New Girl in Little Cove Damhnait Monaghan (best ebook reader android .txt) 📖

how he’d put on my winter tires and told me I was part of the community, and how he’d helped get me off the ice after I rescued Ruthie.

“Rachel,” said Biddy, then hesitated. “I hates to ask, but they says I can go home if someone comes to collect me and I wondered if . . .”

“I’ll be right over, Biddy. Where are you?”

“Emergency. I don’t think I fits that description, but that’s where I’m to. I wants a proper cup of tea and I wants to go home.”

I grabbed my coat and purse and ran out to my car. Within minutes I had found the Clayville hospital and followed the signs to the emergency entrance. It was a small hospital, and I was later to learn that the emergency department was really only for minor injuries. Anyone seriously injured was taken directly to St. John’s.

Biddy was sitting up very straight on a chair in the waiting room. Her face was grey, so that her birthmark looked less livid. There was a huge goose egg on her forehead. Her right arm was in a sling and she looked absolutely exhausted.

A middle-aged nurse was sitting beside Biddy, and as I approached, she stood up and said, “Are you the next of kin for Mrs. Cormack?”

Before I could say anything, Biddy answered.

“Yes,” she said. “This is my niece Geraldine I was telling you about.” She gave me a look.

“Oh,” the nurse said, suddenly more interested. “Mrs. Cormack . . .”

“Miss Cormack,” Biddy corrected.

“Miss Cormack is after telling me that you works at the hospital in St. John’s. Do you know Patsy Fowler?”

For a minute I was flummoxed. How much lying was required, and what sort of medical knowledge was I meant to have?

Then Biddy whimpered, “I wants to get home.”

I wasn’t sure if it was a clever distraction or a genuine need, but either way, the question was forgotten. The nurse said that Biddy had a suspected concussion and needed to be watched for the next twenty-four hours. “Of course, you’ll know that,” she said. “And she got a bit bashed around so she’s got these”—she thrust a bottle of pills at me—“painkillers.”

I glanced at the label—one every six hours—then asked, “What about her arm?”

“Doctor thinks it’s just a bad sprain, but we wants her back here on Wednesday for a check. But she’s not to use it in the meantime.”

“Not like I could if I wanted to,” said Biddy. “I’m trussed up like a turkey, sure.”

She stood then, making it clear it was time to go. I walked alongside her, staying close but not wanting to touch her, afraid of hurting her. When we reached my car, I helped her into it, then pulled the seat belt gingerly around her arm and buckled her in.

“So it looks like you need someone to stay with you tonight,” I said.

Biddy frowned. “My sister’s gone to St. John’s with Lucille for a wedding. They won’t be back ’til Sunday afternoon.”

“What about Flossie and Annie?” I said.

“They’re gone to the wedding too.”

“Never mind,” I said. “I’m coming to stay with you. It’ll do me good to have a weekend in Little Cove,” I lied. “It’s been too long.”

“You’re not,” said Biddy. “A young one like you don’t want to be fussing over me in your free time.”

“I am,” I said. “And that’s final. We’ll stop at my place so I can get some clothes and things and then we’ll head out to Little Cove.”

Biddy was quiet as we drove through the empty streets of Clayville. My little house was ablaze with light, and despite the circumstances, I took a minute to admire it. I helped Biddy out of the car, and she winced when I accidentally brushed her arm. Once we were inside, I settled her on one of the loveseats and told her to relax while I put the kettle on. Then I ran upstairs to throw some clothes and toiletries in a bag.

When I came back downstairs, Biddy was standing at the mantelpiece.

“Is that one of Lucille’s?” she asked, gesturing at the rug hanging on the wall.

“She gave it to me when I moved out,” I said. I still felt a bit bad about my hasty departure even after all this time. “Do you think Lucille was annoyed when I moved out?”

“I don’t think so. You’re not carrying around guilt about that, are you?”

“Maybe a little.” Even lapsed Catholics tended to keep at least some carry-on baggage.

“My dear,” said Biddy. “Lucille is my best friend but she’d try anyone’s patience on a full-time basis. I loves spending time with her, but I also loves closing the door behind her to be all alone in me own house.” Biddy seemed to have put into words my exact feelings about Lucille.

She went back to the loveseat and sat down. “I think you did well to get your own place.” Her eyes darted around the room. “And it’s right cozy here, girl, although that’s a funny old place to keep your milk, if you don’t mind me saying.” She pointed at the can of milk that had been sitting on my mantelpiece for months.

The kettle began whistling, so I grabbed the can and went to the kitchen. I made a pot of tea, and put fresh milk in a little jug but also opened the evaporated milk just in case. Then I put some cookies on a plate. I wanted to make a bit of an effort. Sheila and Doug had been my only visitors thus far. I decided that I would invite Maggie Vincent, the teacher I’d met at the pool, over for coffee soon. It was past time to make a few local friends in Clayville.

I sat down beside Biddy and poured the tea, glad I’d tidied up the evening before. It was only me, and I wasn’t a complete slob, but sometimes I let things slide. Often there would be empty teacups and magazines strewn around. My mother would’ve been horrified.

Biddy sipped at her tea. As expected, she went