No Way to Say Goodbye - Anna McPartlin [44]
“Oh,” he said, without a hint of his previous smugness, “sure.”
He followed her to her back garden and where her dog lay panting. He seemed bigger when lying out flat – in fact he seemed a lot bigger and heavier. Sam’s back already ached from carrying heavy furniture but he could see the anxiety on his neighbour’s face. “OK, how do you want to do this?” he asked.
“Mr Monkels, we’re going to lift you now,” she said to the dog. “You take the back end,” she instructed Sam.
Sam squatted. Mary placed her hands under the dog’s upper body and Sam did likewise under the dog’s hindquarters.
“OK, on three,” she said. “One – two – three!” They proceeded to lift.
It was then that something in Sam’s back clicked out of place. He froze. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed.
“What?”
“My back!”
“What’s wrong with it?” she cried. They were holding the dog between them. “Oh, my God!” she said. “Put Mr Monkels down,” she ordered, as calmly as she could.
“I can’t.”
“What?”
“I can’t move. I think it’s locked!”
“Knickers!” she said. “OK, I know what to do. Don’t move. Just stay calm. I’m going to lower the dog to the ground head first. Do not move.”
“You don’t have to keep saying ‘don’t move’. I can’t move.”
“Don’t get snippy.”
“Snippy?” he inquired, as she lowered Mr Monkels’s head to the ground while his hindquarters remained raised in Sam’s custody. “Holy shit – the pain.”
Mary stood beside Sam and placed her hands beside his under the dog. “Let go!” she ordered.
He did, and she lowered the dog until he was once again lying on the ground. She stood up while Sam remained bent forward.
“I’m going to die,” he mumbled, at which, like Lazarus, Mr Monkels rose to his feet and shook himself, then pottered into the sitting room, jumped onto the window-seat and made himself comfortable as though he had not a care in the world. All the while Mavis Staples was singing “Oh Happy Day”.
“Am I fucking dreaming?” Sam asked earnestly, facing the ground.
10. Back to back
Mary managed to negotiate her injured neighbour into her house, then called her doctor. Sam was unable to do anything other than lean over her kitchen table. “I’ll make you some tea,” she said, wondering how long it would take the doctor to get there.
“No, I’m good,” he said, with a hint of sarcasm.
She couldn’t hold that against him – he’d just sustained his second injury at her hands. “OK. Can I get you anything at all?” She knew she sounded stupid.
“No. I’ll just wait for the doctor,” he said, through gritted teeth.
“OK,” she nodded, “good idea.” She wasn’t sure what to do next. “Would you like to be alone?”
“That would be great,” he suggested, again with that hint of sarcasm.
I thought Americans didn’t do sarcasm. “OK.” She left the kitchen, closing the door behind her.
Half an hour later Dr Macken arrived. “Hello, my dear,” he said, happy-go-lucky as ever. “You look well,” he added, fixing his comb-over.
“He’s in here,” she said, in no mood for pleasantries.
He followed her into the kitchen, where Sam remained in the position in which she’d left him.
“Oh dear,” Dr Macken said, and chuckled. “That does not look good.”
Sam did not respond but Mary could see he wasn’t happy.
Dr Macken put his bag on the table beside Sam. “A cup of tea would be lovely, Mary,” he said, rubbing his hands.
Sam’s face fell and Mary heard him mumble, “You’re kidding me.”
Suddenly she wanted to laugh but suppressed the urge. She turned her back on the disgruntled patient and her GP.
“Now this may hurt but bear with me,” Dr Macken said.
Mary gulped and filled the kettle.
Sam braced himself. “Holy shit!” he cried out.
“Hmm,” Dr Macken observed.
“Ho-ho-ho-lee shit!”
Mary switched on the kettle and bit her knuckle.
“Ever slipped a disc before?” Dr Macken asked.
“No,” Sam said, clearly perturbed.
“Well, son, it looks like you could have slipped one now.” He went to his bag. “Now, if you’re lucky it might just be a serious muscle spasm.”
The kettle whistled.
“Milk, no sugar, Mary,” said Dr Macken. “Now, I’m going to give you something to relax the muscles and then I’m