The doctor ignored her and rose to intercept five-year-old Angus's a.s.sault on the trolley. "Here," O'Reilly said, pulling out his key ring. "Play with this." He gave it to the child, grabbed the boy's wrist, pulled him away from the collection of sharp steel instruments, and guided him back to his father. "Hang onto him, Gerry."

"Right, Doctor."

"I . . . want . . . a . . . sweetie."

O'Reilly stifled his urge to say, "No, you want a good clip round the ear." He did understand how difficult it could be for parents, particularly newcomers like the Shankses, to find babysitters. "I'll be back," he said, as he left the surgery.

He went to the kitchen, and said, "Kinky, could you nanny a couple of chisellers? I want to finish on time so I can get up to Belfast today to do my Christmas shopping."

"Bless you, Doctor dear, I will indeed. Just let me pop your lunch to one side."

He saw a plate of wheaten bread, b.u.t.ter, and cheese. b.l.o.o.d.y diet.

"Will we go now, sir?"

He headed back to the surgery with Kinky at his heels. "Children, this is Mrs. Kincaid."

Kinky, big and comforting, beamed at them and held out her arms.

"I'd like you to go with her, and she'll give you some treats," O'Reilly said.

Siobhan's chant stopped. She moved across to where Kinky stood. Angus followed. As the boy pa.s.sed, O'Reilly caught his shoulder. "My keys?"

Angus thrust them at O'Reilly and raced after Kinky and his sister, yelling, "Wait for me. Wait for me."

O'Reilly put the keys in his pocket and took his usual seat.

"I'm awful sorry about that, Doctor," Mairead said, "but you know what kiddies are like." She smiled fondly. "I dote on them, so I do."

"Och," he said, "to the raven her own chick is white." Which was the closest he could bring himself to saying, she could dote, but he'd just tolerate. He gave her a moment to think about what he had said.

Now that he was no longer distracted, O'Reilly took a good look at Mairead Shanks. Gerry had said his wife was a pretty wee thing. She was indeed. She could not stand more than five feet tall, and her short coppery hair was cut in a pageboy. That made him swallow. He'd managed not to think of Deidre for a few days, but she'd worn bangs like that, even though at Christmas 1940 the back and sides of her hair had been done in a reverse roll in the fashion of the times. He inhaled deeply and told himself to get on with his work.

"They can be a handful. I'm sorry, sir."

"Never worry," O'Reilly said, "Kinky'll keep them occupied until we're done."

She smiled. It was a gentle smile of full lips and pale green eyes set in an oval face. "Thank you, sir."

O'Reilly popped on his half-moons. "You'd like to have another wean?"

She nodded and managed a wry smile. "After you've seen my two you probably wonder why, Doctor, but yes, me and Gerry . . ."-she glanced at her husband, who reached across and took her hand-"me and Gerry'd like one more. Just the one."

O'Reilly nodded. "Gerry said it's been two years, and you've seen all the specialists and they can't find anything wrong."

Her eyes glistened. "That's right, sir."

"I imagine you've been asked a lot of personal questions, had a lot of examinations, and are getting pretty sick of tests."

She sighed. "You can say that again, sir."

"I'm not going to examine you, Mairead, and I've no more tests."

He saw her frown. Many patients believed that if they were not given a thorough physical examination, the doctor was not doing his job. "There's no need, honestly. You've seen some of the best specialists. If they found nothing, you don't expect a country GP to, do you?" Pretty much the same tack he'd taken with Gerry, who was nodding in agreement.

"If you say so, sir." She smiled again.

Sometimes, O'Reilly thought, the absolute trust country patients had in their medical advisors was unnerving, even to the extent of their being willing to follow weird advice from a man like Fitzpatrick. "I do," he said. "I'd rather chat with you."

"See, didn't I tell you that, dear, when I come home after I'd seen him, that Doctor O'Reilly just wanted to have a wee word, like?"

"Aye. You did so."

O'Reilly leant forward. "There's just a couple of things to discuss." And despite the Ulster countrywoman's reticence about matters s.e.xual, he decided to jump in at the deep end. "Gerry told me you'd been advised that you should only make love once a month."

She coloured and glared at her husband.

"Come on, Mairead," Gerry said. "How's the doctor going to help us if he doesn't know what ails us?"

"It takes all the fun out of it." Her voice was very soft. Her eyes brimmed over. "Gerry's been very patient, so he has." And she smiled weakly at Gerry through her tears.

