Finally, he looks up. “So.” A pause. Followed by a deep breath. “I just wanted to say sorry for blowing up at you on Monday. I was just so stressed.”
“Hey, it’s okay, sweetie.” She is so incredibly touched by this, especially given how hard sorry is for him. “I completely understand.”
His eyes burrows into hers. “You’re not just saying that?”
“No! Our lives are changing so fast. No wonder we’re stressed. But you handled the situation at school amazingly well.” She pauses. “I learned a lot from you.” She holds the sorry.
“Let’s make a deal,” he says without softening his gaze. “I’ll chill with people. And you trust me.”
She reaches across and squeezes his hand. “I do trust you.”
He pulls it away. “You know what I mean. Have faith in me,” he says earnestly as if this is the real reason for the coffee.
“I do. So much. Look at you, bringing me for coffee and apologising. I have total faith in you.”
Still, he doesn’t soften. If anything, he grows more intense. “No lying, okay? You’ve got to face the truth, whatever it is, Mum.”
She raises her eyebrows. “This is one tough coffee,” she jokes to lift the mood. But her smile is fleeting. She knows how important this is to him. “No lying,” she says firmly. She will really, really try.
“Deal,” he says, sitting back in his chair, the tension visibly leaving his body.
Grace holds out the plate of cookie pieces to her son. “Peace pipe,” she says.
“What?”
“Peace offering. Olive branch.”
“Oh. Right. Cool.” He takes a piece. “Wow, yum.”
Grace closes her eyes as the cookie melts on her tongue. Heaven.
“So, you and Ginge’s mum were besties?”
She smiles automatically. “Ah, we were great pals.”
“There you go again, talking like a Cork person.”
She smiles. “I keep telling you. I am a Cork person.” What she doesn’t tell him is that he is very slowly starting to sound like one too. “So, what’s he like?”
“I was wrong about him; he’s actually okay.”
Grace is encouraged. “Okay” is about as enthusiastic as Jack gets about anyone.
“He let me borrow his hurling stuff. He’s such a good player. Total lunatic.” Jack remembers his hot chocolate, sucks on the straw then looks up. “I might have been wrong about hurling, too.”
“And culchies?”
Jack just smiles.
It’s like a shaft of light entering Grace’s world. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Jacinta hurrying Matthew into his coat. Turning, she frowns.
“What?” Jack asks as she gets to her feet.
“Back in a sec,” she says, already rushing over.
Jacinta looks at her in panic. “He can’t swallow the ice cream. He keeps spitting it out. And his breathing is off. See?”
Grace nods. She feels his forehead. He’s burning up.
“What’s that?” Jacinta asks of the high-pitched wheezing sound Matthew has started to make.
“It’s a stridor. Something is obstructing his airflow. Sit forward, pet,” Grace says to Matthew, squatting down to him.
He leans forward and his breathing eases a little.
Grace looks at Jacinta. “This all came on suddenly, right?”
Jacinta nods, her face a worried question.
“And he didn’t swallow anything other than the ice cream? Popcorn? A hard-boiled sweet?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Okay, take off his coat, Jacinta, and sit him on your lap, please.”
Jacinta removes his coat and scoops him up.
“I’m just going to have a quick look at your throat, pet. Open wide.” She activates the torch on her phone and shines it into the back of the child’s mouth to rule out a foreign body. She hasn’t the tools to see right down the back of the throat to the epiglottis; she has to trust her gut, here. She smiles at Matthew, then looks over his head into Jacinta’s eyes to calm her. She keeps her voice steady as she says, “Okay, it looks like Matthew may have epiglottitis and his throat is becoming blocked by swelling. It’s a medical emergency. I’m going to call an ambulance but we must be ready to act if we have to, okay?”
Jacinta nods frantically.
Grace grabs the car keys in her pocket. “Jack!” She throws them to him. “Run and get my bag from the boot of the Jeep!”
He bolts.
