An Irish Country Love Story (18 page)

To emphasise her words, Colin hacked.

“But I give him baby aspirin and it seemed til help. The shipyard's on overtime this weekend so Lenny's at work and we needed milk and eggs so I thought I'd just pop out with him for a few minutes.”

Colin sniffed and said, “My mammy always buys me sweeties when we go shopping, and then me and Murphy was going til go looking for Jasper. Murphy's mammy is Missy, one of Mister Sonny Houston's dogs, so I thought mebbe he might remember Jasper's smell. But I'm feeling funny. I've a sore head and the light's hurting my eyes, so it is.”

O'Reilly glanced at Kitty. He guessed she was probably thinking what he was. Colin might be in the early stages of one of the many “inevitable” childhood fevers. Until very recently, as vaccines were being developed and introduced, very few people reached adulthood without having had bouts of measles, German measles, chicken pox, mumps, whooping cough, and scarlet fever. The scourge of poliomyelitis was being defeated with the Sabin vaccine, introduced in 1962.

“I rubbed some Vicks vapour ointment on his chest this morning to help his wee cough and brung him along. I needed to go and it's just a wee treat for him, so it is.” Connie looked anxiously down at her son.

O'Reilly squatted beside Kitty. The heat from Colin's body was releasing the unguent's decongestant vapours. Their scent was heavy on the air. “Not feeling so hot, Colin?” O'Reilly put the back of his hand to Colin's forehead. The boy was febrile, all right.

“—and there's three more ha'pennies.” There was triumph in Cissy Sloan's voice. “Now you've made me late for me hair appointment, Mister Lennon. I've got to be getting along.” She smiled and nodded to the O'Reillys, and left.

“Ahem,” said Mister Lennon. “You're next, Mrs. Brown.”

“Go ahead, Connie,” O'Reilly said. “We'll keep an eye to Colin.”

Kitty put her head close to O'Reilly's and whispered so Colin wouldn't hear. “Bet you it's measles. It's that time of the year.”

O'Reilly nodded. Colin needed to be examined, but not here in the shop, and in the early four-day overt period of the disease it was highly contagious. If that was indeed what Colin had. O'Reilly handed Kitty the shopping basket and she stood up.

Ting.

“Thank you, Mrs. Brown. Mrs. O'Reilly. Nice to see you.”

“Connie,” O'Reilly said, “I'd like to take a proper look at Colin.” No matter that Barry was on call. O'Reilly wanted to drive the Browns home in a kind of quarantine. Keep the little tyke out of contact with other children they might meet on the street. He may as well examine the boy while he was at it. “We'll run you home. I've got my medical bag in the car.”

“If you say so, Doctor, thank you. And I'm sorry, I never should have brung him to the store today. I knew he wasn't well but I didn't want to leave him alone. Come along, Colin. We're going for a ride in Doctor O'Reilly's Rover.”

*   *   *

“Come in. Come in.” Connie ushered them into the small thatched cottage on Station Road beside the tobacconist's and round the corner from the Mucky Duck. “I'm going to take him upstairs and put him to bed. Will youse go into the lounge until I'm ready?”

“We will,” O'Reilly said. “And take your time. We're not in a rush.” Still lots of time to go to Culloden once Colin was sorted out. He followed Kitty into the small, tidy lounge.

“I will bet you it's measles,” she said.

“It could be lots of other things.”

She inclined her head to one side. “I've been a nurse as long as you've been a doctor and I worked for four years in an orphanage in Tenerife. I'll bet you right now it's measles. And just because I'm willing to bet doesn't mean I'm taking Colin's illness lightly.”

There was a light in her eyes that made him uneasy, but he couldn't resist the bet. “You're on,” he said, and offered his hand for a shake. She took it. “And what are the stakes?”

“New curtains,” she said, and had to stifle her laughter.

“You witch,” he said. “Oh, you sorceress. All right.” His own chuckles had subsided by the time Connie came back. He really could never get cross with Kitty. And it was time to stop trying to avoid the inevitable. Why not be gracious? “I have him tucked up in his wee bed, upstairs. Will you come and see him, sir? And Mrs. O'Reilly too?” She led the way up a steep, narrow staircase.

