The Secret Wound by Deirdre Quiery

Author:Deirdre Quiery [Quiery, Deirdre]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781911331896
Publisher: Urbane Publications Limited
Published: 2017-06-08T23:00:00+00:00

DAY 14

SATURDAY 24TH AUGUST 2013,

GURTHA AND Paddy flew back to Belfast on Saturday 24th August. Once they landed, Gurtha hired a car and drove to the Accident and Emergency Department at the Royal Hospital. They sat together in the Waiting Room. Paddy smiled at Gurtha,

“What’s wrong with you, son?”

Gurtha answered, “It’s you Dad - your chest. We need to get it checked out. It shouldn’t take long.”

He had dressed Paddy in his best grey trousers, a white shirt and a royal blue cashmere jumper. His hair badly needed cutting as it curled greasily over the neck of his shirt. He had packed a small overnight case with Paddy’s pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers in case they were needed. After a Nurse completed her admission forms, he was admitted to a private room and Gurtha helped him into his pyjamas. He slid down in the bed, with his head only just on the pillow, pulling the crisp white sheets up over his mouth.

“Where am I?” Paddy appealed to Gurtha.

“You’re getting tests done. Remember I said that you needed to have your chest checked out?”

“I want to go home.”

Gurtha nodded, “I’ll get you home.”

Paddy pushed the sheets away. His grey hairy chest visible under his white vest. The striped blue and red pyjama top was opened a button or two too many. Gurtha leaned forward and closed the two buttons. Paddy smiled at him, not moving away, not resisting, his head sinking once again deeply into the freshly starched pillow case.

When Paddy fell asleep, Gurtha continued to sit by his bedside. He felt waves of emotions lapping inside him without being able to label them. Then his body flooded with the dull ache of an ancient familiar sadness. He felt confused about the nature of this man in the bed who was breathing deeply. Who was Paddy? What was his relationship with Nuala? He realised that although he had lived with them for more than forty years, he really did not know.

He felt a surge of despair rise through his stomach and lodge itself, thumping like a heartbeat, in this throat. His hand moved towards Paddy’s hand which lay like a claw knocker on top of the blue cotton cover. He hesitated to touch it. He didn’t want to waken him. He swallowed deeply and placed his head on top of his arms resting on the sheets. He cried – not knowing why.

Images of Paddy’s mother – Kathleen – ‘Granny Maloney’ came to Gurtha’s mind. He had visited her with Paddy every Sunday until the age of eleven. Paddy deliberately took him the long way along a country lane over Black Mountain on the outskirts of Belfast. He didn’t hold Gurtha’s hand. He told him that he used to run along that road as a teenager and that he loved cross country running. He would train alone. A solitary thin runner in the mountains, running along the lane and then through fields, not stopping, running from home and running back, smelling the

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