Celebrity In Braxton Falls. Judy Campbell
a feisty and wilful old lady, but she couldn’t help admiring her. ‘I’ll go at lunchtime,’ she promised. ‘Then hopefully I’ll be back to greet Denovan O’Mara—but I’m not looking forward to it particularly. I have a feeling he and I might not hit it off!’
Inside Nellie Styles’s cottage it was very cold, and there was a general air of neglect about the place. The little home she took such pride in had deteriorated, thought Kerry sadly. A few months ago it had been spotless, every surface gleaming and the brasses round the fireplace twinkling. Now there were bundles of local papers and magazines littering the floor. The many photographs of Nellie’s scattered family were filmed with dust and there were dead flies on the windowsills and plates of uneaten food on the table in the living room. It was a picture of decline Kerry had seen before in some of her elderly infirm patients whose relations lived too far away to help. She would have to persuade Nellie somehow that the time had come to accept help.
The old lady was standing precariously by the door to her kitchen, clinging to the back of a bookcase. She had an old blanket wrapped round her shoulders and she looked pinched and cold. She turned round as Kerry entered, a frown crossing her face when she saw who it was.
‘I thought that nurse said Dr O’Mara was coming today,’ she said grumpily.
‘I’m afraid Dr O’Mara’s been in an accident and injured himself rather badly. I don’t think he’ll be back for a while.’
Nellie pursed her lips. ‘The way he screeches through the village in that car of his it’s a miracle he hasn’t come to grief before.’
The old lady turned back to her chair and staggered slightly as she let go of her support. Kerry went swiftly over to her and guided her gently back to her seat.
‘It’s a bit cold in here, Nellie, you haven’t got your fire on,’ she said, bending down and switching on the electric fire in the grate. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Not bad … not bad. Just a bit chilled, like, but what can you expect with this weather? I’ve not seen so much rain for many years.’
Kerry nodded—she’d had to cross parts of the road near Nellie’s that were awash with huge puddles, and even from here she could hear the river gushing as it flowed along the main village road.
‘Perhaps it’ll stop raining soon, it did look a little lighter over the hills,’ she said brightly. ‘Now, Nellie, have you had anything to eat or drink today?’
Nellie looked evasive. ‘I was just about to get myself a little something.’
‘A bowl of soup might warm you up—I can easily heat some in a saucepan—and before you say anything, it isn’t too much trouble.’
Kerry smiled at the old lady persuasively and was rewarded by a flicker of interest in her eyes. ‘Well, just to please you, like, a little bit in a cup would be grand.’
In a few minutes thin hands were clasped round the warm cup and Nellie was sipping the soup eagerly, a little colour returning to her pale cheeks. ‘That’s very nice, Doctor, but I could have got it myself, you know.’
‘I know you could, Nellie, but I want you to have a little rest for a while. I don’t think you’ve ever recovered your strength from that last infection.’
Nellie’s eyes flashed rebelliously. ‘I’m not going back into that hospital, whatever you say!’
Kerry patted her hand. ‘I don’t want you to, but I do want to get you some help, just for the time being. Someone who can bring you a little food every day and perhaps do your washing, build you up a little—otherwise you’re going to end up in hospital anyway.’
Nellie’s frail old face looked fiercely at Kerry for a minute, then slowly her expression changed to one of resignation and she nodded her head slowly. ‘Perhaps I am a bit run-down. If you could organise something, then—just temporary, mind!’
She must be feeling pretty awful to capitulate like that, thought Kerry. It was never easy to admit, after years of independence, that the time had come to be cared for.
‘I’ll see to it,’ promised Kerry. ‘In the meantime, Liz Ferris will be popping in to see that you’re OK.’
‘That Liz Ferris,’ grumbled Nellie. ‘She’s always getting on at me to put more fires on and get more food in. She must think I’m made of money!’
‘Now, now, Nellie—she’s only doing it for your own good, you know. We’re all very fond of you and want you to get stronger.’
Nellie looked slightly mollified. ‘I know, lass, I know.’ She took another sip of soup and then looked up at Kerry inquisitively. ‘So what will you do now without Dr O’Mara?’
‘Oh, I’m sure I can get someone to fill in fairly soon,’ said Kerry, with more assurance than she felt. She’d already been in touch with several agencies in the area with no luck.
‘I knew Frank O’Mara when he was a little boy—him and his brother. I used to do some cooking for them,’ said Nellie, taking another sip of soup. ‘Ee, they were chalk and cheese, those lads. And wild—always at each other’s throats! Of course,’ the old lady reminisced, ‘that father of theirs was hard on them, and after he lost his first wife and his second wife left them all so sudden, like—well, they were left to their own devices and they were right tearaways!’
‘I hope they’ve got over their differences now. His brother’s coming up this afternoon to see Dr Frank,’ said Kerry.
Nellie gave a cackle of laughter. ‘Well, you may get fireworks between them—their father was a difficult, womanising man—perhaps they’ve taken after him! I always wondered if that was why Denovan’s mother left—she was only young herself. But it was a cruel thing, if you ask me, to leave a young lad like that. You’ll have to act as referee between them, my dear!’
That’s the last thing I’m going to do, thought Kerry as she left the cottage. I shall stay well clear of both of them. She had enough on her plate without keeping the peace between two grown men! She had to admit, however, that the unexpected revelation Nellie had given about the O’Mara boys’ childhood was rather intriguing. It sounded as if their childhood had not been a happy one.
She drove back to the surgery. The rain still beating down remorselessly—she wasn’t surprised that the small car park was covered in huge puddles. A red sports car had taken the only dry slot near the staff spaces, so that Kerry had to park awkwardly against a wall and squeeze out of her door, putting her feet into a small pothole filled with water. She opened the boot and took out a large file and her medical bag, holding them in both arms as she picked her way over the flooded car park, the rain lashing down onto her and soaking her hair and clothes.
She squelched crossly into the building, hoping she could dry her feet out before the late afternoon surgery. Surely the day couldn’t get any worse! No happy holiday, just continual rain and cold and the prospect of weeks of hard work. Burdened by the things she was carrying, she opened the office door by pushing it with her back and going in backwards.
‘Some stupid idiot’s put their car in the only dry space,’ she complained to the office at large. ‘My feet are absolutely soaked.’
She dropped her files and bag on a chair and then a deep voice behind her made her whirl round.
‘Ah—I’m sorry about that. It’s my car taking the space. I’m afraid I didn’t realise it was the only dry spot.’
A tall man with tousled dark hair who had been lounging against the side of the desk unravelled himself and stood up. His gaze swept slowly over Kerry’s drenched figure and the dripping tendrils of hair plastered against her face, down to the soggy remnants of her shoes. Beside him, a small boy of about four years old, with a snub nose and round wire-rimmed glasses, sat on the desk, drumming his heels against the drawers.
‘You’re certainly very wet,’ he murmured.
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