people I had never met before, who until a day or so ago had lived in a different city in a different province. ‘How is he now?’ I asked.
‘I think he’ll be fine. Good to check, though, about a stitch in case of scarring. It’s so good of you to help, and I only came over to introduce myself.’
‘You’re welcome to use my cellphone to get in touch with your husband.’
‘That’s kind,’ Summer said. ‘If you don’t mind I’ll do it after we’ve seen the doctor, so he knows how it’s panned out.’
My wife had told me several days before that she’d heard that Summer’s husband was a solicitor, but I was about to ask as a conversation filler when a police car drew alongside and motioned me over. It was that long straight by the industrial estate, and I pulled into the forecourt of a small business that made irrigation equipment. The officer had noticed Summer’s son on her knee rather than in a car seat. Yes, we told him, we were well aware of the law, but had been overwhelmed by circumstances. ‘Okay then,’ he said, ‘but straight home after the doctor, right?’ The extravagant patch above Jack’s eye was indisputable evidence of our story. ‘Perhaps your husband could come in with your own car and the seat for the child.’
Usually a policemen is just a policeman, but this guy was young, and even I could see that he was handsome — the sharp features and thick, black hair of an Italian gangster. ‘Wow,’ said Summer as we drove on, but more as a release of anxiety, I think.
‘Is that the doctor?’ asked Jack.
‘No, sweetheart,’ said his mother, ‘but we’ll be there in a minute.’
And we were. Sitting in the worn, communal reception room with a pile of women’s magazines, a red plastic tub of small toys and a rack of free pamphlets on tinea, flatulence, lactation problems and Alzheimer’s disease. We were to be fitted in before the two bowed and silent old women already there, the receptionist said. ‘I must thank Emma for ringing ahead,’ said Summer. ‘And I’m taking your time up when I’m sure you’re busy.’ I didn’t tell her that I’d been lying on the bed when Jack took his fall. I noticed her hands trembling a little, and the tendons clearly visible beneath the pale skin.
‘We’re happy to help,’ I said.
Summer and Jack were only a few minutes in Dr Posswillow’s surgery. No serious damage and two small stitches. Dr Posswillow came out with them briefly, and told me that he’d been called to our golf club earlier that day. Brian Annders had collapsed and died on the ninth tee that overlooks the brook. ‘Out like a light,’ said Dr Posswillow. ‘Massive cardiac failure from all descriptions. Massive.’ I was sorry to hear it. Brian was a pleasant guy: a builder who had made an excellent job of tiling our garage to match the house roof. His brother represented New Zealand in skeet shooting.
‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ said Summer.
‘He was a good guy. Did some renovation work for us.’
‘You just never know, do you,’ said Summer. She had no handbag with her and was embarrassed about her temporary inability to pay. I told her that it was okay, she could fix me up later, and I rang Emma to tell her about Brian Annders’ death, say we were on our way and that Jack was fine. He was grinning, in fact, because Dr Posswillow had given him a lolly. The death of a builder was nothing to him.
By some coincidence we were passing the irrigation machinery factory again when the car began playing up. The gangster policeman was nowhere in sight when needed, but I managed to stutter on to a garage in Hulme Street. I was annoyed. You don’t spend $43,000 on a car to have trouble with it. It would be the electrics. Modern cars are reliable, but they’ve got so many bells and whistles now, that when something does go wrong it’s the electrics.
The mechanic was a thin oldster with a good deal of hair in his ears. Obviously he lacked the wow
‘I think he’ll be fine. Good to check, though, about a stitch in case of scarring. It’s so good of you to help, and I only came over to introduce myself.’
‘You’re welcome to use my cellphone to get in touch with your husband.’
‘That’s kind,’ Summer said. ‘If you don’t mind I’ll do it after we’ve seen the doctor, so he knows how it’s panned out.’
My wife had told me several days before that she’d heard that Summer’s husband was a solicitor, but I was about to ask as a conversation filler when a police car drew alongside and motioned me over. It was that long straight by the industrial estate, and I pulled into the forecourt of a small business that made irrigation equipment. The officer had noticed Summer’s son on her knee rather than in a car seat. Yes, we told him, we were well aware of the law, but had been overwhelmed by circumstances. ‘Okay then,’ he said, ‘but straight home after the doctor, right?’ The extravagant patch above Jack’s eye was indisputable evidence of our story. ‘Perhaps your husband could come in with your own car and the seat for the child.’
Usually a policemen is just a policeman, but this guy was young, and even I could see that he was handsome — the sharp features and thick, black hair of an Italian gangster. ‘Wow,’ said Summer as we drove on, but more as a release of anxiety, I think.
‘Is that the doctor?’ asked Jack.
‘No, sweetheart,’ said his mother, ‘but we’ll be there in a minute.’
And we were. Sitting in the worn, communal reception room with a pile of women’s magazines, a red plastic tub of small toys and a rack of free pamphlets on tinea, flatulence, lactation problems and Alzheimer’s disease. We were to be fitted in before the two bowed and silent old women already there, the receptionist said. ‘I must thank Emma for ringing ahead,’ said Summer. ‘And I’m taking your time up when I’m sure you’re busy.’ I didn’t tell her that I’d been lying on the bed when Jack took his fall. I noticed her hands trembling a little, and the tendons clearly visible beneath the pale skin.
‘We’re happy to help,’ I said.
Summer and Jack were only a few minutes in Dr Posswillow’s surgery. No serious damage and two small stitches. Dr Posswillow came out with them briefly, and told me that he’d been called to our golf club earlier that day. Brian Annders had collapsed and died on the ninth tee that overlooks the brook. ‘Out like a light,’ said Dr Posswillow. ‘Massive cardiac failure from all descriptions. Massive.’ I was sorry to hear it. Brian was a pleasant guy: a builder who had made an excellent job of tiling our garage to match the house roof. His brother represented New Zealand in skeet shooting.
‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ said Summer.
‘He was a good guy. Did some renovation work for us.’
‘You just never know, do you,’ said Summer. She had no handbag with her and was embarrassed about her temporary inability to pay. I told her that it was okay, she could fix me up later, and I rang Emma to tell her about Brian Annders’ death, say we were on our way and that Jack was fine. He was grinning, in fact, because Dr Posswillow had given him a lolly. The death of a builder was nothing to him.
By some coincidence we were passing the irrigation machinery factory again when the car began playing up. The gangster policeman was nowhere in sight when needed, but I managed to stutter on to a garage in Hulme Street. I was annoyed. You don’t spend $43,000 on a car to have trouble with it. It would be the electrics. Modern cars are reliable, but they’ve got so many bells and whistles now, that when something does go wrong it’s the electrics.
The mechanic was a thin oldster with a good deal of hair in his ears. Obviously he lacked the wow
Similar Books
