disinfectant. His father eyed his mother dismissively. ‘Columbo is not responsible for most of the foul smells around here.’
Mary Abernethy, oblivious it seemed to her husband’s sharp dig, cleaned on like a woman whose very existence depended on the polishing cloth.
Dan did wince inside when the mockery moved to speculating about Columbo sharing his parents’ marital bed. He could not remember a time when his parents had slept in the same room. As far back as his memory could recall his mother’s room had been at the top of the landing while Con Abernethy slept in the back of the house in a room that doubled as his office. While the Dáil sat he stayed in Dublin in the apartment he had bought near the Burlington.
Mary Abernethy travelled to Dublin on only very rare occasions, usually to show her face for the first day of parliamentary business after a general election or at the annual party conference. On these occasions she mostly stayed in the Gresham, in a room overlooking O’Connell Street. Con’s apartment was small, she reasoned, and there was always bound to be some hanger-on from home wanting to pitch themselves in the TD’s place, anxious for a sniff at the pot of power. She preferred to hold court in Leachlara while her husband attended to business elsewhere. Her only son was her favourite project. He would turn out perfectly, she would see to that.
Dan felt the pressure of his mother’s ambition for him but he did not allow it to weigh heavily on his shoulders. He loved his mother, or at least he thought he must, but his father was his real companion in the house. He looked forward to him coming home from Dublin on a Thursday night because his presence made the shipshape house a shade unpredictable. The phone would start to ring checking that Con was back and party workers would troop to the kitchen table (through the back door, that was understood) to hear the gossip from Dublin and share any snippets of local news or dissent that Con would find useful before his Saturday-morning clinic in Shanahan’s lounge. Dan loved to join in these kitchen-table conferences and his presence was respected and encouraged by his father’s troupe of workers. Who knew? They could be looking at a future candidate. No one wanted to start off on the wrong foot with someone they might well be championing in the future. Whatever their reasons for tolerating him in their grown man’s world, Dan was grateful, not least because his father’s job and Dan’s access to his coterie of supporters gave him some sense of the world that lay beyond Leachlara, a world he planned to escape to at the first available opportunity.
So it was with a mixture of affection and utter bemusement that Dan turned in the direction of the familiar booming voice that had interrupted Consultant Mackey’s lecture. Columbo was nostranger to the loudhailer style of delivery and had neglected to turn down the volume in the hushed surroundings of a corridor in a teaching hospital.
‘Heartiest apologies for interrupting the serious work at hand, sir, but I need a quick word with young Dr Abernethy here on urgent personal business.’
Dan flushed. Columbo had awarded him his medical qualification about a year prematurely. He shot a glance at Consultant Mackey and he could see the look of withering disdain building behind the forbidding spectacles.
‘Well, it is most irregular to have a teaching slot interrupted but I suppose, Mr Abernethy, if your personal business is more important than my time then so be it.’ Then, beckoning to Dan’s fellow students, he said haughtily, ‘Further training, for those of you that remain interested, will take place in the Alphonsos Ward.’
As if in one of the less eventful episodes of One Man and His Dog , the medical students set off in sheeplike formation in Consultant Mackey’s wake, leaving Dan and Columbo alone in the freshly deserted corridor.
‘Jesus, Columbo, what’s this all about? What are you
Mary Abernethy, oblivious it seemed to her husband’s sharp dig, cleaned on like a woman whose very existence depended on the polishing cloth.
Dan did wince inside when the mockery moved to speculating about Columbo sharing his parents’ marital bed. He could not remember a time when his parents had slept in the same room. As far back as his memory could recall his mother’s room had been at the top of the landing while Con Abernethy slept in the back of the house in a room that doubled as his office. While the Dáil sat he stayed in Dublin in the apartment he had bought near the Burlington.
Mary Abernethy travelled to Dublin on only very rare occasions, usually to show her face for the first day of parliamentary business after a general election or at the annual party conference. On these occasions she mostly stayed in the Gresham, in a room overlooking O’Connell Street. Con’s apartment was small, she reasoned, and there was always bound to be some hanger-on from home wanting to pitch themselves in the TD’s place, anxious for a sniff at the pot of power. She preferred to hold court in Leachlara while her husband attended to business elsewhere. Her only son was her favourite project. He would turn out perfectly, she would see to that.
Dan felt the pressure of his mother’s ambition for him but he did not allow it to weigh heavily on his shoulders. He loved his mother, or at least he thought he must, but his father was his real companion in the house. He looked forward to him coming home from Dublin on a Thursday night because his presence made the shipshape house a shade unpredictable. The phone would start to ring checking that Con was back and party workers would troop to the kitchen table (through the back door, that was understood) to hear the gossip from Dublin and share any snippets of local news or dissent that Con would find useful before his Saturday-morning clinic in Shanahan’s lounge. Dan loved to join in these kitchen-table conferences and his presence was respected and encouraged by his father’s troupe of workers. Who knew? They could be looking at a future candidate. No one wanted to start off on the wrong foot with someone they might well be championing in the future. Whatever their reasons for tolerating him in their grown man’s world, Dan was grateful, not least because his father’s job and Dan’s access to his coterie of supporters gave him some sense of the world that lay beyond Leachlara, a world he planned to escape to at the first available opportunity.
So it was with a mixture of affection and utter bemusement that Dan turned in the direction of the familiar booming voice that had interrupted Consultant Mackey’s lecture. Columbo was nostranger to the loudhailer style of delivery and had neglected to turn down the volume in the hushed surroundings of a corridor in a teaching hospital.
‘Heartiest apologies for interrupting the serious work at hand, sir, but I need a quick word with young Dr Abernethy here on urgent personal business.’
Dan flushed. Columbo had awarded him his medical qualification about a year prematurely. He shot a glance at Consultant Mackey and he could see the look of withering disdain building behind the forbidding spectacles.
‘Well, it is most irregular to have a teaching slot interrupted but I suppose, Mr Abernethy, if your personal business is more important than my time then so be it.’ Then, beckoning to Dan’s fellow students, he said haughtily, ‘Further training, for those of you that remain interested, will take place in the Alphonsos Ward.’
As if in one of the less eventful episodes of One Man and His Dog , the medical students set off in sheeplike formation in Consultant Mackey’s wake, leaving Dan and Columbo alone in the freshly deserted corridor.
‘Jesus, Columbo, what’s this all about? What are you
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