O'Reilly and Kitty followed. He noticed how the brass stair rods that held a worn carpet in place had been polished until they glowed. Connie Brown was a house-proud woman. The bannister wobbled under his grasp.

She tutted and said, “Sorry it's a bit loose. Lenny's going til fix it—one day.” She shook her head. “He just keeps forgetting, that's all. It's not just the overtime. He's working two jobs now. He wants to put some aside—for Colin, for his education,” she said. “Mister Bishop'll be giving money when Colin goes to Queen's, but there's bound to be extras.”

O'Reilly could hear the pride in her voice. Colin Brown was a typical twelve-year-old boy. He loved his dog and his white mouse, Snowball. And he was mad about soccer and aeroplanes and ice cream and playing practical jokes and getting into mischief. And good God, he thought. At his age he might even be getting interested in girls. But, with Sue Nolan's help, he was also a diligent and highly intelligent pupil.

His mother opened a door to a small bedroom.

The plaid curtains were closed and it was dim in the room. Only a single sixty-watt bulb surrounded by an elderly pink tasseled light hung from the ceiling, and flanking it were balsa and doped-paper models of a Spitfire, a Lancaster bomber, and an SE5a World War I biplane, all suspended by threads. A poster for the Disney hit
Lady and the Tramp
was tacked to the wall beside a small single bed.

An aquarium, empty save for a layer of sand at the bottom, on which were arranged stones and logs, sat on a small table close to the bed. Lord alone knew what was or had been in there. In a cage beside it, Snowball the white mouse sat up and whiffled his whiskers. Animal mad, that was Colin Brown.

He lay curled up in the middle of the bed. He sniffled and then sneezed.

Kitty went to one side of the bed and stood there.

“Mrs. O'Reilly's a nurse, Colin. She's come to help me.” O'Reilly hitched his own backside onto the edge of the bed. “Getting worse, is it, son?”

“Aye.” Colin rolled onto his back. “I'm dead sick now, so I am. I thought I was okay this morning, but now I feel all hot,” Colin said. “And the light's hurting my eyes worser and my head's sore.” He coughed, a dry, sharp hack.

“We'll have to see about making you better,” O'Reilly said. He rummaged in his bag. “Here, let's pop this under your tongue.” Photophobia and headache could be due to meningitis, inflammation of the membranes that surrounded the brain, or a brain tumour, but were more likely to be associated with one of the fevers of childhood. O'Reilly took Colin's pulse. It was one hundred and his skin was hot to the touch.

“You said he started feeling off-colour yesterday, Mammy?”

“Aye. I thought it was just a cold, but I kept him out of school.”

Colin might be sick, but it didn't prevent him saying, “That was wheeker 'cause school's no good if that wee corker Miss Nolan's not there. She makes the lessons great
craic
too.”

O'Reilly secretly had to agree with Colin. Sue was an extremely attractive young woman and he had no doubt that she made learning fun.

“Once I gave him the aspirin, he seemed to get a wee bit better so I let him come til the shops.”

Which was a pity. How many people had Colin come into contact with? Many infections were known as “notifiable,” which meant the Department of Health would have to be. More bloody paperwork, an aspect of his work he detested. But it couldn't be helped. He'd fill out the forms after lunch.

O'Reilly removed the thermometer. “Hundred and one,” he said. “Bit high.” He moved up the bed. “I'm going to have a look at you, Colin, so can you sit up?”

“I'll help you,” Kitty said.

Once Kitty had Colin settled, O'Reilly put a hand behind the boy's head and gently pushed forward until the boy's chin touched his chest. “That hurt?”

“No, Doctor.”

Good. That and the fact that the great muscles at the back of the neck had not tightened up was conclusive evidence that there was no meningeal irritation.

O'Reilly took out an opthalmoscope. “Have to look in your eyes. Can you stare at…” He turned to the poster. “Tramp's nose and try not to blink?”

“Aye, certainly.”

He looked at Kitty. “And Mrs. O'Reilly will help by holding your head still.”

O'Reilly, knowing that the instrument's brighter light would be uncomfortable, managed to examine both eyes quickly. “Good,” he said. “Normal.” He'd been looking for papilloedema, distortion and swelling of the optic nerve, a sure sign that intracranial pressure was increased, a finding associated with brain tumours. In its absence he was pretty sure Colin had one of the fevers of childhood. Which one? Most were characterised by rashes, and certainly there wasn't one on Colin's face. “Can we take off your pajama jacket, please?”