O'Reilly pulled the half-moons down to the tip of his nose. "Mairead, I do understand. And I know it's a tricky subject, but I don't think the Lord invented s.e.x just for making babies. I think he made it so two people in love could have fun too." He waited to let that message sink in.

She frowned, looked down, then looked back at O'Reilly. "You mean that, don't you, Doctor?"

"Of course." There was no need for her to know that there had been no courses in s.e.xuality when he was a student and that his advice was based on his own experience, and it had been fun with Deidre and, d.a.m.n it all, might very well be with Kitty. Pity she'd not be back until Christmas Day. He shoved the spectacles back up his nose. "Tell me, Mairead, what the doctors at the Royal told you."

She sniffed again and accepted the handkerchief her husband gave her. "They said they could find nothing wrong. That the two chisellers we already have was pretty good proof that things were working all right, just a bit slow this time, like. If there was something serious, I'd likely never have got pregnant."

"Do you think maybe the specialists could be right?"

She blew her nose. "Well, I suppose . . ." She sighed mightily. "But why is it taking so long? They told me the right days of the month to . . . do it"-she blushed and looked down-"and we have, so we have. And now you say on one hand you're just a country GP, but on the other you don't agree with the big doctors at the hospital." She looked from O'Reilly to her husband and back to O'Reilly. "I'm getting muddled, so I am."

"I don't think the doctor would tell you wrong, dear," Gerry said. "He shot straight with me, so he did, and you remember what Gertie told you about how he delivered her wee Noelle? I'd listen to the man, so I would."

O'Reilly nodded, grateful for Gerry's support. He steepled his fingers. "I don't agree, Mairead, because I do know that if you took one hundred couples like you and Gerry and they all started on the same day trying to have a baby, some would get in the family way in a couple of months, but it would be three years before most of them were pregnant. Three whole years. Some folks just take longer than others."

She looked up at O'Reilly, at her husband, and back to O'Reilly. "Honest to G.o.d?"

He nodded. "And the other thing I know is that if all the tests are done and are normal, no amount of making love on the 'right day' will produce any more babies than making love when the mood's on you."

He saw Gerry smile.

"Right enough?" she asked. "That'll be a relief to Gerry. He's been very good, so he has. He's even taking what that Doctor Fitzpatrick told him to. It must taste terrible."

"The gunpowder? I must confess I'd never heard of that treatment before." And he sincerely hoped he never would again.

"Nor me," she said, "but Fitzpatrick swore by it."

"Funnily enough, I was just having a wee word with Doctor Fitzpatrick yesterday." Quite a few wee words in fact.

"Aye?" Gerry said. "What about?"

"Gunpowder, among other things, and he did tell me that maybe he was mistaken about it. We had a good laugh about it." And that is true, O'Reilly thought. Well, it is if it's taken a bit out of context, and if it helps Mairead, what's the harm in a white lie? "I don't think he'll be prescribing it again." He'd b.l.o.o.d.y well better not.

"It's certainly not done nothing for me, so it hasn't," Gerry said.

Mairead shook her head. "Maybe Gerry won't need to take no more?"

"What do you think, Mairead?" O'Reilly asked.

"You can stop, dear," she said. "You can start putting the sugar in your tea again."

"Thank G.o.d for that." He smiled.

"So what you're saying, Doctor O'Reilly, is for us to get on with our lives, don't do nothing special, and hope for the best?"

"That's right, and I know it'll not be easy, but it's the best I can suggest." He heard a screech and a yell. "What the h.e.l.l was that?" O'Reilly leapt from his chair, crossed the room, and flung open the door. He could see into the dining room.

Siobhan sat at the table, a half-drunk gla.s.s of Kinky's lemonade in front of her, a mostly eaten sweet mince pie clutched in a sticky hand. Her eyes were wide. Kinky was holding a tearful Angus, who had four red scratches on his left forearm. Lady Macbeth crouched under the table, spitting and hissing.

"It's all right, sir," Kinky said, looking straight at O'Reilly. "The young man thought Her Ladyship's tail was a handle to grab her by, so. She disagreed. I'll take him out to my kitchen, give the scratches a wash, and he'll be right as rain."

"Thank you, Kinky." O'Reilly waited until she had brought the tearful lad into the hall. "Let's have a look." He took the arm and satisfied himself that Kinky was right. All it needed was a wash. "Carry on, Mrs. Kincaid," he said and winked at her.

O'Reilly felt a presence at his shoulder and turned. Mairead was there looking worried. "It's all right, Mairead. Angus got scratched by my cat. Mrs. Kincaid'll see to him."

She pushed past and followed Kinky and the little boy.

Typical mother, O'Reilly thought. Bless her.

