cuppa tea.”
She hastened down the stairs. “You get ready. I’ll not be a minute.”
Half an hour later, they were on the road, speeding toward Tailorstown. Ruby at the wheel of the old Ford Cortina, guilt and shame churning in her head like mixer gravel. What if she hadn’t locked
Jamie shifted in the chair, uncomfortable. “Ah, well now . . . maybe a couple of half ones and a stout now and again.”
“Half ones being whiskey, I take it?”
“Aye, a wee Johnny Powers . . . now and again.”
“‘Now and again’ would be how many times a week? Once, twice, three times?”
“Oh . . . well, now . . . It’s hard . . . hard to say right, Doctor, ’cos . . . ’cos I don’t count them, like.”
Henry suppressed a grin and scanned his notes again. “Hmm . . . I see you’d been off it for ten years. That’s quite an achievement. Not many people are as strong-willed as you, you know.” He pushed the notes aside and leaned across the desk. “So, James, together—you and me—over the next few weeks, we’re going to talk about ways to get you back to your sober self. You can tell me anything and it will stay in this room.”
“Aye . . . maybe. God, Doctor, is that the time?!” Jamie jumped up and pulled on his cap. “Me cows will be up in ten minutes. I’ve got tae go.”
“Don’t forget your appointment next week!” Henry called out to Jamie’s back as he fled the room.
He went to the window and watched the farmer clamber up into the seat of his tractor. Winced at the swiftness with which he reversed the vehicle, narrowly missing the rear fender of the Mercedes convertible, and roared off.
A sharp tap had Henry turning round. Miss King stood in the doorway.
“I apologize for that, Dr. Shevlin. I should have warned you that often the care of one’s livestock takes precedence over the care of one’s mental health in these parts. I fear it’s a hazard of the job.”
“I have a lot to learn, Edith.”
“Yes, a country practice must be quite a jolt after a hospital in Belfast. Not to worry. I’ll keep you on the straight and narrow.”
Henry smiled. He was in no doubt Miss King meant what she said.
“A cup of tea, perhaps? I’m sure you could use one.”
“Splendid, Edith. Just splendid!”
Chapter eleven
R uby, are you in there? Wake up this minute!”
Ruby woke with a start, her mother’s voice clanging in her ears. She sat up in the bed, shocked to see she was still fully clothed. Around her lay the contents of Edna’s case.
Reality dawned.
“Oh dear God!” She jumped up. “Aye, Mammy, I’m comin’. I’m comin’. I must of slept in.” She piled everything back in the case and stuck it under the bed.
The door handle was being agitated vigorously. “Open this door this minute!”
Ruby straightened the bedspread. Checked that nothing had fallen. Ran a brush through her hair at the mirror. Took a deep breath and pulled the door open.
“What in God’s holy name’s going on here? What time d’you call this? Where’s my breakfast?” Mrs. Clare stood in her night attire, firing queries into the dartboard that was Ruby’s heart.
“My-my alarm mustn’t have . . . have went off. W-What . . . what time is it?”
“A quarter to nine: that’s what time it is, and I’m seeing the solicitor at half past. What’s got into you? Why weren’t you up at seven like you always are?”
“Don’t know. Wasn’t . . . wasn’t able to get to sleep. I’ll make your breakfast now.”
“About time, too.” The mother scanning the bedroom, keen for clues to this untypical transgression. “What’s that on the floor?”
Ruby froze. Had she forgotten to lift something?
“Nothing. I need to clean up later. The room’s a mess.” She bundled her mother into the corridor and pulled the door shut. “I’ll get us a cuppa tea.”
She hastened down the stairs. “You get ready. I’ll not be a minute.”
Half an hour later, they were on the road, speeding toward Tailorstown. Ruby at the wheel of the old Ford Cortina, guilt and shame churning in her head like mixer gravel. What if she hadn’t locked
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