Loopy by Dan Binchy Page A

the side of the pin—which is, as you know, well back in the green. He must have carried the graveyard on the fly. Anyway, Joe, old boy, your record is gone the way of all flesh!”
    Joe’s reaction surprised even himself. Wordlessly he grasped the boy’s hand, saying, “Well done, young fella! Make my day and tell me that you holed the putt for an eagle?”
    Larry was fairly certain that an eagle was better than a birdie. Not being sure, he chose to say nothing.
    Again Tim intervened. “Pat picked up his ball there and then. Said the lad hadn’t got as far as learning how to putt yet!”
    â€œMy God, but that takes the bloody biscuit.” Joe was aghast. “Doesn’t even know how to putt and he drives the thirteenth—into the wind at that!”
    A stunned silence descended on the little group gathered in the pro shop as each pondered the recent miracle, then Joe Delany carefully put aside the club he was working on and took a key down from a nail above his head. As they filed out of the shop, he locked the door behind him. He watched Larry closely as he limped from the shop to the clubhouse, carrying O’Hara’s bag over his shoulder.
    â€œAren’t you young Lynch, the lad that takes the frees for the Gaels?”
    Larry’s chest swelled with pride. That someone who had nothing whatsoever to do with the GAA and the game of hurling should recognize him off the field of play was fame indeed. He gave Joe Delany a wide, toothy grin as he replied proudly, “That’s me, sir.”
    â€œThe same lad that nearly got the leg cut off him last Sunday?”
    This time Larry didn’t grin, just nodded. The pro shook his head several times, muttering more to himself than anyone else, “What a waste, what a waste!”
    He did not elaborate on this. Wordlessly they made for the bar, which was deserted at that time of the evening. Joe went behind the counter and announced, “This one is on me. It isn’t every day your record is broken.”
    By the time the bar began to fill up with golfers, Joe had learned that the drive that had removed him from the club record books was only the second time Larry had ever hit a golf ball in his life, and that the lad had an amazing loop at the top of his backswing. By then Larry had long since gone home. When Brona asked him how he had got on caddying for O’Hara, he replied that he had earned five pounds. Two for carrying the bag and one each from three men in the bar. He didn’t mention the long drive at the thirteenth hole because he didn’t really understand much about it. Because of this he felt he couldn’t even begin to properly explain to her what Mr. O’Hara and the Porter person were getting so excited about.

CHAPTER THREE
    The injured leg had not improved as quickly as he had hoped. It was not helped by Larry’s falling off a load of hay. He had been stacking the bales high up on a trailer when one of them had given way under him and he’d fallen heavily on the cobblestone farmyard. He had had to go back again to the hospital, where they’d strapped it up once more and warned Brona, who had accompanied him this time round, that he should stay far away from tractors and trailers. Mother and son were also told that any further setbacks to his recovery could result in a permanent limp.
    The hospital consultant had reluctantly allowed to him continue working in the supermarket and to help out in the golf club bar as long as he didn’t overdo it. Spring was when most golfers took their clubs out of the attic after the winter hibernation, and the sudden rush of players on the Trabane links put a strain on Joe Delany’s schedule. In return for looking after the pro shop while Joe was on the practice range giving lessons, he promised that he would coach Larry at every opportunity. Unknown to Larry, some members had already been complaining: “What’s the point in