Page 33 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

She cried for a long time, and Maisie sat with her, mostly trying to offer silent comfort. Eventually Mrs Lennon dozed off, and Maisie exhaled silently, for the first time able to think properly about what had happened this morning. The poor woman had been bounced into terminating a much-wanted pregnancy. There would be more than grief and loss for her; it would be made a thousand times worse by guilt.

Maisie stayed by the woman’s side all morning, listening to her, giving comfort, and looking after her physical needs. She was still bleeding fairly heavily – as was normal, but each time Maisie changed her pads she would cry fresh tears. Maisie was still attempting to comfort her – and failing – when the door opened, admitting Alex. ‘I’ve brought your husband, Mrs Lennon,’ he said.

Maisie knew husbands weren’t normally allowed on the ward outside visiting hour; Alex was taking a risk by bringing Mr Lennon here. She sent him a look filled with gratitude, and his eyes softened, just for an instant.

‘Ah, Danny, Danny!’ Mrs Lennon reached out, and her husband rushed forward to envelop her in a hug.

Maisie gave way, meeting Alex’s gaze again – his eyes now filled with concern, and sympathy, and caring. Are you all right? he seemed to be silently asking. Don’t! There was danger in relying on other people to carry you, when such people could disappear from your life as quickly as they had entered it. And yet . . .

Inside, Maisie was deeply troubled. What happened to Mrs Lennon shouldn’t have happened. And she wanted, needed to talk about it.

They left the room, giving Mr and Mrs Lennon the privacy they needed. Alex’s grey eyes were still holding that serious look – the sort of look that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. He is focused on me. Even though her instincts told her he was a good man who was genuinely concerned for her, the intensity of his gaze was scary. Scary because it was working. She could feel it, inside, when he was near. And especially when he looked at her like that.

10

Sister Campbell was approaching, and Maisie stiffened. Was she going to criticise Alex for taking Mr Lennon in?

But no. ‘You can take your break now, Midwife Canavan,’ she said, her expression neutral. ‘Take a full half hour; come back at half one. I’ll keep an eye on your patient.’

‘Yes, Sister.’ God, they were kind, these women – even the strict ones.

Maisie and Alex left the ward together, walking in silence, their steps in harmony. Once out in the main corridor, Alex coughed, then said casually, ‘I thought you’d be on your dinner break, but you weren’t in the canteen.’

He had been looking for her!

‘When I saw Mr Lennon there,’ he continued, ‘I realised who he was, and that he probably hadn’t seen his wife yet.’

‘You did a good thing.’

He waved this away. ‘Not good enough.’ He grimaced. ‘Maisie, I owe you an apology.’

‘An apology? What for?’

‘For failing you. For failing Mrs Lennon.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Russell got what I was saying. He really did. We went to find Fenton, but he was all “professional opinion”, and Russell had no way of challenging it.’

They were level with the entrance corridor. Here they had to decide whether to go to the canteen or not. ‘Have you eaten?’ The concern was still there in his eyes.

She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t take a bite. Feel sick.’

‘I’m the same – and I wasn’t even there.’

‘Well, Alex!’ Dr McMullen eyed them curiously as he passed. As soon as he’d moved on, they exchanged a knowing look.

‘A wee walk outside?’ Alex’s expression signalled the need for a bit of privacy.

‘Good idea.’ There was too much scrutiny in the hospital. Eyes and ears everywhere. So they turned left, passing the bas-relief of the mother and children that was the symbol of the hospital, down the shallow stone steps and out via the main portico. Outside, Maisie exhaled as they made their way down the path then turned towards the greens. No one was near. Good. Here she could breathe, and could hopefully begin to come to terms with what had happened that morning.

Alex walked silently beside her and she was conscious of a sense of ease in his company. They were both of the same opinion here, she just knew it.

‘So.’ She glanced his way. ‘Am I going crazy, or did Doctor Fenton exaggerate the likely consequences of Mrs—’ Even with no one around, she avoided saying the name. ‘—of that lady going ahead?’

He nodded. ‘Put it this way, he could have told her he was concerned about the scar, that it might rupture during her next labour, the things he would do to try and save her. He could even have explained that some women do die of uncontrollable bleeding when a rupture happens. That would have allowed her to think about it.’ His jaw hardened. ‘Instead he went for an over-simplistic “You will die” when that’s not necessarily what would have happened.’

‘I trained in London, as you know. I saw a mother die after they couldn’t stop the bleeding. But I also saw one survive. The surgeons were amazing.’

‘I’d love to know how many women Fenton has saved after a rupture,’ Alex’s tone was sceptical.

‘You think he knows he can’t do it?’ Could one man’s inadequacy have led to this? Or was it simply fear? Fear of being found out to be inadequate?