SIXTEEN
Mandy returned to her office, to call Father Mike. The phone rang as her hand hovered. She picked up, listened, and went to greet Father Mike at the top of the stairs. He followed into her office and she signed to the PVC chair, wheeled her own chair to share the view out of the window with the priest.
‘The tree?’ he observed, and they both watched as the tree performed like the womping willow in Harry Potter, bending and swaying vigorously in the strong wind and the near horizontal rain, which pelted the window with the power of hurtling stair rods. ‘How is he?’
‘You not spoken to Jackie?’
‘Yes, but I’m asking you.’
‘He’s asleep in his deckchair. His shoulder will heal quickly, they say, and he can lose the harness in a few days. He is though, completely f****d up and I’m wor
