Fourteen
To Jamie’s relief, on Easter Sunday the sun was shining and there was only the hint of a breeze, a perfect day for the start of their fishing trip. He called Rory and Gary, and they were both raring to go, Gary saying it would be good to get some relief from Archie’s crying. Before Jamie could suggest it might not be fair on Mandy, his son added that he had it covered. Mandy’s mum was planning to spend the day with her, and her niece, Tilly, had offered to stay overnight.
Jamie had spent a restless night, reliving his conversation with Erica, wondering what he might have said to have it go differently, the memory of how she had trembled, then almost burst into tears tearing him apart. Then there had been Joe’s attempt at counselling him, advising him how to treat his sister. As if Jamie would rush into anything. He was well aware of her recent bereavement, that there had been some upset with her husband, something so traumatic it had driven her to seek refuge with her brother in Pelican Crossing. But now she was back, and it seemed as if she was prepared to make a fresh start. He wanted so much to be a part of that fresh start, but knew he had to treat her gently.
Both Rory and Gary arrived at the harbour a few minutes after Jamie, and they were soon off, heading out to sea with the prospect of two days fishing ahead of them. As they made their way out of the bay, Jamie had no time to wonder about Erica, busy steering the vessel until they were out in the open sea.
It was a glorious day. They fished, ate and drank – on this trip, Jamie had relaxed his normal rule and allowed the two younger men to bring along some beer, which they used to celebrate their catch. As night fell, they remembered previous trips, recounting their experiences which grew more and more exaggerated as the night went on. Then, as their eyes began to close, they snuggled down in sleeping bags ready to waken at dawn and do it all again.
Next morning, Jamie was awake first, glad to see it promised to be another lovely day. He looked down at the sleeping figures of his two sons, remembering how he had done the same when they were little and sleeping in their tiny beds in the house he and Cindy had shared. Now they were grown men, both taller than him and would be able to best him in a fight. It was incredible to think they were part of him, living beings he and Cindy had created together and brought into this world.
‘Hey, Dad!’ Rory opened his eyes, and Jamie’s image of him and Gary as children disappeared to be replaced by the reality of the grown versions.
‘Good morning. Ready for breakfast?’
As if on cue, at the sound of the word breakfast , Gary’s eyes opened too.
While Jamie put the kettle on, Rory unwrapped a packet of ham and cheese sandwiches and shelled three boiled eggs, and Gary took out his phone, and went over to the side of the boat to call Mandy.
‘All good?’ Jamie asked, when Gary returned.
‘All good. It seems the little lad slept right through the night. Mandy suggested I should go away more often. Not really.’ He chuckled. ‘But it looks like the tooth that was bothering him has come through.’
‘Rather you than me,’ Rory laughed. ‘But I have to admit Archie is pretty cute, for a kid who has you as his dad.’
Jamie listened to their teasing and grinned. Nothing much had changed since they were kids themselves. But despite the teasing, the frequent arguments, they were the best of mates. He had worried about them for a time after Cindy left, when they’d gone through a difficult stage, getting into trouble at school, often fighting with each other at home. But they’d come good and he was proud of them. If only Rory could find a partner too…
It was almost lunchtime, and they were pulling in their lines when Jamie let out a yell followed by a string of colourful expletives.
‘What’s the matter, Dad?’ Gary asked, still holding his rod tightly.
‘I’ve… I think I have a hook in my hand,’ Jamie said, trying to remain calm when all he wanted to do was curse loudly again. ‘The darned thing has got caught in the soft tissue between my thumb and the palm of my hand and it’s giving me hell.’ He screwed up his face, feeling dizzy.
‘Let me see. Maybe I can pull it out.’ Rory headed towards him to examine the injury. ‘Wow!’ he said, staring at the barb which had forced its way into Jamie’s hand. ‘Looks bad. At least I can cut off the line.’ He drew out his penknife and proceeded to do that. ‘You’d better sit down, Dad.’
