Page 35 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

‘Aye, but if he takes it the wrong way – or if Fenton does – all they have to do is confirm which midwife was looking after her this morning.’ She gripped his hands in fear. ‘I can’t afford to lose this job!’

His thumbs were moving, gently stroking. While he was probably only trying to be reassuring, it was sending delicious sensations through her – a totally inappropriate distraction at a moment like this.

‘And if that happens I’ll make it clear that you weren’t telling tales. It’s an unusual case – perfectly natural for it to be discussed among the team – especially us new ones. We’ll all be learning from each other for a good while yet.’

What he said made sense, yet the fear within Maisie would take a while to subside, she knew that already. ‘And I shouldn’t even be thinking about myself when that poor lady is in bits up in A Ward.’

‘Now don’t you be mixing up two separate things,’ he said firmly. ‘I would argue that you had a professional duty as a midwife to mention something that you were unclear or worried about. And as I recall, when you described the case, you stuck to the facts. You recited what Fenton had said. You told me the lady was upset.’

‘I also told you she is Catholic.’

‘Entirely relevant.’ His lips turned up slightly. ‘And not once when you were telling me it all earlier did you call Fenton a fecker.’

A helpless laugh escaped her. ‘He is though. A fecker.’

‘I agree entirely.’

She sighed. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For understanding. For backing me. For taking me out here and letting me talk about it.’

‘I hope it’s helping, even a wee bit.’

‘It definitely is.’

‘It’s helping me too, you know.’

She eyed him curiously. Doctors had always seemed to her to be a breed apart – remote, confident, knowledgeable. ‘How come?’

‘Today – this case . . . Working in maternity is hard. I want things to be done right, you know? I want the mothers and babies – and fathers – to be better off because of what we do.’

Emotion rose within her, and now it was her turn to seek his hand. Squeezing it gently, she said, ‘You’re a good doctor, Alex Lowe. I’m glad to know you.’

Turning his hand to hold hers properly, he said, ‘Thanks, Maisie. That means a lot to me.’ His voice was thick with emotion.

Silently they continued walking, hand in hand, neither commenting on the fact that their hands were entwined. Having walked all the way to Broadway, they turned at the back of the Damask works, dropping their hands. He checked his watch. ‘Twenty past one.’

‘Feck! I’ve to be back by half past.’ She quickened her steps and he matched her pace.

‘Don’t be worrying. You’ll be there by twenty-five past.’

‘God, I hope so!’ The last thing she needed was to annoy Sister Campbell, especially if Fenton decided to go on the warpath. ‘Hopefully I’ll be allowed to stay with that lady all day.’

‘Aye, I’ll keep checking on her too.’

He genuinely cares. Or was she deluding herself ? Aye, she needed to be careful with this Alex fella. Gerald had also seemed like the sweetest, kindest man when they were first together. Gradually, though, she had realised he was entirely different when they were alone. Since the penny had dropped for her yesterday, she now saw Gerald differently, and was still getting used to this new, more realistic, image of him. The charm had vanished, revealing Gerald to be selfish, vain, and arrogant – a man who took joy in belittling others. Every story he told seemed to feature himself as the main character, or showed others in a bad light. Is that what me and Alex just did to Fenton?

But no. Objectively, what Fenton had done to Mrs Lennon was both indefensible and incomprehensible. The only reason Maisie could think of to account for it was that Fenton was himself so scared of the possibility of uterine rupture that he preferred to pressure the woman into ending her pregnancy. Silently, Maisie said a quick prayer for the baby, for its mother, and its father. God, please help them all.

Maisie and Alex parted on the main corridor, their farewells light and professional, and Maisie headed down to the clinic with a hundred different emotions swirling within her. Fear of being sacked was still there, though eased a little by Alex’s logical reassurance. Guilt for her inability to prevent harm to Mrs Lennon and her baby was still strong, along with pure rage at Fenton – rage that must never be allowed expression.

And somewhere in the mix, not to be looked at or thought about, was the memory of Alex’s hand holding hers, the way he had looked at her, the admiration in his gaze . . . No. He had been comforting and friendly, and holding her hand had been part of that. How often had she taken the hands of women who needed her support? Aye, that was probably all it was.

And besides, she knew that she would never trust a man again, after Gerald had turned out to be such an eejit. Worse than an eejit. A fecker. She had, she supposed, had the notion that Gerald himself had been hurt by someone – perhaps as a child – and that what he had needed was someone to love him. But her love had not made Gerald a better man.

Alex, on the other hand . . . Maisie realised that, for the first time in months she felt she could breathe freely. But the last thing she needed was to start walking out with another lad so soon after breaking free. Never mind a lad that her family would completely disapprove of.