An Irish Country Wedding

by Patrick Taylor

  Barry said to Sue, “Can you do without me for a wee while? I do need to speak to a patient, Aggie Arbuthnot. She’s a few tables back. I’ll not be long.”

  Sue smiled at him and shook her head. “Do you never stop thinking about your patients?”

  Barry thought for a moment. “Fingal never does,” he said.

  Her smile broadened. “Off you trot,” she said. “I’m quite content to sit here and watch the world go by … as long as you don’t abandon me for too long.” She cocked her head and blew him a kiss.

  “I promise,” he said, and set off, and before he passed the first row of tables he saw Helen Hewitt waving and holding a thumb up. He called, “See you in a minute, Helen,” but he was standing right beside Doctor Fitzpatrick’s table. Noblesse oblige, he thought, and stopped to exchange a few words with the lugubrious medical advisor who tended to the sick and suffering of the Kinnegar, just up the road. “Good afternoon,” Barry said, noting the sun glinting from the man’s gold pince nez. “Lovely day.”

  “Indeed. Indeed,” Fitzpatrick said, his prominent Adam’s apple jerking as he spoke, “and a beautiful bride.” Barry thought the man may have sounded a little wistful. “I knew them both years ago. Fingal and I were students together, you know.” He cleared his throat. “I wish them every happiness.”

  The air was rent by the sound of pipes. A space had been cleared at the back of the garden, folding tables and chairs propped against the fence. Dapper Frew tore into a double jig in 6/8 time and two sets, men with their jackets off, women now hatless, were dancing away.

  “And so do we,” said Flo Bishop, who was sitting at the same table, “don’t we, Bertie?”

  Bishop grunted. Barry could understand why.

  Flo nudged the councillor and raised her voice again. “Don’t … we … Bertie?” She thrust her face closer to his.

  “Every happiness,” he said as if each word was a tooth being drawn without the benefit of an anaesthetic.

  “I thank you on their behalf,” Barry said.

  “Doctor Laverty, dear. I think the doctor and his wife make a lovely couple, so I do.” Cissie Sloan was not to be denied. She looked past Barry and he followed her gaze as it settled on Kinky and Archie. “And I think Kinky’s taken a shine to Archie. Archie’s a good man, so he is, and Kinky has a heart of corn—”

  “She has that,” Barry said, and smiled. “We’re very happy that—”

  “And no harm to youse, sir, but I think, we all think, don’t we, Flo? That youse and Miss Nolan make a lovely couple too.”

  Barry cleared his throat. “I thought,” he said, trying to change the subject, “your harmonium playing was terrific.”

  She glowed. “I’ve always loved music. There’s a great wee song, so there is. It’s fit for today.” She threw back her head and, ignoring the pipes, began in a clear contralto,

  I have often heard it said by me father and my mother,

  That going to a wedding has the makin’s of another…”

  Dapper’s pipes gave counterpoint.

  “That’s lovely, Cissie,” Barry said, searching for an escape route. “Your singing’s as tuneful as your harmonium playing. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

  “Pay you no heed to Cissie,” Flo said. “You run along, and Doctor? We all wish youse well, and everybody I know wants yiz to come back, don’t we, Bertie?”

  “Och, aye,” said the councillor, and Barry heard all the enthusiasm of a heretic anticipating a consultation with the Spanish Inquisition.

  He moved on, smiling at folks he recognised, accepting their good wishes, thanking them, shaking hands. Funny, he thought, in one year I’ve gone from being an only child to having a family of hundreds, at least that’s what it feels like. I will miss them.

  “Aggie,” he said when he arrived at her table, “how are you?”

  “All the better for seeing yourself, Doctor dear,” she said. “The oul’ hind leg’s no bother at all now.” She lowered her voice. “And youse must be a miracle worker. The Big Doctor’s keeping me on the sick until the nineteenth of July. It’s going to make a powerful difference.”

  And hadn’t O’Reilly sometime in the past year remarked that making differences in small ways was what country general practice was all about?

  “Mind you,” she said, “I’ve still not found another job.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that, Aggie—”

  “Because,” and she laughed, “because I’m for going til meet a rich man here today, get swept off my feet, and taken away to the Casbah?”