Jamie was grateful for Rory’s help as he led him to a bench seat. He was worried he might faint with the pain. By this time, Gary had joined them.
‘It’s pretty deeply embedded, Dad,’ Gary said. ‘I think we need to take you to hospital. If we try to get it out, we could cause more damage.’
‘No, I can…’ But, as his head continued to spin, Jamie knew Gary was right. It was his right hand. He needed to be able to use it. He couldn’t risk either Gary or Rory trying to remove the hook, and he certainly couldn’t do it himself.
The trip back to the harbour was agony for Jamie, his hand throbbed with pain and he continued to feel dizzy and nauseous. Rory had wrapped a towel around his hand to stop the blood from dripping onto his clothes, but it did nothing to ease the pain. He was glad when they reached the harbour, embarrassed to have to be helped off the boat and onto the wharf like an old man.
‘I’ll take Dad to the hospital if you finish up here and take care of our catch,’ Rory said to Gary before bundling Jamie into his car and setting off for the hospital.
*
It had been a busy morning in the Emergency department, and Erica was ready for a break. But the arrival of a young boy who, along with his e-scooter, had been dragged under a car reversing out of a driveway had put paid to any thoughts of lunch.
When the boy had been taken off to surgery, she managed a quick break, just enough time to eat a sandwich and swallow a few mouthfuls of coffee, before returning to the fray. What was it about holiday weekends, she wondered. It was as if people lost their sense of caution and, with their GP closed, ended up here.
Her attention was caught by the sight of two men walking through the door, one supported by the other. This was nothing new… apart from the fact that she knew the older one. Jamie Whittaker’s face was white, and his right hand was wrapped in a towel. They took a seat, and the younger man picked up a copy of the form which had to be completed by every patient.
Before she saw any more, Erica was called away to treat another case. She had almost forgotten the sight of Jamie, when he and the younger man she assumed was his son, were ushered into the cubicle where she was stationed.
‘Fishing hook injury,’ the doctor said. ‘We get a lot of them at this time of year.’
Jamie winced. He was clearly in pain.
Following instructions, Erica carefully removed the towel and cleansed the wound, watching while the doctor administered a local anaesthetic and used forceps to grab and advance the barb through the surface of the anaesthetised skin. Then he clipped the point and its barb off, before backing the remaining, barbless hook out of the skin.
‘Should be fine now, if you can cleanse and dress the wound, nurse,’ the doctor said. ‘You’ll need to have the dressing removed in forty-eight hours,’ he said to Jamie. ‘Do you have someone at home who can do that for you?’ He looked at the younger man whose face had lost its colour.
For some reason she’d have to work out later – and would probably regret – Erica found herself saying, ‘We’re neighbours. I can do it.’
The doctor gave her a strange look, though not as strange as the one Jamie was sending her. ‘Excellent. Thanks, nurse. And…’ he glanced at Jamie’s paperwork. ‘I see it’s some time since you had a tetanus shot. We can take care of that before you leave. ‘Nurse?’ he said to Erica, who, having pre-empted him, had the tetanus shot ready to administer.
Jamie winced as Erica swabbed his upper arm and gave him the shot, trying to be gentle. ‘Try to avoid using the hand where possible,’ she advised.
‘Thanks, Erica,’ Jamie said, as he rose to leave, taking Rory’s arm. His voice sounded weak and he seemed a little wobbly after the procedure he’d been through, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. ‘You know which cottage is mine?’
‘I do.’ Erica felt her face redden at the admission she’d gone out of her way to discover that he lived only three cottages along from Livvy’s.
‘Okay, Dad?’ Rory said, clearly eager to leave.
‘Okay, son. So, I’ll see you in a couple of days’ time then,’ Jamie said to Erica, his attempt at a grin barely hiding the pain he must still be feeling.
‘You will,’ Erica confirmed, part of her wishing she’d never made the offer.