A Girl Called Rosie by Anne Doughty Page B

only a professional approach would now serve, he asked her what exactly had happened.
    ‘I tripped and hit my head against the door,’ she said quickly.
    To his ear, there was something about the way she said it that wasn’t right at all. It sounded too pat, too practised.
    ‘May I have a closer look?’
    He took his time examining the bruise, touching it gently and asking her where it hurt most. He took her pulse and looked at her tongue, though he knew they’d tell him nothing he didn’t know already.
    ‘Rosie, when someone suffers a bad fall there are a number of possible causes,’ he began, grateful to see how intently she was listening. ‘Some of them are quite simple and obvious, like tripping over the cat. But some are more complicated. With older people there’s often a momentary blackout. That’s unlikely in your case, but one has to be very cautious with head injuries. It would help me if you could remember exactly what happened?’
    Rosie looked him in the face and was surprised to find he didn’t turn away. Very few people everlooked straight back at you. Apart from her father and Granny and Granda, in fact, she couldn’t think of anyone. Then she remembered Miss Wilson and Lizzie Mackay, but that still wasn’t very many.
    She glanced down at the cover of her book, aware he was still looking at her, waiting patiently for her reply. She sighed and took a deep breath.
    ‘I can remember exactly what happened, so it wasn’t a blackout.’
    ‘Good. That’s splendid. You should be as right as rain in a day or two and Uncle John will be able to take you home.’
    He stood up and walked across to the open window, looked up at the blue sky and down into the cobbled yard where his motor was parked near the little gate that led to the garden. He said what a lovely day it was, how well the garden was looking and that she could go outside now if she wanted to. He turned round just in time to see her hastily wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.
    He crossed the room and sat down again by her bed.
    ‘Perhaps Rosie, just to be on the safe side, you should tell me every detail of what you remember. Then I could be quite sure I was prescribing the right treatment for you.’

CHAPTER FIVE
    Less than a week after her arrival at Rathdrum, her bruised face healing rapidly and her good spirits completely recovered, Rosie found herself sitting beside her grandmother in the back seat of her grandfather’s motor.
    ‘Are you right there, ladies?’
    ‘Yes, we’re fine,’ they chorused.
    Uncle Alex, friend and neighbour of Rose and John, touched the accelerator gently and moved out of the yard and under the heavy shade of the limes.
    ‘Kerry, here we come,’ he called out vigorously, as they turned left down the hill, past his own home at Ballydown, as excited about the journey as if he himself were setting off to drive the whole way there.
    The July day was hot but not oppressive. Although the brilliant light reflected from the lush grass by the roadside was dazzling, great white clouds had built up on the horizon and there was a pleasant breeze as they drove to Portadown Station to catch the Dublin train.
    Even when they followed the porter through the booking hall and she saw her father standing on the platform watching for her, a small suitcase in his hand, she couldn’t believe she wasn’t going home with him on the local train.
    ‘Ach yer lookin’ well,’ he said, as he bent towards her, put an arm round her and kissed her. ‘Aren’t you the lucky girl?’
    He moved forward to greet his mother and shake his father’s hand.
    ‘It’s very good of you,’ he said, looking from one to the other.
    ‘Not a bit of it,’ John responded vigorously. ‘Sure isn’t she the one will have to do all the work looking after the pair of us?’
    Sam laughed, relieved and pleased. Rosie would certainly make herself useful and she’d be good company.
    The bang of carriage doors from the further platform, where the