  She’s seen too many Errol Flynn films, Barry thought, but said, “I don’t know about that, but Doctor O’Reilly and I did get a word with Mister McCluggage—”

  “And?” He heard the hope in her voice and saw a smile start.

  “He wants you to go and see him on Monday morning. He won’t give you your old job back—”

  Her face crumpled.

  “—but he’s going to train you as a buttonholer.”

  Her eyes widened, mouth opened, and she drew in a deep shuddering breath before whispering, “Me? A buttonholer? My God.” She frowned. “Honest? Honest to God? You’re not codding me, sir?”

  He shook his head. “I’d not make fun of you, Aggie. Actually we didn’t think Mister McCluggage was such a bad fellow. He told us that you’re a hard worker, and he was sorry to have had to let you go.”

  She sniffed. “About as sorry as Pharaoh was to see the back of the Israelites after all them Egyptians got a bath in the Red Sea, I’m sure.”

  “He did say he was sorry, and Mister McCluggage understands why you have to sit down at your work,” Barry said. “Doctor O’Reilly was there too.”

  She cocked her head. “If you say so, sir, but, oh Lord, I’m all overcome. A buttonholer? That’s dead on so it is. Wheeker. And buttonholers make seventeen and six a week more than folders. Thank youse and Doctor O’Reilly very, very much.”

  “There’s no need for thanks,” Barry said. “It’s our job. I’m just sorry I’ll not be here to see you settled into your new post.”

  “We’ll all miss you, Doc,” Aggie said. “Good luck til yiz, sir.”

  He smiled. “Thanks.” Someone was tugging at his sleeve. He turned to see Mairead, and Angus and Siobhan. “Have youse a wee minute, Doctor?” Mairead asked.

  “Of course.”

  “My Gerry’s coming over from the bar.”

  Gerry arrived, clutching a pint of Guinness. “How’s about ye, Doc?” He offered the pint, which Barry accepted. “We want to say Cheerio,” Gerry said, “and that there pint’s a wee thanks for taking care of Mairead here. She’s all better now, so she is.”

  Barry drank. The Guinness was warm, but satisfying. “Here’s to you having number three very soon.”

  “Och,” said Mairead, “it would be nice.” She tousled Angus’s hair. “But we’re quare nor happy with the two we’ve got, so we are. Good luck til you, sir.”

  Barry inclined his head. “That’s kind of you.”

  “Look,” said Gerry. “I’m only a riveter—”

  “There’s no ‘only’ about it. It’s as skilled a job as any.”

  “Right enough, mebbe it is, but I reckon in your trade, sir, you’re one of the best. Good luck to yiz, and mebbe once in a wee while you’ll think of us here?”

  “I will indeed, Gerry. I will indeed.” You’re going to be hard to forget. I’ve had a great time here. The place is part of me, he thought, turned and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to have a word with Sonny Houston, and he’s over there.”

  “Away you go, sir, and good luck.” Gerry bent and pecked Mairead’s cheek. “I’ll have to get back to helping at the bar, love, but Jeremy Dunne’ll give me a break in half an hour.”

  Barry made his way back toward the head table, pausing to say, “Father O’Toole, Maggie, Sonny,” and was greeted in return. He leant closer to Sonny. “When Doctor O’Reilly returns?”

  Sonny nodded. “The Brow
ns are back there and I have what you want out in the car. It’s parked in a nice shady spot. Just you tip me the wink.”

  There was a sudden round of applause and Barry looked up to see O’Reilly, now in his usual tweed trousers, red braces, and open-at-the-neck collarless shirt, letting himself out of the kitchen and heading for the head table. Barry waved and called, “Doctor O’Reilly. Can you come here?”

  Fingal nodded, picked up a fresh pint that Willie had delivered moments ago, and made a beeline.

  Barry said to Sonny, “Doctor O’Reilly and I need to have a quick chat with Helen Hewitt, and then we’ll make our delivery to young Colin Brown, all right?”

  “Right you are, Doctor,” said Sonny. “I’ll be ready.”

  47

  … And Must Bid the Company Farewell

  Helen’s smile was beatific as she rummaged in her handbag and produced an envelope with the crest of Queen’s University on the upper left corner. “It came in this morning’s post,” she said, showing it to the tight circle of Barry, O’Reilly, and Jenny crowded around her. “I had to get my da to open it I was shaking so much. I’m in. I’m accepted.” She stood and threw her arms round O’Reilly’s neck. “I know I’ve already thanked you, Doctor O’Reilly, but—” She kissed him, then stood back. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

  Barry and Jenny laughed as O’Reilly rumbled, muttered, scratched his head, took a long pull on his pint, and finally said, “We are all delighted for you, Helen.” He fished out his briar and lit up.

