AGAINST THE ODDS:Vinny comes around in Beaumont Hospital after an under-age hurling game in St Anne's
AS HE came around in Beaumont Hospital, Vinny Fitzpatrick had a sense of what Dorothy Gayle must have felt like on her return to Kansas from Oz.
Gathered at the end of the bed were his family and folk, all clearly concerned; his beloved wife Angie, her 18-year-old daughter Emma, his sister Bernie, and the lads, Fran, Macker, Brennie and Kojak.
He imagined he saw Shanghai hanging back to one corner and then it struck him that Shanghai, whom he loved like the brother he never had, would never be in his company again, at least not in this world.
He wiped a runny nose with the back of a hairy hand and croaked: “Have youse no homes to go to?”
Instantly, Angie flung herself forward and buried her dark tresses into the fleshy fat folds of her husband. “Thank God you’re okay, darling,” she said, before bursting into tears.
By the time she was disentangled by a formidable-looking nurse who demanded the patient stay calm, Vinny had begun to piece things together in his fuzzy head.
There had been an under-age hurling game in St Anne’s, a row over a contentious score, and Lugs O’Leary had swung a hurl like a Pict brandishing a Claymore.
“And I walked right into it,” thought Vinny to himself as he fingered the back of his noggin, which was swathed in bandages.
“How long I have been here?” he asked in a voice he barely knew. “You’ve been out of it for four days,” said Macker. “Angie was worried sick but the doctors were sure you’d be back in the saddle when you were good and ready, which you are. By the way, you’ve missed most of Punchestown and the two Champions League semi-finals which Chelsea and Bayern won, a long odds double.”
After the lads shuffled off, Angie, Emma and Bernie stayed a while where Vinny found out a little more of the dramatic events on pitch six in St Anne’s the week before; the crack on his bonce, the black-out, the blood and bandages. “The doctors felt it was best to keep you in a coma deliberately as that way there was less chance of any, er, lasting damage. You are okay love, aren’t you,” asked Angie.
“I’m still married to the best-looking doll in Clontarf, sure why wouldn’t I be?” he said with a smile. The prop-sized nurse returned and insisted everyone leave, that the patient needed rest. “He’s not quite out of the woods yet,” she barked.
As Vinny looked around the ward, which had six beds and was bathed in sunshine, he heard a creaky voice from the bed opposite. “A touching scene, if I may say so. Bud, when you have a minute, can you shuffle over here?” Vinny focused his eyes on a slight bird-like figure with a pale, almost yellowy complexion. “Hang on,” he said. “I’ll see how my sea legs are.”
Gingerly, Vinny swung his trotters out of the bed. As he sat up, he felt blood rush to his head and he almost toppled over. “Jaysus,’ it’s like being back on the boat to Ireland’s Eye,” he said.
Slowly, he hobbled across, glad to feel he could put one step in front of another. He pulled up a chair and sat down, gasping. “Vinny Fitzpatrick,” he said, thrusting out a mitt. “I’m a bus driver from Clontarf. Pleased to meet you.”
“Dick Dowling,” replied his fellow inmate. “Everyone calls me Tricky Dicky ’cos I work in Revenue and know all the short cuts,” he added with a half-grin.
“Listen, I need you to do me a favour. Can I tell you a story?”
Over the next 10 minutes, Tricky Dicky told his tale to Vinny. He was 59, terminally ill with bowel cancer and only had a few weeks to live. He had known for six months what was coming and had sorted his affairs to take care of his wife, his two grown-up kids and also his girlfriend of 20 years
“The thing is Vinny, my missus doesn’t know I’ve been playing offside and I’m not into any death-bed confession – it would only make things worse for her, do you understand? No one knows what I’ve been up to so I’d rather not burden anyone with what I’m going to ask you. That way, they don’t get to judge me. You do and we’ve only just met but I was watching your family and visitors there and I’ll take my chances that you’re a sound bloke who will help out a fellow Dub and can also keep a secret.”
Vinny blinked hard and looked around the ward to check if the Gladys Emmanuel look-alike was about. Was this really happening? It felt surreal. At the same time, he clung on to Tricky Dicky’s tale, fascinated.
The girlfriend’s name was Alice and their affair had begun over an audit at a refrigeration plant outside Macroom in the summer of ’91. Against an icy background, things had got hot and stayed hot. The liaison had continued unchecked around the country ever since from Letterkenny to Listowel, Tullamore to Thurles, Cavan to Castlebar. There were two or three audits a year, mostly for a night or two, and no one in the Dowling household, not least Mrs Dowling, suspected what Tricky Dicky and Alice were up to.
“Alice is unmarried and has asked for nothing but my company for half a dozen nights a year. I want to see she is provided for and here’s where you come in,” continued Tricky Dicky.
Thrusting a skinny arm towards Vinny, he whispered. “I’ve a hidden account I’ve been topping up over the years – don’t worry it’s my own money not the taxpayers. I want you to use the PIN to withdraw a sum of cash each month and deposit it into Alice’s account. She’s with a bank in Finglas and I’ve all her details,” he added. Vinny could feel alarm bells jangling but he was intrigued. “How much are we talking about?”
“I’ve salted away nearly €50,000 – God forbid if Missus Dowling ever found out. Can you make sure Alice gets a grand a month for the next four years? She won’t be far off early retirement then. There’s two grand in it for yourself. You’d be doing me a big favour, Vinny. I’m trusting you with a not inconsiderable amount of money here. I have to, as I don’t have time for an alternative plan.”
With that Tricky Dicky coughed hard and winced. “Look, think about it and let me know in the morning if you’re with me or not.”
Later that night, Vinny woke up. It was dark and his head was throbbing. He pressed the bell for the night nurse to ask for some pain-killers.
A part of him didn’t want to get involved. For starters, how did he know this money wasn’t stolen? And if Mrs Dowling ever found out he was a co-conspirator, he’d be in the dock. At the same time, Tricky Dicky seemed a likeable rogue who was behind the eight ball in life with no chance of escaping the snooker. Vinny felt it best to seek Angie’s counsel and decided to let Tricky Dicky know his wife could be trusted implicitly. As he shuffled across the ward, he whispered aloud. “Dicky, are you awake?” There was no reply. Vinny drew back the curtain. The covers were folded back neatly; the bed was empty. Tricky Dicky had vanished.
Bets of the Week
1pt: Aston Villa to be relegated from Premier League (20/1, Betfred)
1pt each-way: Pablo Larrazabal in Spanish Open (40/1, Coral)
Vinny's Bismarck
2pts: Lay Camelot to win English 2,000 Guineas (6/4, general liability 3pts)
