AGAINST THE ODDS:Our hero is back home, but a visit from Kathy Bates disguised as Lauren Bacall leaves him scrambling for escape, writes RODDY L'ESTRANGE

THE RAIN had cleared and the evening was dry, if a little cool, as Vinny Fitzpatrick, a rug wrapped around his lower body, was wheeled out on to Mount Prospect Avenue on Monday evening and pointed due south to a landmark he knew well, Foley’s pub.

It would be his first visit in over four weeks, during which time his life had been turned upside down, inside out, every which way but loose.

That he had a life at all, he was eternally grateful, even if it wasn’t like anything he had known before.

At the thought of returning to his home from home, seeing the lads in their familiar corner, he felt his pulse quicken, and he reminded himself that this was a good thing as, without a pulse, there would be no Vincent Finbarr Fitzpatrick.

Discharged from hospital but ordered to take it easy, Vinny’s spirit was strong, even if the flesh, of which there was considerably less than before his illness, remained weak.

While he could form thoughts no problem, they became jumbled when he tried to express them, so rather than utter gibberish, he communicated with Angie via pencil and paper, and a wad of blue tac.

But as Vinny reflected on this afternoon’s events, which were straight out of a scene from the movie Misery, he felt it best prudent if he held back from his wife the lurid details of what had happened.

It wouldn’t have come to pass, of course, if he had kept his blasted messages for Angie in check, instead of penning more lines than the bard of Avon.

At first, the arrangements of leaving notes had been appreciated. And no wonder, for they were from Vinny’s heart, such as “Love you Ange”, “I backed a winner when I met you” and ‘To the best wife and mother in Dublin 3”.

But after a couple of days cooped up in Clontarf, Vinny’s tune changed slightly and he had become more demanding. “Don’t forget the Racing Post”, “Did you tape Match of the Day 2?” and “Where’s the sweetener for my tea?” were among the memos Angie had found stuck to the fridge that morning.

After breakfast, during which Vinny had slipped his wife yet another note, this time complaining that his boiled egg had been overdone slightly, Angie had laid her cards on the table – a move which was to have considerable consequences for her husband.

“Vinny, I’m taking the twins over to see Debs after lunch. We’ll probably pop into Blanch for an hour or so. I’ll be home around five to get your dinner.”

With that she paused as Vinny frantically scribbled another note, which he pushed across the table: “Who will mind me?”

Angie replied: “Jackie is coming over. She used to be a nurse before she got married. She’s always asking after you, so you’ll be in good hands.”

Vinny sat back in his wheelchair and puffed his cheeks. Jackie was one of Angie’s old school friends from Santa Sabina in Sutton. They played tennis in the summer, Scrabble in the winter and gossiped non-stop along the way.

An outrageous flirt, Jackie was in her early 40s, tall and willowy, with startling green eyes and did a fine imitation of Lauren Bacall.

At one poker night, she had brought the house down when she’d leaned across to Vinny and purred like Bacall in To Have and Have Not: “You know how to whistle, don’t you? Just put your lips together and . . . blow.”

On a good day, Vinny could cope with Jackie’s verbal jousting and amorous innuendo. But it had been a while since he had had a good day. All he possessed in his armoury was a yellow HB pencil and some paper. He was a soft target for Jackie’s jibes.

It was just after two when Angie loaded up her new Ford Mondeo – the sporty red Golf was no longer suitable for a mother of five-month-old twins – and headed off to see her sister.

Watching from his wheelchair in the front room was Vinny, while towering over him, even taller than he’d remembered, was Jackie.

As she tapped her long fingers suggestively along the handles, Jackie bent down close to Vinny’s ear and said softly. “So how do you like to spend your afternoons these days, Vinny?”

Jackie was dressed in black boots, tight denim jeans and a white blouse, opened suggestively at the top to reveal a dark tan and a hint of more besides – she had just returned from the Canaries with her husband, Jeff.

Vinny knew what he wanted to say but found his tongue still playing truant, so he reached for his notepad instead and scribbled “Watch Countdown.”

Jackie threw back her head and laughed. “You’re a man after my own heart, Vinny. Some people prefer a night on the tiles, but give me an afternoon watching people make words out of them any time,” she said.

“You know, you remind me a bit of Richard Whiteley, Vinny. He was an unlikely sex symbol too, wasn’t he? You’re not exactly Prince Charming, but there’s something about you that women find fascinating.”

As Jackie hovered over him, arms akimbo with her hands on her hips and long legs slightly apart, Vinny could feel himself blushing. He grabbed his pencil and shoved another note in her direction with his good hand. “Call of nature.”

He quickly wheeled towards the downstairs toilet, flipped down the arm rest on one side and was about to hoist himself on to the seat, when he felt Jackie’s long arms slip under his. “Can’t have our hero toppling over,” she said.

“Now, do you need any assistance with your jim-jams – or maybe even your aim?”

As he lay back against Jackie, Vinny was aware of her scent, her body shape, the pounding of her heart, her breath. His pencil and notebook were of no use to him now.

He was caught in a conundrum even the late Richard Whiteley might have struggled with, and Countdown hadn’t even started yet.

He needed to do something, but what? He concentrated fiercely and tried desperately to express himself in words.

The noise, when it came, startled Vinny, and certainly startled Jackie.

It was loud, guttural, almost Germanic, but it was decipherable nonetheless.

“No!” roared Vinny, as he spun out of Jackie’s grasp and turned into the toilet, on his own. In every sense, he had taken a step in the right direction.-

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