Page 23 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

Dan grinned. ‘I had to bring my ma round to the idea, though. She wanted me to go with Melissa Moore.’ He shuddered.

‘Melissa Moore?’

‘Yeah. She was at the reception. Dunno if you remember her. She’s on the fundraising committee.’

‘Ah, right.’ Alex vaguely remembered her, but also didn’t remember being too impressed. ‘My mother would be a bit like that too.’

‘Mothers!’ declared Dan, with an eye-roll.

‘Ready, Dr Sheridan.’ The theatre nurse had come, and it was time for Dan to go.

Afterwards, Alex sat for a moment, reflecting on it all. Dan Sheridan and Peggy Cassidy! Both nice people, and a good match. Both Catholic, their whole lives – and careers – in front of them. Something inside him squirmed at the notion that others had their lives in place, unlike him. While he had been enjoying himself in superficial flings with girls in Edinburgh, Dan and Peggy had been courting in earnest.

After getting through most of the paperwork and looking in on a woman in labour who was progressing very slowly, he checked his pocket watch, and his heart skipped a beat. Yes, it was finally acceptable for him to return to A Ward.

* * *

Maisie had had a satisfying, but busy afternoon supporting the postnatal women and their babies. Sister was currently engaged with a woman in the bottom of the ward, but they had worked together earlier to wash a woman who had bled heavily through her pads, acting with warmth and respect towards her, and Maisie hoped she had done all right during her first ever afternoon on A Ward. There were always tasks to be done, and she was cleaning and disinfecting scissors in the sluice room when a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. ‘Peggy!’ She gave a broad smile. ‘How did you get on?’ Peggy had been out shadowing one of the district midwives, in preparation for being added to their rota.

‘It was amazing.’ She sighed. ‘And such a relief that everyone knows now that I used to be a handywoman.’

‘Sure what’s wrong with being a handywoman? There were handywomen in London too! Like, somebody had to help the women before formal midwifery training came along. You’ve probably been at more births than some of the other midwives here.’

‘Well, I dunno about that, but I probably know more than most newly qualified midwives, that’s for sure.’ She gave a shy smile. ‘Matron said she’s starting me on the district properly in the next couple of weeks.’

‘That’s class!’ Home births were the best. ‘I’ll be coming to you as my own private expert from now on!’ It was on the tip of her tongue to ask about Dan, but she didn’t want to pry. It’s too soon. Especially since she had secrets of her own, and wasn’t yet ready to share them. I don’t know what I would even say about Gerald. Was he someone she loved and missed, or someone she was better off without? Or both? Beneath the surface her mind was in turmoil, following her critical, disloyal thoughts earlier.

‘Right!’ Straightening, Peggy adopted a more formal tone. ‘So what’s been happening with the ladies this afternoon? Anything I need to know?’

Maisie briefed her on the women she’d been caring for – including Mrs Watson’s issues with feeding.

‘Thanks. Only a couple of hours till home time anyway, so I’ll go and get started.’

‘Good stuff!’ Maisie grinned at her, enjoying the ease between them. We’re friends! Hopefully Mrs Watson would continue with hand expressing – something she’d never needed to do with her other babies – and it would help her baby stay on as she’d be less engorged. It also meant spoonfuls of expressed milk could be used to help fill his wee stomach too – though they needed him to keep being hungry enough to feed from his mother regularly. Giving him bottles would be counterproductive as he might not want to then feed off his mammy. Breastmilk, while naturally being present in the days after birth, only continued to be created by the baby’s demands. The body soon realised if the woman had had a stillbirth, or had had twins, and the milk flowed accordingly. The more a baby fed at the breast, the better the mother’s milk supply – another reason why feeding bottles to babies in the nursery was less than ideal. However, if Baby Watson became more seriously dehydrated, they’d have no choice but to give him milk from a bottle.

‘Right.’ Peggy was on the move. ‘I’m away to see Mrs Watson. She might need to keep hand expressing until the pressure eases. That’s the job, right? Supporting the women, no matter what?’

‘It is. Thanks, Peggy.’

Then she was gone, and as Maisie returned to her cleaning, Peggy’s final words stayed with her. Supporting the women, no matter what. She couldn’t help but think about Mrs Lennon, and Dr Fenton’s decision to terminate her pregnancy. Could she have done more that day? Was there still something she could do? But what? Desperately she searched in her mind for a solution, but could think of nothing that could override the verdict of a senior doctor. I’m useless.

Those words echoed through her brain, now in a different tone. You’re useless, Maisie. The voice was British, upper-class, and derisive. She’d never told her family about Gerald – not a chance! An upper-class Protestant who was in the British Army? She shuddered at the very notion. But without her family, that also meant she had no one to talk to about it. No one at all.

Abruptly, a sick feeling went through Maisie, and her mind was whirling. You’re useless, Maisie! No. She wasn’t useless. She was a qualified midwife, and she cared about the women and the babies. Gerald had been wrong! Her head snapped up. And he had been wrong about lots of other things too. Dropping the scissors into the sink, she stood there in shock as memories engulfed her. Yes, there had been happy times, fun times, but ultimately, Gerald had brought her more sadness and worry than joy. He had undermined her constantly, had chipped away at her self-belief, had belittled her. That wasn’t love. How could she ever have thought it was love?

Her stomach felt sick, as realisation flooded through her. She had needed to be away from him to see him clearly. And now, finally, she was seeing him clearly. Yet, oddly, she still missed him.

In London, Maisie had supported a pregnant woman who had become addicted to a form of opium called laudanum – an old drug, but one that could still be found in many kitchen cupboards, particularly among the poor. The woman had stopped taking it for the sake of her baby, but had been in anguish – knowing it was bad for her, yet craving it every minute of every day.

Though Gerald wasn’t a drug, Maisie dimly realised that what she felt about him echoed the woman’s craving for the thing that hurt her. While part of her would like nothing better than to get back with Gerald, she also suddenly knew that getting away from him had been the smartest move she had ever made.

He’s not a good person. It was hard to accept, for Maisie liked to see good in everyone. But he had treated her dreadfully – first getting her to fall for him with overblown compliments and attention, then gradually turning into a hurtful, vindictive person who had seemed to despise her. It is hard, to be despised. Especially when you believed his hurtful words the same way you’d believed his declarations of love. His anger had felt true, in a way that his love never had.

She was free of him – but only because it was out of the question for her to have stayed in England. Never once had she wavered from her plan, no matter how much he’d tried to pressure her. She was going home, and that was the end of it. Her place was here, with her family, her community. Only for that, she might never have had the strength to insist, as she had that last evening. God, she could still remember how his face had twisted when he realised she was adamant, the hurtful things he had said.

Leaning over the Belfast sink and pressing her hands into its edge, she took a few deep breaths. Emotions were churning through her, threatening to overwhelm her once more. Dimly, she recalled falling to her knees in the safety of her room in the hospital nurses’ home in London that night, when she and Gerald had finally finished. Bawling, crying uncontrollably, feeling entirely worthless and entirely bereft.

Now, the same feelings were coursing through her. I am nothing. I am useless. No one could ever truly love me. But now her mind was fighting back. He was the problem, not me. It felt like an absolute revelation – a notion so simple, and so obvious, that it was hard to take in how she hadn’t known it all along. Her body was shaking, the emotions running through her almost overwhelming. But she was standing in a sluice room in A Ward. Keeping her feelings contained had been so hard for so long. The last thing she needed was for them to overwhelm her now, in work, but she wasn’t in control of it in any way.