Page 26 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

She sniffed. ‘Sounds reasonably respectable, to be fair. The Orpheus doesn’t serve drink.’ His parents didn’t approve of drink, apart from a small glass of wine with dinner. With a casual air she added, ‘A nice young lady joined our church committee today.’

Here we go again. ‘She’s not called Melissa Moore, is she?’ he asked, recalling his conversation with Dan. Mothers!

‘No, Prudence Craven. Mr and Mrs Craven’s daughter. Why, who is Melissa Moore?’

‘A young lady from the hospital committee. I met her at that reception last week.’

She sniffed. ‘Sounds like a Catholic name.’

Granda lifted his head, looking from one to the other.

‘What? Melissa?’ Alex was being deliberately obtuse.

‘No, Moore.’

‘Moore could be either. I’ve known Protestants called Moore.’

‘Yes, but most Moores are Catholics. Where is she from? Which school did she go to?’

‘I have no idea. And why does it matter?’

Mother’s eyes widened, and now Father looked up from his dinner, his jaw tight. Uh-oh.

‘You really have to ask that?’ Mother looked astonished.

‘Tell me.’ Weirdly, he wanted to make them say it aloud.

‘Well,’ said Father, ‘the likes of us wouldn’t ever want to be associated with people like that.’ His face wore an expression of distaste.

‘Do you mean Catholics?’

‘Yes. Catholics. We’re better than them, and it would be . . . demeaning for you to be associated with that class of person.’

His jaw dropped. We’re better than them. If even his own father was this bigoted, what hope was there for Ireland? Granda, he noticed, was shaking his head slowly.

‘I’ll say this once, and once only.’ Father’s brow was now furrowed, his hands gripping his cutlery so tightly that Alex could see the whites of his knuckles. ‘If you ever take up with a Catholic, you will leave this house and never return. You will be dead to me.’

Alex felt sick. ‘I cannot believe you are this full of hatred for people you don’t even know.’ Flinging down his napkin, he rose. ‘I shall say goodnight.’

‘Alexander! Get back here!’ His father’s tone was one Alex hadn’t heard since childhood. These past few years they had developed a more adult relationship. Friendly, almost, although both his parents continued to try to manage him, he knew. But having lived independently in Edinburgh for a full year it was hard to take their scrutiny, their disapproval.

Anger racing through him, he made for his bedroom. It was fairly late, and the blackout rules had made cycling at night dangerous, so he couldn’t even take his bicycle out to relieve some of his frustration. I am twenty-six years old, and my parents are trying to dominate my life.

And was this even a battle he had to fight? No matter how much he liked Maisie, it seemed as though nothing could happen there. First, she would be entirely unsuitable in his parents’ eyes – a Catholic from a fairly poor background. In fact she would be deemed so unsuitable that he might risk losing his family entirely.

While he was raging with both parents right now, Alex knew that the ties of family could not be easily broken. His mind raced through hundreds of childhood memories – memories of togetherness, care, love from his parents and his granda. Happy memories. He sighed. Why was it so damn complicated?

His second problem was this. Despite her accepting his comfort earlier, Maisie didn’t seem to like him the way he liked her. He frowned, recalling the flash of joy he’d surprised in her when he had arrived. Or did she?

8

Maisie was up early on Thursday morning, helping with the breakfast and the housework. There were always jobs to be done, and everyone mucked in. As the youngest, Molly’s jobs were to wash any dishes and stir the porridge until it thickened – nobody liked uncooked lumps in their bowl. As ever, she was chattering away – she seemed to chatter from the minute she opened her eyes in the morning until she fell asleep at night.

Maisie shared a big bed with Molly and Maureen, while Mammy and Da had the other bedroom, and Matty slept on a mattress in the living room. It was so much easier now than it had been when the big three had still been living at home. Back then, there had been five girls packed in to the big bed – three at the top and two at the bottom. They would be roasted in summer, but were never cold in winter, and they often had to all turn over at the same time, so tightly were they packed in. She remembered the winter wee Molly had taken the whooping cough, and how she and Moya used to be able to haul her upright to cough and breathe, while barely waking up.

Michael and Matty had both slept on narrow mattresses in the living room back then. But sure Michael was married now, as were Maolíosa and Moya. Michael and his wife had two wee ones, Maolíosa had one, and Moya would hopefully be starting a family before long, now that she was married. As she began brushing the stairs, starting from the top, Maisie reflected on how good it was to be home. Never again would she risk missing a family birth or christening.

Mammy was doing soda farls on the griddle, and the smell was at once so familiar and so fresh that Maisie had to close her eyes against sudden tears. I am home! And being home meant she was safe from handsome soldiers who thought nothing of breaking the hearts of Irish girls.