An Irish Country Love Story

An Irish Country Love Story Read Free Page B

Book: An Irish Country Love Story Read Free
Author: Patrick Taylor
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he’d supposed, because he’d not stopped to think what he’d been doing and the adrenaline had kept him going. That same kind of instinct was driving Sue today, and he admired her for it and hoped that at least for a while the exertion and the stress hormones would help keep her warm.
    She arrived beside the capsized dinghy, manouvering her craft to place its pointed stern near Andy.
    He could make out a rope being passed. It looked as if Andy was trying to get it under his armpits. There was a flurry of foam. Barry could see thrashing in the water, Sue’s higher-pitched voice calling something, but what, he could not tell.
    â€œDear God, she’s going til turn turtle,” a man standing beside Barry said. It was Lenny Brown, Colin’s father. He had his hand on Colin’s shoulder. Murphy sat at the lad’s feet, his front paws restlessly kneading the sand as if he wanted to be out there helping. Barry knew just how the dog felt.
    The kayak assumed a frightening list to port and Barry gasped. All three of them, including the dog, leaned forward, willing the little craft upright. As best as he could tell, Sue had tied a rope around her waist and somehow to Andy. He had slipped off the keel of his boat and his weight must be pulling Sue down. Now she was paddling as hard as she could. Barry exhaled. He hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath. He and the little crowd moved to their left as the breeze pushed the kayak and, Barry hoped, the survivor along the coast. At least Andy’s head was above water and the boat’s list was less.
    Lenny, who might have been cheering on his soccer team, was chanting, “Go on, you girl, yuh. Go on. Go on.”
    Colin imitated his daddy with shrill cries of encouragement.
    Ten yards from the shore the kayak shuddered to a halt. Had she hit a rock?
    â€œYour man’s grounded, I think,” Gerry said. “Look. He’s trying til stand up.”
    As Barry watched, Andy struggled to his feet then pitched forward on his outstretched hands. Barry could tell his friend’s lips and ears were blue.
    Sue untied the rope and stepped into mid-thigh-deep water. Barry felt the chill for her and shivered. Damn it, he thought, Andy’s a big man. Fifteen stone at least. She’ll not be able to support him by herself. “Here.” He started to hand her clothes to Lenny, who shook his head and said, “Not at all, sir. Stay you here. We’ll need a fit doctor on shore, so we will. I’ll go.” He dumped his coat and jacket, pulled off his shoes, and raced for the water. Lenny Brown was a big man, used to hefting big chunks of metal in his job as a shipbuilder. He’d probably be able to oxtercog Andy unassisted.
    Now a young man with a wild head of long blond hair, warmly dressed, trotted past. “It’s my kayak,” he called. “I’ll see to it.” At least, Barry thought, that’s one of the two abandoned craft looked after. He glanced out to sea.
    Farther out, the capsized little dinghy drifted down the wind, helpless, alone, and, if she had a soul as Barry sometimes imagined boats did, as terrified as a winged mallard.
    Barry heard a car engine, a slamming door, and a bellowed, “Get to hell out of the way.” O’Reilly was roaring in his best quarterdeck voice. “Out of my bleeding way.”
    A more blasphemous Moses and the Red Sea, Barry thought, turning to see the crowd break apart. O’Reilly had an armful of bath towels. The big old Rover was parked nearby on the sand, engine running to keep the car heater going at full blast.
    O’Reilly handed Barry a towel. “Here,” he said, “you see to Sue. I’ll look after the sailor. Sue’ll just be a bit cold and wet, she’s only been in the water a few minutes, but the other fellow may have hypothermia.”
    Barry, whose own soaked feet were afire with pins and needles, understood that

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