Page 41 of Just Say Yes
‘I’m so sorry. I’m making a mess.’
‘Don’t be daft. Sure you’ll freeze to death if you don’t get out of those clothes. Whatever happened?’
‘I… tripped.’
‘That bloody huge pothole down the road, I bet? Why on earth didn’t you drive her, Lorcan? What were you thinking?’
He opened his mouth, looked over the landlady’s head at me and appeared to change his mind. ‘She’s cut her leg too.’
‘You have?’ Brighid bent, hands on thighs, and took a look. ‘Oh, Lord. That’s going to need stitches. Right. Lorcan, you call Frank and in the meantime we’ll get her warmed up.’
‘I’m sure just a plaster will be fine.’
‘I’ve had five children, my dear, and if I say it’s going to need stitches, it’s going to need stitches. Now, up you go.’
* * *
‘Oh dear, now that’s going to need stitches,’ Frank McGinty, the local doctor, confirmed a short time later when I was clean, warm and nursing a hot whiskey between my hands. ‘Do you want to pop down to the surgery and we can get it done?’
I looked at the whiskey.
‘Knock it back, woman. You’re in Ireland now,’ Lorcan said.
I glared at him. I could see him waiting for me to tackle the glass, knowing I wouldn’t. Something else he’d be right about. I wasn’t a whiskey drinker. But I wasn’t a quitter either. I downed it in one and, for a minute, lost the ability to speak entirely.
‘That’s more like it.’ He grinned. Rising from his chair, he hooked one of my arms around his shoulders and hoisted me up.
‘I can walk on my own.’
‘You can, but you’re going to bleed all over Brighid’s clean floor.’
‘Oh, Brighid, I’m so sorry. I’ll pay, obviously…’ I wasn’t sure with what. Until I got paid for this job, things were squeakily tight already.
‘He’s pulling your leg, so he is. And, believe me, I’ve cleared up a lot worse than that.’ That I did believe and I gave Lorcan a prod in the ribs for the tease while trying to release myself.
‘Stop wriggling.’
‘You’re too tall. My arm’s coming out of its socket!’
He stopped and gently took my arm from his neck. ‘Jesus, woman, do you ever do anything but complain?’ With that, he swept an arm under my knees and, with the other around my back, strode out of the pub towards the car.
‘Lorcan, put me down!’
‘When we get to the car.’
‘It’s just a cut. I’m fine.’
‘You need sewing together. And here we are.’ He beeped the remote and bent slightly to open the door before gently releasing my legs and helping me into the car. Once I was in, he walked round the front and slid in the other side.
‘I didn’t need carrying.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘You’re impossible.’
‘So I’ve been told,’ he said, not looking at me as he concentrated on pulling out of the car park and onto the road.
‘Where’s the surgery?’