He went back into the surgery.

Gerry was on his feet. He was frowning.

"Don't worry, Gerry. Angus has a wee scratch, that's all. Kinky and his mother are looking after him."

"How did he get scratched? Was it Siobhan?"

Typical father of two, O'Reilly thought. Whenever one child gets hurt, Da makes the other the prime suspect. "Not at all. It was my cat. Angus had a go at her, and as a famous French fellah once said, the animal is very evil. If you attack it, it will defend itself."

"If you attack it, it . . ." Gerry started to laugh. "I don't think that was any Frenchman, Doctor. I think you just made that up there now."

"I didn't, Gerry, but it's good to see you with a smile on your face."

Gerry glanced down at his feet before looking straight at O'Reilly. "Doc, I've a reason to smile. I want to thank you for telling the missus what you done. Maybe now she'll get a bit of peace of mind for a while."

"I hope so, Gerry."

"That Fitzpatrick, he'd her worried stiff, so he had." He grimaced. "And I'll not be sorry to see the back of that b.l.o.o.d.y gunpowder."

"I believe you." O'Reilly clapped the man on the shoulder. "You nip into the dining room and collect your wee Siobhan. Then go along to the kitchen and see to your wife and son and get away on home."

"I will, Doctor, and thanks again. All this no-babies business and the move here have been hard on Mairead. She's not made too many new friends yet."

"So why don't you and the missus bring the youngsters to the Rugby Club Christmas party next Wednesday? You'll meet a lot of folks; the wee ones'll meet other kids. It's usually a great ta-ta-ta-ra. It starts at five in the pavilion."

Gerry smiled. "That would be great, so it would. We'll be there."

O'Reilly followed Gerry into the hall and headed for the waiting room.

A Good Plot, Good Friends, and Full of Expectation.

O'Reilly opened the waiting-room door. "Who's next?" He couldn't stifle a grin when Ballybucklebo's arch-schemer rose and said, "Me, sir."

"Come along then, Donal," O'Reilly said and headed back up the hall. He shut the door behind him. "Well?"

"It's all set, sir. Johnny Jordan'll have a great big turkey ready and . . ." He handed O'Reilly two five-pound notes. ". . . And when Johnny heard what it was for-he knows how to keep his trap shut so I explained just a wee bit to him-he wouldn't take no money."

"Jesus, Donal, I thought we were keeping this between you and me."

"Sure I only told him Eileen would win the turkey. Not how much she'd get."

"But even if that gets out and Eileen hears, she'll refuse-"

"Divil the bit will it get out, Doc." Donal winked and held a finger alongside his nose. "See, your man Johnny? He's a mouth on him like a steel trap when you tell him a secret, and anyway Johnny'd do nothing to hurt Eileen. He's a bachelor man but he used to walk out with Eileen before, and he never married once she was taken."

"Is that a fact?" Lord, O'Reilly thought, with the number of folks carrying torches-me, Kitty, young Barry, and now the local butcher-it might be time to organize a torchlight procession.

"Och, aye, mind you Johnny's no oil painting, but he's a heart of corn, so he has, and that shop of his makes a mint. Wee Eileen could do much worser for herself."

And that is one hare I'm definitely going to let sit, O'Reilly told himself. I don't mind helping Eileen out financially, but I am not taking on the job of matchmaker. "I'm sure you're right, Donal."

"I'm dead on, so I am, but it's not for me to tell her that he gave the bird for free. He can do as he sees fit. But it was decent of him." He chuckled. "It's a bit of a gag raffling off a dead bird, but it's not as funny as the story your man Niall Toibin told about the raffle of a dead greyhound."

"Toibin? The comic actor?"

"The very fellah."

Toibin was a marvelous raconteur, and Donal was no mean hand at telling a story himself, as O'Reilly had learnt at the wedding. He had certainly piqued O'Reilly's curiosity, but the doctor was content to wait to hear more. Knowing Donal as he did, O'Reilly understood that on occasions the man had a little difficulty thinking in reasonably straight lines.

"I need to tell you about what I've been up to first," he said. "And I hope you'll be pleased with this, sir." Donal handed O'Reilly a green ticket. It had a perforated line at its equator. Both halves were identical. Each bore the numbers 4444. "That's the winner there, and before you ask, sir, I've not sold four thousand tickets. They came in a roll that started at forty-three hundred, and that one there's the one you need." He grinned. "You know, Doc, I thought I was pretty smart coming up with the notion of how to rig this so the one we want will win the money. I never thought there'd be another way to be sure of winning a raffle."