Grace calls for an ambulance, knowing it will take at least twenty minutes if it’s coming from Bantry, forty from Clonakilty and Lord knows how long from Cork City – an hour and a half? She introduces herself and tells them her exact location. “I have a little boy, here, aged about five, with suspected epiglottitis. I need an immediate ambulance. If you don’t get here on time, I may have to perform a tracheostomy.” Technically a cricothyrotomy but she’s not sure who she’s talking to and most people are familiar with tracheostomy.
Jack has arrived back with her medical bag.
Silence has descended on the café, all eyes glued to the unfolding incident. Because it’s very clear that this child is fading fast. His breathing, alone, has people gasping for breath.
From her medical bag, Grace retrieves sterile wipes, a scalpel, swabs and sterile gloves. Jacinta keeps telling her little boy he’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay. But the child goes quiet, breath sounds stopping completely and he collapses into her arms, unconscious, skin translucent, lips blue.
“Lie him on the table,” Grace instructs in a voice empty of emotion. “Tilt his head back and support it. If you’re queasy, close your eyes. I have to operate now.” She calls up to the counter. “I need straws! Don’t take off the wrapping.”
The pretty waitress of about sixteen grabs a fistful of individually wrapped straws and runs with them to Grace who has already donned the sterile gloves. Grace opens the scalpel and the sterile wipes. Then swabs the boy’s throat.
“Open a straw but don’t touch it,” she instructs the stunned waitress. “Grip it by the paper and hold it out to me when I ask.”
Eyes closed, trusting her fingers, Grace feels for the hard edge of the thyroid cartilage. She makes an incision just below it.
“Straw!” she says. It appears right by her. She whips it out of its wrapping and inserts it into the hole she has made in the child’s neck. There is a noisy inhalation and his chest expands.
Though he is still unconscious, Matthew’s colour improves with every breath.
Grace, still holding the straw, looks up at Jacinta reassuringly. “He’s out of immediate danger but we need to get him to the hospital. The ambulance is on its way.”
Jacinta bursts into relieved tears.
“Are you okay to stay supporting his neck? Or do you want Jack to take over?”
“Stay.” She closes her eyes and inhales deeply to regain control.
Grace knows that she’d be the same if it were Jack lying on that table. She looks down at the child. “Poor little fellow.”
“I know!” Jacinta says, fresh tears threatening.
Grace understands the easy guilt of a mother when something happens to her child. “You were great, Jacinta,” she reassures, keeping her eyes fixed on the straw that she continues to hold; she can’t afford to move it a centimetre. “This condition blows up so fast, it always catches people out.”
“It was just a sore throat this morning,” Jacinta insists. “What did you say it’s called again?”
“Epiglottitis. Inflammation of the epiglottis, that little flap of tissue at the back of the tongue that covers the entrance to the lungs when we swallow. It’s a great little flap of tissue. But when it gets inflamed, well….”
“What caused it to get inflamed?” Jacinta asks, looking down at her little boy.
“Most likely infection. When Matthew gets to the hospital, they’ll start him on antibiotics.”
“I don’t know what I’d have done if you weren’t here!”
Jacinta’s voice wobbles.
“But I was,” Grace says, not wanting Jacinta to go there in her mind.
“Can I go now?” the waitress asks.
“Oh, sorry. I forgot you were there,” Grace says, without looking, not daring to change position. “Of course. Absolutely. Thank you. You were great.”
The pretty brunette flashes Jack a shy smile before hurrying back to the comforting normality of coffee and cakes. The other customers aren’t sure quite what to do. An air of shock pervades. There are one or two timid offers of help which are politely declined. A woman excuses herself apologetically to pick up her child from piano lessons. Everyone else stays, as if loathe to abandon the boy and his mother. Grace understands. This is the community she grew up in. It might be claustrophobic, at times, but people stick together, look out for each other. She’s glad of the reminder. Maybe this is the best place she could have brought her family. Time will tell. For now, she wishes that ambulance would hurry up and get here.
