Page 41 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

Maisie had put her faded home apron over her uniform dress. There was no time to get changed into her old linen mill gown, as Mammy already had the sodas on the griddle. They looked to be nearly ready, but the table wasn’t set, so Maisie took some cutlery out of the drawer beside the sink and set it on the table. Mammy hadn’t yet said a word – just grunted when Maisie had spoken to her. Unusual. Am I in trouble?

Matty and Da were in the living room chatting to Maureen and Áine about Matty’s day – Maisie had greeted them all on her way through to the kitchen – and Molly was probably upstairs doing her homework.

Heading back into the living room to fetch the crockery from the cupboard, Maisie paused to hear Matty tell Da that his new boss had told him he had worked hard and that he was a good lad.

‘That’s all you can ask for, son,’ said Da, beaming with delight. ‘You’re a good lad, as we all know, but it’s good that Tom Kennedy seen that.’

‘My uncle Tom is class,’ offered Áine, which made Matty turn and look at her.

‘Aye, he seems nice,’ he said.

‘He is,’ Áine returned, her face pink.

There was a silence. Maisie suppressed a smile, and brought a pile of plates to the small kitchen table. Sure why wouldn’t Áine blush? Matty was tall, strong, and handsome, and a wee dote to boot. She began putting out the plates – one at each of the four sides, as well as one in the middle for the sodas. Pulling the table out from the wall, she arranged the four chairs around it. The girls would eat in the living room or on the stairs as usual.

‘Who was thon lad you were talking to at the corner?’

Mammy’s tone was accusatory, and Maisie couldn’t help but bristle a little.

‘One of the doctors from the maternity hospital.’

‘Where’s he from?’

‘Cliftonville Road, I think.’ She didn’t think, she knew, but she didn’t want Mammy to realise . . . realise what? She refused to finish the thought.

Mammy sniffed. ‘That’s a mixed area, tells me nahin’. What’s his name?’

Maisie suppressed a sigh. Here we go. ‘Alex.’

‘His surname, Maisie. Don’t let on you’re stupid when you’re nat.’

‘Lowe. Alex Lowe.’

Mammy sent her a sharp look. ‘I hope he’s not a Protestant.’

‘Most Lowes are Protestant. I think he probably is.’ Mammy turned, hands on hips, a wooden spoon gripped in her right hand. ‘All right, I know he is,’ Maisie continued defiantly. ‘He’s Protestant, all right? He’s one of my work friends. Everybody mixes in the Royal.’

Now Mammy was pointing at her with the wooden spoon – her weapon of choice back when Maisie had been a child. ‘You stick to your own kind, my girl.’ She jabbed it in Maisie’s direction to emphasise her words. ‘No good ever comes of mixing things up.’

Maisie’s hands went up. ‘Hey! We work together. I’m not gonna marry him, like!’

‘You make damn sure you don’t!’ Mammy turned back to the cooker, deftly flipping the soda farls. ‘Now get the dripping out of the larder, and no more of your nonsense!’ She moved the farls about to ensure they weren’t sticking, at the same time muttering, ‘Standing on street corners with Protestants!’

Maisie bit her tongue. There was no point in getting into a row with Mammy. God, it’s a good thing she never knew about Gerald! Him a Protestant, and in the British Army, and him wanting Maisie to do things that no good Catholic girl should ever do outside of marriage! A stab of emotion ran through her. Guilt, she realised. And shame. While she had resisted Gerald’s demands, once or twice she had considered letting him do certain things. Eventually, she might have agreed to all of it. Jaysus, what was I thinking? She shuddered at her own foolishness. Still, at least she had escaped before Gerald had managed to seduce her. At least that.

Stifling a sigh, she realised that moving home also had its downside. Mammy watched them all like a feckin’ hawk. No way were any of her daughters getting the chance to shame the family by falling pregnant before they were married. Except that’s what would have likely happened to Maisie, if she’d done the things Gerald had wanted her to do. So Mammy, guard dog that she was, kept them safe.

For a moment Maisie wished herself back in London, with the freedom to do what she liked and have whatever boyfriend she wanted. Then Molly bounced into the kitchen and hugged her, and Matty and Da laughed at something in the living room, and she knew that there was nowhere better than home.

* * *

‘I’m thinking of having another dinner party next Friday.’

Alex stifled a sigh. His mother regularly held dinner parties, where her friends and the neighbourhood ladies came with their husbands and a few adult children, and thanked Mother for Mrs Sinclair’s cooking. Having escaped them for a full year in Edinburgh, he was not looking forward to reacquainting himself with the tedium of his mother’s parties.

‘Very good.’ Father was only half-listening, being much more engaged with the contents of his dinner-plate. Granda, naturally, said nothing. He rarely spoke at dinner, though often became quite talkative when he and Alex were alone.

Mother’s words finally sank in. ‘Friday?’ Alex asked sharply, pausing with his knife and fork in mid-air. ‘Tomorrow?’