  “Congratulations, Helen. You’ve an interesting six years ahead of you,” said Barry. “But you’ll find it’s all worth it, won’t she, Jenny?”

  “You will, Helen, and if you need any help, as long as I’m here you’ve only to ask.”

  “Thank you, Doctor Bradley,” Helen said.

  “It’s Jenny.”

  And Barry immediately thought back to Thursday night, when he’d been told by Mister Greer, “It’s Charlie.” Welcome to the profession as a novitiate, Helen Hewitt, he thought. “And it’s Barry,” he said, “and you’ll be amazed by how quickly the six years will go. Good luck to you.”

  “And remember,” O’Reilly said, “when it comes to exams, the amount of luck required is inversely proportional to the amount of work you’ve done. We’re all counting on you, girl.” He let go a puff of smoke and continued, “Now, Helen, you go and thank his lordship.”

  “I will,” she said and, with the envelope still clutched in her hand, started toward where the marquis was sitting.

  Barry heard the pipe music grow louder, looked round to see that Donal had joined Dapper. “What’s that tune?” he asked Fingal.

  “‘Drowsy Maggie,’” Fingal said. “It’s a reel. And it’s about time I took Mrs. O’Reilly … by Jasus, Barry, I love the ring of that. Mrs. O’Reilly, I really do. About time I took her for a dance.”

  “I don’t think,” Barry said, “in the year I’ve come to know you, I’ve ever seen you so happy.”

  O’Reilly guffawed. “That’s because I am. Happy as the proverbial beatus in stercus porci.” He looked surprised when Jenny laughed.

  “It’s the same now as it was in your day, Fingal. We all have to have Latin to get into medical school,” Barry said. And Fingal did look as happy as a pig in shite.

  “Ooops,” O’Reilly said. “Apologies, Jenny.”

  “None needed,” she said, “as long as you’re laetus totus.”

  The big man’s brows knitted, then he guffawed. “I am completely, teetotally, abso-bloody-lutely happy, and, by God, I think maybe, Doctor Bradley, you’re going to make up a lot for Barry’s leaving.”

  Barry felt a moment’s jealousy, recognised it for what it was, put it away, and said, “If you can wait a minute before you head off to kick up your heels, I think I may be able to make you even happier.”

  “Oh?” said O’Reilly.

  “I want you and the new Mrs. O’Reilly to see something, but I need to speak to the Browns first.”

  “Fair enough,” said O’Reilly, and headed back to the head table.

  Barry turned and motioned to Sonny, who rose and headed for the back gate.

  Barry moved through the crowd, pausing to chat briefly, exchange greetings. The sun had moved round the sky and was shining through the branches of the elms, dappling the lawn, the tables, and the revellers with splashes of light. He could see a tractor pulling a reaper on a nearby hill. The smell from the mown hay hung sweetly amid the salty tang of the lough. As he passed a rosebush, its scent and the humming of bees was overpowering. The blaring of the pipes all but drowned out the overhead squabbling of gulls, the happy cries of children, adult laughter, and snippets of conversation.

  “—she never did…” A woman’s voice. “I don’t believe a word of it, so I don’t.”

  “—away off and chase yourself, Fred. Glentoran’ll never win the cup next year. Your head’s a marley, so it is…”

  Barry arrived at the table where Connie Brown and her husband, Lenny, were sitting. Lenny Brown rose. “Doctor Laverty,” he said. “Sound day. Bloody sound.”

  “It is, Lenny,” Barry said, recognising where Colin got his penchant for bad language, “and how are you, Connie?”

  “Och, grand, Doctor, but sorry that you’re leaving us.”

  Barry inclined his head. “Thank you, Connie. Now, I’ve one very important job to do before I go. You remember a chat you had with Sonny and Maggie and you said you’d have to ask Colin’s daddy?”

  Her eyes widened. “Aye. I do, and I told youse Lenny here said it would be all right by him.”

  Lenny nodded.

  “Where’s Colin?” Barry asked.