29
Before Grace can step down from the ambulance, Jacinta throws her arms around her, clinging to her with a touching ferocity, her entire body trembling.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you for saving my baby.”
Grace pulls back, conscious that the ambulance needs to get going. “I’ll call the hospital later to see how you’re getting on.”
Jacinta looks into her eyes. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
Grace nods. “I know.”
“No. I was a disgrace,” she says, eyes welling.
Grace pats her arm. “You’re in safe hands now.”
She climbs back onto the street where Jack is waiting.
“Will he be okay?” he asks, eyes filled with concern.
Grace puts an arm around him. “Barring complications, he should make a full recovery.”
Jack smiles down at her. “Never knew you were a ninja.”
Arriving home, Grace kicks off her shoes and drops her bag. Closing her eyes, she tilts her head back, stretching out the tension in her neck. Thank God, she thinks; thank God we got him back. Until now, she hadn’t let herself consider any other option but it had loomed over her like a dark shadow as she struggled to save the child. Taking slow and measured breaths, she understands Jacinta’s relieved tears, emotional herself now. What if….
She feels something cold in her palm and glances down in surprise to see the most gorgeous creature by her side, offering her comfort without even knowing her. The dog’s eyes seem luminous, as if he is exposing his soul. Grace looks up to the sound of Holly’s laughter.
“Isn’t he gorgeous?” she asks before excitedly revealing a story of life and death and the fine line between the two, a story that fills Grace with emotion.
“It feels like fate,” she whispers, her hand on her heart.
“There’s something else!” Holly enthuses. “His name is Benji.”
Grace squints at her. “It’s really Benji or you’re just calling him that?”
“Yeah, no. It’s Benji,” Holly says like she can’t believe it either. “It was always Benji.”
“Wow,” Grace whispers, her throat burning. “Wow.” She squats down to this beautiful creature and feels her heart expand.
“Ah, so you’ve met the new member of the family?” Des asks cheerfully, walking into the kitchen.
Standing up, Grace eyeballs him. “Are you sure? You haven’t been pressured into this?” She looks at Holly here.
“Sure, who’d pressure me? Amn’t I my own man?”
“Have we the room?” In other words: “You won’t trip over him?”
“The more the merrier.”
“It’s only till we find our own place,” Grace reassures him.
“Maybe we don’t need to find our own place,” Jack says.
Grace looks at him in surprise, Jack who loves his comforts, the finer things in life.
He shrugs. “I like it here with Grandad.”
Des places a hand on his shoulder. “Well, I like having ye here.”
Jack looks at Grace with so much hope. She needs to explain to him that they can’t land in on Des permanently. But now is not the time with Des listening in. He’ll only be polite. And, so, she jokes, “I go away for one night and you adopt a dog.”
Holly looks her in the eye. “Benji adopted us, Mum.”
Grace touches her heart. She smiles down at the dog. “Welcome to the family.” This is just what they needed.
“Wait till ye hear what happened at the Coffee Cove!” Jack says.
As he recounts every detail in one hurried breath, Grace squats down and pours her gratitude into the dog for showing up for them.
“You should have seen her,” Jack finishes.
Grace glances up to find him looking at her – in an entirely new way. Her son is looking at her with pride.
This day!
“Do you know how long Jacinta and Tom were trying for that child?” Des asks.
Grace starts working back from Jacinta’s age.
“Fifteen years,” he says before she can work it out. “Matthew is their miracle boy.”
Grace is so glad she didn’t know that.
Grace promises herself that next week there will be no takeaways as she orders another, this time fish and chips. She simply hasn’t the energy to turn around and cook. Simon would have had a fit. But Simon’s not here. And Simon didn’t save a life today.
“Apparently, you’re a mint, Jack,” Des says.
“A mint?” Jack looks confused.
Holly is rolling her eyes. “He’s not a mint. He’s so mint. And that’s a matter of opinion.”
“Holly, translation please,” a baffled Grace says.
“It means he’s cute,” Holly explains like she’s seriously bored.
Jack looks the opposite of bored. “Who thinks I’m mint?”
