Page 82 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

‘Yes.’

‘I hope that you enjoy your flight with us. You need to proceed to the departure lounge, where your gate number will be called.’

Malcolm took his passport and his case disappeared.

As he turned to leave the desk, the man called out, ‘Your flight is running a little behind schedule; please keep an eye on the departure boards.’

‘How behind?’ Malcolm snapped.

‘There will be an update soon.’ The man looked beyond Malcolm. ‘Next passenger, please.’

Malcolm shrugged; the first place he’d stop when he got through to departures would be the airport bar. Cursing with pain, he shuffled away.

* * *

Hattie had finishedher sandwiches before she came into Bill’s room and now, as she sat beside his bed, she surreptitiously took a bite of cake. It was delicious. Connor’s carrot cake should win an award. Perhaps they could market it too. She wiped crumbs from her mouth and taking an antibacterial wipe from her bag, cleaned her fingers.

‘Now, Bill,’ she said, ‘it’s time you woke up and gave us a smile.’ She reached out and stroked Bill’s arm. ‘Everyone is wanting to hear some good news, that you are awake and having a cup of tea with me. They’re looking forward to having you back at Boomerville and all the Babes want to sit next to you on Willie’s coach, on the journey back.’

Hattie carried on, her constant flow of words uninterrupted, as nursing staff came and went. She’d been keeping it up for the best part of two hours, when Harry appeared in the doorway. He wore a navy, short-sleeved T-shirt and combat trousers. The T-shirt had an official looking badge on the front, with the slogan, “F.B.I.”

‘F.B.I?’ Hattie raised her eyebrows as Harry stepped into the room.

‘Female Body Inspector.’

‘Dead bodies?’

‘Very funny.’ Harry sat down. ‘How is he?’

‘Still out cold.’ Hattie sighed. ‘I’m worn out with conversation; nothing seems to work to wake him up.’ She turned to Harry. ‘Did you bring anything to eat?’

‘No, Finbar gave me a lift and we stopped at a pub on the way. I’ve had a lovely fish chowder with sourdough bread.’ He patted his stomach.

‘Alright, don’t rub it in,’ Hattie said. ‘What brings you here?’

‘I wanted to have a word with Bill, when he wakes up.’

‘You don’t think his fall was an accident?’

‘Do you?’

‘To be honest, no.’ Hattie shook her head. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘I’ve checked the CCTV cameras at the manor and there’s nothing on them.’

‘They won’t record that far into the garden.’

They continued to chat, their voices lowered, as they watched Bill for any signs of movement. The monitor beside his bed pulsed steadily as fluids dripped from an elevated bag.

Hattie sat forward. ‘Look!’ she whispered. ‘I think his eyelids are moving.’ She reached out to hold Bill’s hand as his fingers began to twitch.

‘Bill,’ Harry whispered. ‘Bill, old son, can you hear me? It’s Harry and I’m here to help you.’

Bill’s eyelids flickered. He slowly opened his eyes.

‘Bill,’ Hattie said, ‘you’re back with us.’ She beamed and, holding his fingers with one hand, tenderly rubbed his arm with the other.

‘What happened, can you tell us?’ Harry leaned in close.