too difficult, he hears me sometimes.”
“One of the few, then. Thanks a lot. We’ll owe you one.”
“No. I’m repaying Jo. He’s helped me out often. You’re welcome and the charity gets the money. No losers.” He nodded towards the tin and they watched Lucy drop her pound into the slot. She took the flowers.
After changing into her white tunic in the hospital, Lucy pinned the flowers up near her shoulder, hoping they would be allowed. She went into the treatment office and looked at the appointments book. Mr O’Leary, Miss Hutchins, little Emily Nolan..
“A new one at eleven?” she remarked to the secretary, Fiona.
“Yes, his letter is here.”
Lucy scanned the letter. Nothing much, a sprained wrist.
“Nothing too difficult, so. Mr O’L here yet?”
At five minutes to eleven, David came into the reception area and gave his name to the secretary.
“Yes, Mr Hyland, Miss Browne will be ready for you in a few minutes. Take a seat and fill out this form. Can you do it with the bad hand?”
David smiled at her. He was feeling inexplicably cheerful this morning. “No problem, it’s the other hand.”
“Oh, that was lucky!” Fiona started typing again.
“Cheerful, for a very good reason. Because I have been telling you all day, since you opened your eyes, that today is the day. That’s why you have your best tie on, that brings out the blue in your eyes. And why you shined your shoes. You’re looking good and we are going to win the girl today. And have the baby, well, not today, but we’re on our way! There’s a song for this,” and Jotin began to sing, “Oh what a beautiful morning!”
“Oh, what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day….” David sang gently, wondering why he should think that, as the weather was not particularly wonderful this dull day.
“Fiona, who’s the gorgeous man in the waiting room?” Joanne, one of Lucy’s more senior colleagues, was leaning over Fiona’s desk.
“Lucy’s eleven o’clock.”
“I’ll take him. I have a gap. I could do with a good view for a change.” Joanne’s last patient, the very old and wheezy Mrs Dunphy, was now waddling her way back to the main entrance.
“O.K. All the same to me.”
“NO!” Jotin was out of his chair, running towards the desk. “Tell your people no! This one is meant for Lucy, we’ve been arranging it for years.”
“More my Joanne’s age, don’t you think?”
“Long story, don’t argue. Tell you later. PLEASE!”
“Tell her Lucy was pleased to have a new client.” Fiona’s guide was leaning over the desk, pointing at the space in the appointment book. Fiona looked down.
“Though I don’t know, Joanne. Lucy was pleased to see a new name.”
“She won’t mind. I’m doing her a favour, really.”
“No, Joanne, apparently this one’s not for you. There is one waiting, next year. Wait till then.”
“It could be next year before I get another decent man. After that bastard Seán dumped me I deserve a break.” She picked up the new chart that was waiting on the desk.
“Mr. Hyland? Come this way, please.” Joanne led the way to one of the little treatment rooms. David followed, admiring the way her hair curled at the back of her neck and the shape of her bottom. When she smiled at him as they both got into the room, his heart skipped. For a moment he was glad he had hurt his wrist and had had to reschedule the whole day for this appointment.
“Trynor! The other physio has taken him in. We’ll have to co-ordinate a meeting in the corridor after his treatment. Get those flowers more prominent, the time for subtlety is over.”
Trynor talked rapidly to Lucy and then to the guide of Emily Nolan, whose stiff little legs Lucy was stretching, to prevent the muscles seizing up. Emily reached up and touched the flowers.
“Pretty flowers. Like mam’s.” Mrs Nolan was wearing a similar bunch, right on the front of her cardigan. “Put here!” Emily pointed imperiously at Lucy’s bosom.
“I can’t, Emily. I really shouldn’t have them on at all. They’re out of the way there.”
“Pretty here!” She poked Lucy’s tunic.
“OK, I’ll move them. Just for you, sweetheart.” Lucy moved the flowers to the front of her tunic, just beside the zip. “How’s that?”
“Nice.”
“Thanks. That should do it. Tell your Emily thanks. She’s a good one.”
“Isn’t she? She has them all organised at home, even with her rudimentary language. ‘Our Special Boss’ they call her. We have a lot of helping and persuading to do this time, me and