“Everyone. As usual,” Holly snaps.
The intercom buzzes.
“They couldn’t be that fast!” Jack says.
“Did you change the bell?” Grace asks Des at the same time.
“I did, yeah. We’ve got an intercom now. Come have a look,” he says proudly like a child showing off a toy. They look at the screen.
“It’s Alan!” they say together.
Des opens the door.
“Would you believe the deadbolts were there when I got home?” Alan says to Des, failing to notice Grace. “Thought I may as well get them in now if I’m not disturbing you.”
“Alan Wolfe!” Grace says.
Alan looks past Des and his face ignites. “Gracie Sullivan! Would you look at you! Sure, you’re only gorgeous!”
Grinning, Grace goes in for a hug. She rests her head against the chest of the best hugger in West Cork. In Ireland, possibly.
Des closes the door, while Holly and Jack stare, first, at each other, then at their mother.
Alan pulls back, holding Grace at arm’s-length and taking a good look at her. “’Tis better looking you’re getting Grace Sullivan.”
“I tried calling you back, earlier,” Grace says. “What are you doing here?”
Alan defers to Des with a look.
“Putting in an alarm system for me,” Des says. “Paddy O’Neill was telling me there’s been a spate of burglaries in the area so I thought I’d better be on the safe side.”
“Here in Killrowan?” Holly asks, coming over.
Jack comes too but not because of the burglaries. He glares at Alan protectively.
“Well, out by Goleen and thereabouts,” Des hedges. “I wouldn’t be worrying, pet. Probably just a few messers bored out of their trees. Anyway, I thought I may as well get my house in order.”
Grace, watching her father closely, guesses what he is up to. And she is so grateful. She didn’t know how to ask. She turns back to her childhood friend. “How’re you doing? Yvonne was saying that we’ll have to catch up for a drink.”
“Will we see if she’s free tonight – after I put in the deadb
olts?”
Grace looks at her family, from whom she has just spent a night away. “Maybe not tonight.”
“Why don’t ye go for one?” Des suggests to Grace. “After the day you’ve had.”
Grace and Alan look at each other. Alan waits for her to decide.
“Maybe a quick one,” Grace says. “I’d love to catch up.”
“One it is, so,” Alan says. “Soon as I finish up here.”
The intercom buzzes again.
Almost as if he can smell the fish and chips, Jack shoots to the door.
“Jack, look who it is before opening up,” Des says with a note of warning in his voice.
Jack just about nods as he takes in the food.
“Have you eaten, Alan?” Grace asks.
Jack’s head swivels but Grace misses it, waiting for Alan’s reply.
“I have, yeah,” he says. “Thanks anyway. You take your time. I’ll just get these locks in.”
Grace can’t get over the difference in him – from boy to man, really. But with the same gentleness in his soulful, brown eyes. Alan has always reminded her of a seal. He still does. A trusted, adored seal. “D’you know, I was thinking the other day,” she says, seamlessly resuming the easy banter they’ve always shared. “I’ve been away from Killrowan longer than I’ve been here. Isn’t that mad?”
“Gas altogether. Right, let me get to work. The sooner I’m done, the sooner we can have that drink. I’ll start at the back and leave ye in peace.” Alan heads for the back door.
Jack opens his mouth to say something then changes his mind.
Des puts a hand on his shoulder. “Old pals,” he explains.
30
Grace waits while Alan flings his overalls into the van, then they stroll down the village together. The old-world street lamps cast warm pools of light, illuminating the pinks and blues and yellows of the shopfronts. A gentle sea breeze stirs the air. Grace closes her eyes and inhales it deeply, grateful for the easiness of her breath after what happened earlier. She stops abruptly.
“Oh, no. I forgot to ring the hospital.”
Alan looks concerned.
“It’s okay. It’s just Jacinta Creedon’s little boy, Matthew. He had a bit of a turn today. Just want to check up on him.”
Season of Second Chances: an uplifting novel of moving away and starting over Page 15
