Bette Davis moved away from Ruth’s embrace, her ears pricked up, looking into the shadows of the trees.
‘There’s a woman watching us,’ Ruth said.
‘You know her?’ Tom asked Ruth, as the woman began walking towards them.
Ruth shook her head then joked, ‘She probably finds you attractive in your new clothes.’
‘Ha! She’s coming over so let’s see if you are right!’
The middle-aged woman wore jeans, runners, a light rain jacket and a frown. She cleared her throat when she reached Tom’s side, then whispered, ‘Are you Charlie Sheen?’
Tom felt laughter gurgle its way inside him. Of all the things he thought she might ask him, that was not one of them. ‘Once someone said I had a look of Brendan Gleeson. That was around the time of Braveheart. Great movie. But I have to admit that it’s a first that anyone would mistake me for Charlie Sheen. Maybe his dad, Martin, at a push.’
Her face fell and he saw her eyes water up. She blinked hard to stem the threatened tears.
‘Are you OK?’ Tom asked.
She shook her head. ‘Charlie Sheen said I was to be here at twelve thirty.’
‘You know Charlie Sheen is an actor. He’s unlikely to come here,’ Tom said. This woman was clearly in distress and he wondered if perhaps she wasn’t very well.
She looked at him in irritation. ‘I know that’s not his real name. I don’t suppose I’ll ever know his real name. I’m not sure I want to know it now.’
‘You are not making much sense.’ Tom was lost and still wasn’t sure that the woman wasn’t, too.
She looked from Ruth to Tom and then whispered, ‘You’re not an undercover detective or anything like that, are you?’
‘No. I’m just Doc. And this is my friend Ruth.’ He tried to look unthreatening. It must have worked because she took a seat beside him on the bench.
‘I’m sorry about all of this. I’m Lorraine and quite clearly out of my depth!’ she replied.
‘You have me intrigued.’
‘Charlie Sheen is a drug dealer,’ she replied. ‘I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?’
She looked around her once more as if, by saying the words out loud, she’d incite someone to swoop down and arrest her.
‘You have shocked me,’ Ruth said. ‘But then again people shock me most days.’
Tom looked at the woman a little closer to see if there were any of the usual tell-tale signs of drug abuse. She wouldn’t be the first housewife to become addicted to prescription pills. He’d seen it many times over the years. No. Nothing. If she was using, she was hiding it well.
‘The drugs are not for me. They are for my husband, Dan. Although, to be honest, I could do with something right now for my bloody nerves.’ She held her hands up to show them shaking.
The poor woman. What on earth had driven her to the streets to look for drugs? ‘And what are you in the market for?’
‘Cannabis. Or is it marijuana they call it now?’ Lorraine answered.
‘I think either name works,’ Tom replied.
‘Dan and I both got through our teens and most of our adult life without touching so much as a cigarette. I don’t know how we ended up here.’ She looked bemused.
‘Sometimes life throws us off course,’ Ruth said.
‘No truer word,’ Lorraine said. ‘Dan was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1997.’
‘That’s rough,’ Tom said.
‘Every day has been a new challenge for Dan. And me,’ she replied. ‘He was in remission for nearly ten years, so we both got complacent. I began to think that the doctors got it wrong. A misdiagnosis.’
‘It came back?’ Tom asked.
‘About a year ago now.’
Tom had treated several patients over the years with MS. It was a horrific disease. Dermot, one of the men he knew from the Peter McVerry Trust, had it. He’d deteriorated rapidly in the past year.
‘He’s developed secondary progressive MS now. And that comes with severe spasticity. I massage his legs to try to help, but late at night he can’t sleep with it. Then a neighbour gave him some weed and the stiffness eased. I make a tea for him with it. He likes that. But last week my neighbour moved. Every day I lose a little bit more of the man I married. So, here I am out on the streets trying to score drugs at fifty-six years of age. If my children could see me now …’ Lorraine ended on a sob.
Tom shook his head in sympathy. This was wrong. ‘How many kids do you have?’
‘We’ve two. A boy and a girl. Well, they’re all grown up now. Both are great and I wouldn’t be without them, but they live too far away to be of much help. The burden – and I hate saying that word, but it feels like that – is all mine. I’ve got to find a way to make this disease bearable for him. Our doctor says that it won’t be long until they legalise cannabis oil but I can’t wait that long. Neither of us can,’ Lorraine said.
Tom recognised desperation when he saw it. He’d seen it before. Hell, he’d felt it before. ‘How did you find this Charlie Sheen?’
‘On Facebook,’ Lorraine laughed. ‘Imagine that. On bloody Facebook!’
Tom shook his head in amazement.
‘I’m one hundred per cent serious. There is a private closed group that I asked to join, called Friends of Cannabis. It took me two days to get the nerve up to ask the question, and when I did I expected the hand of the law to come out through the computer screen to arrest me. But someone pointed me in the direction of this fella.’
‘Lorraine, if you don’t mind me saying, this is quite a risk you’re taking. You don’t know who or what you’re getting yourself mixed up in. Plus, I’m here most days and nights and I’ve never heard tell of that guy,’ Tom said.
‘What do you suggest then? I can’t go home without this sorted,’ she said.
Tom wanted to help her. But how? Then an idea began to sneak its way around him. He walked to the pay phone and called directory enquiries, hoping his contact was still at the same address and listed. She was. Yes! ‘Don’t move. Give me five minutes, OK?’
‘Hello,’ Caroline answered before the third ring, her voice firm, no-nonsense as she had always been.
‘Hello, Caroline. It’s Dr Tom O’Grady here.’
‘Dr O’Grady. From Spawell Road? I thought you were dead!’
‘Alive and kicking.’
‘You just upped and left years ago. I assumed you’d corked it.’
‘Nope.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. You didn’t call to swap pleasantries with me after all this time. What do you want?’ Caroline asked.
‘Do you still have that special plant?’
She took a breath, but answered without hesitation. ‘Yes.’
‘I have a woman here with me whose husband has multiple sclerosis. She’s in trouble, Caroline. She needs help. Can you help her?’
Again, no hesitation. ‘You can vouch for her?’
‘Yes I can,’ Tom said with ease. He may have just met this woman, but he trusted her.
‘Give her my number and I’ll take care of it.’
Tom hung up, jubilant. ‘Good news. An ex-patient of mine is going to help you. Her husband had multiple sclerosis too. He died a few years ago, but like you she had to find a way to help him when he was alive. She’s a feisty one, and not many would take her on. But even so, she knew she couldn’t traipse the streets looking for drugs. So she started to grow her own.’
Tom couldn’t help but feel chuffed with himself when he saw both Lorraine and Ruth’s faces. They were obviously stunned by the direction this day had taken. He realised he liked surprising them. He was still needed. He could make a difference.
‘If you can get to Wexford, she’ll look after you,’ Tom told Lorraine.
Once the words had sunk in, that help was there for them, Lorraine started to laugh out loud. She leaned in and kissed Tom on his head. ‘You may not be Charlie Sheen but you are saving my life! I cannot begin to thank you.’
When Lorraine had walked out of the park, Ruth turned to Tom and said, ‘Oh, yes, I can see now that you were correct before. You are most definitely not Dr Tom O’Grady any more. Not one little bit.’
There wasn’t a single thing he could think of to say in rebuttal.