Colleen comes to stay

Colleen had remained in Baltimore, living in the house bequeathed to Sean and her in Kathleen's will. Unknown to her there was also another legacy: a deadly one.

When she had fled in the middle of the night, as a fourteen year old, Sean's mother discovered her a bruised and battered young girl on her door-step. Colleen's mother's live-in boyfriend had abused her over a period of months, and brutally raped her on the night she fled.

The emotional and mental torment lingered beyond the scars on her body. But another evil legacy in her body was a sexually-transmitted disease: her mother's boyfriend had infected her with HIV. Becoming weak a few days after her visit to the UK she had struggled on until finally, her physician in Baltimore did some tests, and showed deep concern. At a clinic for STD she heard that she had HIV and in danger of developing AIDS. The local hospital could not offer treatment so she was referred to a specialist unit attached to a hospital in Cork.

Sean arrived back in the UK, having spent some days with Saul reviewing the security of his hotels in Albania. He was met at the airport by a worried-looking Rachel. Her face ashen, her eyes downcast. She had received a call from a doctor in Victoria University Hospital in Cork.

Aunty Colleen needed their help. Sean's conversation with the specialist was brief. Client privilege prevented the doctor disclosing details of Colleen's illness. Sean and Rachel tried speaking with his aunty but she not forthcoming, she urged him not to travel to Ireland.

"Sean," I said," Liz and I agree, you and Rachel must go. We'll look after Iggy. Don't worry about a thing."

Plans were made for the Caseys to travel to Ireland. I dropped the pair at Manchester airport, Iggy insisted on coming in my car. The boy was missing half a day at school, but he could not be persuaded to miss the journey: stubborn and tough once he had made up his mind.

On Monday Sean tried to diffuse the tension with a joke, "Where are those blokes in orange nighties, I could do with a sing." Rachel smiled knowingly. He was worried.

Sean and Rachel climbed into a blue hire car at the airport, and travelled the 20 minutes into Cork; making their way to the Hospital just off the city link road. Sean strode confidently to a pleasant receptionist and inquired about Colleen Casey. She gave the ward number with a sympathetic look.

"Good job she used the family name," Sean said.

In the ward Colleen, in a light-blue woollen dressing gown; which contrasted with her pale skin, sat in an easy chair. Seeing them she laid aside a 'Hello' magazine and rose unsteadily to greet them.

With moist eyes she said, "Ya needn't have come." Sean struggled to hold his emotions in check. Colleen had lost pounds since the party at Kirmingsham Hall. Other patients, some with drips and machinery attached, looked over. Disinfectant, floor polish, and some putrid smells assaulted their nostrils.

"Let's talk," Sean said, and beckoned Colleen to show the way. Rachel took her arm as she slowly walked along a corridor, her slippers slapping on the hard floor. In a small waiting room off the ward a senior nurse brought tea on a tray. The three sat at a round table and supped the tepid brew, Either side of them the walls were papered with a diagonal shaped pattern.

With dry lips and weak voice Colleen told her story. Sean's emotions went from shock to deep sorrow, and to fury, as Colleen poured out her heart to her nephew. Her mother's boy-friend had died years before: but the virus lived on. Rachel had seen her fair share of HIV and AIDS in her work with Save the Children. The epidemic catastrophes in Uganda, Nigeria, and Kenya were known to her by hard experience.

"OK, I've heard enough." Sean took Colleen by the hand, "you're going to come back with us to the UK where we can look after you." Reluctantly she capitulated, got dressed behind a screen, and dismissed herself from the hospital.

It was not the first time that Sean had brought a patient out of a hospital to save a life.

The trio spent the night at Colleen's house in Baltimore, allowing her to pack and gather some personal items and rest for a while.

"This is where I grew up," Sean showed Rachel the fishing port; pointing out some of the local attractions in the moonlight. Moored boats rose and fell with the water. Red and white buoys made white foam splashes.

"Not sure you ever grew up, and what's that smell?" Rachel leaned over the harbour wall surveying nets which glistened from the day's activity as smells of freshly caught fish and crab drifted in the mild wind. Seagull cawed ffighting over fish carcasses on the cobbled jetty. Sean and Rachel carried fish and chips in grease proof paper and sat on the quay eating with wooden forks overlooked by a ruined castle.

"My God, this is the life!" Sean proclaimed, his concerns temporarily laid aside. Sean had the ability to compartmentalise his life: a segment for fun, a segment for action; a segment for worry. He shook himself. Worry came back in the morning.

The next morning the trio got up very early, their flight from Cork at 7.00, arriving in the UK at 8.30. I met them at Manchester and welcomed Colleen especially.

Some wrongly called AIDS the modern day leprosy. It was true the disease created fear. suspicion and rejection. Colleen, however, would be accepted, loved, and cared for. But we knew she needed a miracle: A healing miracle.