Nothing to be Done by Dermot O’ Sullivan
I was in London that summer when my father let slip the news of my mother’s condition to my relatives. My aunt Sadie was the only one with a phone, MACaulay 3286. ‘I don’t understand it Jerry. This is going on for years and there’s no improvement. Are the doctors over there any good?’ ‘There is nothing to be done.’ ‘Sorry? ’ ‘Nothing to be done.’ There was silence at both ends. ‘Is it true…