  “He’s playing blind man’s buff with the other kids, but we’ll get him for youse, so we will.”

  Lenny stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled.

  “Is it here, the day, now?” Connie whispered.

  Barry nodded and pointed to where Sonny was coming in through the back gate. He was concealing something under his jacket.

  Colin came dashing up to them, one sock as usual crumpled round the little lad’s ankle. Barry noticed his bare knees were stained green from falling on the grass. “Yes, Da,” Colin said.

  “Say hello to Doctor Laverty,” Connie said.

  “Hello, Doctor Laverty,” Colin said. “How’s about ye?”

  “I’m fine, Colin. I’d like to borrow you, if that’s all right with your folks.”

  “Och, aye,” said Lenny, smiling, “for a wee while.”

  “It’ll only take a moment,” Barry said. “Coming, Colin?”

  Colin drew back. “There’s no needles nor nothing like that?”

  Barry shook his head. “I promise.” He bent his head to Colin. “A little bird told me that Butch is happy where he’s living now.” Barry held out a hand, which Colin took.

  “I’m dead glad to hear that, so I am. I still worry about him, you know.” Colin took a look at his mother, then said to Barry, “If youse’s taking me somewhere, can we go now? It’s my turn to be ‘it’ soon.”

  “Come on, then,” said Barry, feeling Colin’s warm, sticky hand in his. He led them toward the front of the head table and inclined his head to Sonny, who followed, accompanied by Maggie.

  They arrived between the head table and those for the invitees. Barry let go of Colin’s hand, and said loudly, “Excuse me, excuse me.” With the pipes and the dancing and the general buzz of conversation it would have been impossible to get the attention of the whole crowd. But he did want to make sure that those folks in the bridal party could share in Colin’s forthcoming happiness. When he was sure he’d got everybody’s attention, he said, by way of explanation for the Dublin contingent, “This is Colin Brown. A few weeks ago he lost his pet ferret.”

  Barry heard a number of “aahs,” and “ochs,” and, “the wee mite.”

  “Today Sonny and Maggie Houston have a surprise for the young man.”

  “For me?”

&n
bsp; “There you go, Colin,” Sonny said, and from under his coat he drew a wriggling, squiggling furry ball. A six-week-old, Lord-knows-what puppy. Its coat was short-haired, mottled black and brown. Its feet were two sizes too big for its body, and its ears drooped past its chin and nearly hid a red leather collar. The animal made squealing, yipping noises and its tail thrashed.

  “He’s for you, Colin,” Maggie said. She was wearing her best teeth today and as she bent to Colin, the ox-eye daisy in her hatband swayed like an angler fish’s lure.

  “Me? Me? For real, like?” Colin’s eyes were wide. He accepted the pup, which at once began licking the boy’s face. “He’s lovely and warm, and all cuddly,” Colin said. “And he’s really for me?”

  Sonny nodded and Maggie cackled.

  “Thank youse, Mister and Mrs. Houston. Thank youse ever, ever so much.”

  Barry glanced up. O’Reilly had his hands clasped above his head like a triumphant prizefighter. Sue was smiling at Barry. She blew him a kiss. He grinned back.

  “Here,” Barry said, and produced a lead. “You’ll need one of these. It’s my going-away present to you, Colin.”

  The boy took the leash, tucked the pup under one arm, and this time, it was Colin who held out his hand to Barry in a solemn, grown-up fashion. Barry took it and shook. “Thank youse, Doctor Laverty, for all youse’ve done for me. Mammy says you’re going to Ballymena for a while. I hope you’se’ll be as happy in that bit of the country as you told me you-know-who is in his.” He half-turned, stuck his tongue out at Bertie Bishop, and, praise the Lord, Barry thought, the councillor did not notice. Colin turned back with a radiant smile. “Can I go and show my wee pup to Mammy and me da?”

  “Off you go,” Barry said, “and take good care of him.”

  “I will,” said Colin.

  Arthur Guinness appeared from under the table, sauntered over to Barry and Colin, and proceeded to give the puppy, still in Colin’s arms, a good sniff. The puppy yipped, wiggled, and nipped at Arthur’s ear. The big Lab looked at Barry as if to say, “Nice kid,” and ambled off.

  Colin frowned. “Doctor Laverty,” he said, “how did Arthur Guinness get his name?”