Page 24 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

The door behind her opened. ‘Maisie!’ She managed to turn. It was Alex. Well, of course it would be him.

For a moment she simply stood there, eyes locked with his, entirely unable to hide what she was feeling. Stop! She was telling herself. Say something normal! Her mouth opened and closed. No words came out; she was incapable of words. Instead she just remained frozen, her heart in her eyes and her entire body trembling.

7

With a muffled exclamation Alex took three steps towards Maisie then gathered her into his arms, the door swinging closed behind him. For just a second she held firm, remaining stiff and unbending, then the comfort of him became too much to resist and she melted into him, shaking like a leaf in autumn.

Her arms stayed by her sides, but his were about her, holding her tightly. Her head was pressed into his chest, her senses overwhelmed with the delicious scent of him, his heartbeat beneath her ear, the warmth coming from him.

She did not cry – all her tears had been shed, and shed again, in England, and since. But after a while she did begin to feel a bit better, her trembling easing and her mind gradually coming back from its frozen state.

‘Did something happen?’ he asked, and she shook her head.

He leaned back, his hands moving to her arms – bare as required for reasons of hygiene – and stroking gently. He probably intended only comfort, but now new sensations were stirring within Maisie’s body – sensations she had sworn never to allow herself to feel again.

With every ounce of strength within her she stepped back, checking her cap was straight, and saying, ‘I’m so sorry, Dr Lowe!’ Her voice was shaky. ‘God, you must think I’m a quare eejit!’

‘I don’t think that at all,’ he returned, his grey eyes on hers. ‘And I’m Alex to you. Everyone has a hard day sometimes. I’m only glad I came along at the right moment. Do you feel a bit better now?’

She nodded mistily, her vision blurred with tears. No! I must not cry! Turning away, she went back to the damned scissors in the soapy water – which had now had the deepest clean in their existence, she reckoned. ‘Aye. Sorry about that.’

He moved to the side of the room, to her left. ‘Don’t be apologising, Maisie. It’s all good.’

No it isn’t. It will never be good again.

‘What happened? Anything you want to talk about?’

‘No. Thank you, but . . .’ She shrugged. ‘No.’ Keeping her head down, she scrubbed at the scissors. Had that sounded rude? She hoped not. In what she hoped was a reasonably normal tone, she added, ‘Peggy’s back from being out with the district team.’

He paused, as if debating whether to challenge her, then said, ‘Good. I heard about the handywoman thing. Glad she’s being promoted to the district sooner.’

‘Me too.’ Damn it! Her voice still held a clear tremble.

‘I was talking to Dan earlier.’

Something in his tone sparked genuine interest within her, and she looked up at him ‘How was he?’

‘He seemed in great form. He told me she’s his girl.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘Peggy is? Jesus!’ Belatedly remembering that Protestants didn’t like it when you said that, she added, ‘Sorry.’

He waved this away. ‘Aye. Class, isn’t it?’ His tone sobered. ‘He said they had broken up in Dublin, but he’s back with her again now.’

You’ll come crawling back, Maisie Canavan. You are nobody without me. Straightening, she resisted the wave of pain. ‘Maybe she shouldn’t have got back with him. Maybe he wasn’t right for her.’ Her gaze became unfocused. ‘Maybe he wasn’t good to her.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe. But Dan was very cut up about it, I reckon. He seems delighted now he’s got her back.’

‘I bet he is.’ Lads got more out of girls than girls got out of lads. But Peggy seemed happy. That mattered.

‘I hope it works out for them.’ Not everybody was as bad as Gerald. Taking a pair of clean scissors, she hooked all the other pairs onto the closed blades, placing the entire bunch into the steriliser, then emptying the sink and drying her hands.

‘It might. Strange to think people our age are only pairing off now. Most of my school friends are married already.’

‘Mine too.’

‘My ones would love me to settle down.’ He grimaced. ‘Since I got home, they’ve started pointedly talking about nice girls from church.’

She couldn’t help it: a cynical snort of laughter emerged. ‘And yet, you will one hundred per cent end up marrying one of them!’