Page 137 of One Night Only
“She’ll be grand once she gets it checked out,” Paul says, and then louder, “Won’t you, Mam?”
“I feel just fine.”
“It was a nasty hit,” Annie whispers. “But she’s refusing to go to the hospital.”
“I’m not paying those crazy prices,” Mary says. “You know what it’s like over here.”
“Let me see it,” Declan mutters, kneeling next to her.
“Don’t fuss,” she says but he ignores her as he gently peels the compress from her head.
I gasp at the sight of the bruise, red and pink and already starting to swell.
“It looks worse than it is,” she sighs. “Head wounds always bleed more.”
“You’re not bleeding, Mam.”
She blinks up at him dreamily. “I’m not?”
“You’ll have a pretty nasty bump though. We should get it checked.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You have a head injury.”
“I had a torn vagina when I had you, but I got through that.”
Declan gives her a startled look that has me biting my lip to keep from laughing.
“How much did you give her?” he demands, turning to Paul.
“Actually,” Annie says mildly, “I think it was the whiskey chaser that did it.”
“For Christ’s sake.” He pushes away from the couch, ignoring Mary’s reprimand at his cursing. “You couldn’t have sent her to a professional? She might have a concussion.”
“What do you want me to do?” Paul asks as Mary starts humming. “You heard her. She won’t go to the hospital. I couldn’t very well carry her there, could I?”
“I know someone,” Declan mutters, taking out his cell.
“It’s just a cut,” she says. “I don’t want a doctor.”
“It’s a bump, not a cut, and he’s a friend, not a doctor.”
“Dec,” Paul warns as he follows him into the bedroom. “When you say afriend…”
The door shuts behind them and the three of us stare at each other.
“I’ll go make some tea,” Annie says, her voice unnaturally cheerful.
“Proper tea now,” Mary calls. “Like I showed you. I brought some tea bags with me.”
“Proper tea,” Annie confirms from the kitchen.
The kettle starts to boil, drowning out the voices from the bedroom.
I stand there, feeling useless while Mary looks at me happily.
“How are you feeling, Mrs. Murphy?” I ask when she doesn’t stop.