Kitty unbuttoned his faded red-and-white-striped pyjamas. In a household like the Browns', clothes had to be made to last. No rash. Too early probably. It took minutes to listen with the stethoscope. The boy's lungs were clear. Most fevers could be complicated by secondary infections like pneumonia. Not this one. He fished in his inside jacket pocket and produced a pencil torch. His bag yielded a wooden tongue depressor. “Open wide, please, and stick out your tongue.” As Colin did, O'Reilly used the spatula to push Colin's cheek away from his back teeth. There, plain to see, were tiny bluish-white dots studding an inflamed and reddened mucous membrane. O'Reilly removed the speculum. Koplik's spots, named for the American doctor who described them in 1896, meant one thing only. Colin Brown had measles in the early or catarrhal stage, which would last for the rest of today, tomorrow, and the day after, when the typical morbilliform rash would start to appear.

O'Reilly helped Colin button up his jacket. “You, young man,” O'Reilly said, “have the red measles.
Rubeola,
if you want to know the scientific name.” And I, he thought, I am going to have new curtains. He deliberately avoided catching Kitty's eye.

“Rub-e-ola,” Colin sounded out slowly. “Like ruby, right? Meaning red? So does that mean I'll live forever?”

Kitty frowned.

O'Reilly sang the first lines of an old playground song,

Wallflower, wallflower growing up so high,

He's got the measles. He'll never, never die.

He chuckled. “Probably not, but, Mummy, your Colin's going to get a rash soon. It'll start on his ears and forehead. Wee red points that get bigger and run into each other making shapes like half-moons and blotches—”

“I don't mean til interrupt, sir, but we've all seen kiddies with the measles.” Connie rubbed her brow and looked at her son. For the first time, O'Reilly noticed the circles under Connie Brown's eyes. She looked weary.

“You're quite right, Connie,” he said gently. “We've all seen measles or had them. The rash will last for about four days, then fade. About that time his temperature will be normal again.”

“And do I get to stay off school?”

“Good question,” O'Reilly said. “And the answer is, yes. For ten days after the rash is gone.”

Despite his illness, Colin Brown grinned and grinned.

“Can I go outside?”

“If the weather's good. We'll tell you when. Why?”

“I told you, me and Murphy was going to look for Jasper the day. I want to be the one to find him and solve the mystery.”

“You're going nowhere today, young Sherlock. I know you're worried about Jasper, but the search will have to wait for later, Colin. Get some rest, and you'll have to take some medicine.”

“Yeugh.”

“Connie,” O'Reilly said, “I'll write you a scrip for penicillin V. I want Colin to take one tablet every six hours for a week starting when the rash appears, but I or one of the other doctors will be in to see him when it does. Let Kinky know.”

“And will the penicillin cure the measles? Mean he won't be off school so long.”

He shook his head. “No. It's a precaution.” And he saw no reason to worry Connie by telling her that secondary bacterial infection could cause pneumonia, middle ear infection, and ulcers of the cornea that could lead to blindness.

“I'm very glad it's just one of them children's diseases. Not serious, like,” she said, smoothing the hair from Colin's forehead. “Poor little mite.”

O'Reilly nodded, but in his opinion the sooner every child was immunised in infancy the better. A measles jag had been available since 1963, one for mumps would be introduced later this year, and work was advancing on rubella prevention. They would protect each individual from three diseases, any of which could have serious complications, and it would protect the other kids too.

“Right,” he said, “we'll be off.”

The empty aquarium must have caught Kitty's eye. “Colin,” she said, “what did you keep in there?”

Colin smiled sleepily. “Great crested newts. They're still in there, hibernating under the rocks. My daddy took me to the lead mines at Conlig last summer and we caught them in a wee pond.”

“Mmmm,” said O'Reilly, “any idea…” But he cut himself off short. There'd be plenty of time to ask Colin what he wanted to be when he grew up. The lad was drowsy, not well. “I'll see you soon,” O'Reilly said.

Connie bade them farewell at the doorstep and he held open the door of the Rover and shut it behind Kitty. Together inside they both spoke at once.