Page 8 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

She nodded, her face deathly pale and her shoulders trembling. The child, clearly bewildered, put a hand on his mammy’s knee, and she picked him up, clinging to him and rocking gently.

Carefully exhaling, Maisie left the consulting room and went to the back office to make the tea. Her mind was reeling. Were these truly the only options available – to terminate the pregnancy, or certain death? Surely that couldn’t be right?

As she emerged, a standard-issue blue cup and saucer in her hand, she was met with a group of men in the clinic, led by Mr Russell. The new doctors! In the distress of Mrs Lennon’s situation, she had completely forgotten they would be making an appearance. Fenton clearly had not, and was already approaching them, at his most affable, shaking hands with all the new men.

‘And this is Midwife Canavan,’ Mr Russell announced, and she gave a polite smile as they all murmured hellos. The group included Dr Lowe, who was just as handsome as she remembered from this morning. Nope. Not going there.

‘It’s lovely to meet you all. If you will excuse me, I need to bring this to a woman.’

‘Ah.’ Russell’s expression was sober – clearly assuming she was supporting a woman who was going through the loss of a child. Which she was . . . maybe. Best not to think too much, about any of it. Just bring Mrs Lennon her tea.

3

Well, that question had been answered. Alex’s first impressions had been correct; Maisie Canavan was a stunner. As Fenton led them up the stone steps to the middle floor, he remained distracted. Instinctively, he had tried to assess her reactions to their group. Although Alex had occasionally been told he was good-looking, he couldn’t see it himself, being far too familiar with the face in the mirror. His features were regular, he supposed: brown hair, a square jaw, eyes that were a boring, dull grey. Of the others, he thought the girls would probably like Dr McMullen and Dr Sheridan – if they thought about such things. To be fair, Midwife Canavan had seemed equally uninterested in all of them.

‘Labour ward!’ Fenton pronounced, leading them down a side corridor in the middle floor – directly above the antenatal clinic, if Alex’s sense of direction was correct. The unit had been designed to be modern, fresh, and clean, and Alex felt a wave of pride that Belfast had such a wonderful hospital. Maternity didn’t tend to be a priority for fundraisers, and they had heard last week that this place had been built thanks to the dedication of men like Professors Lowry and Lindsay, who had campaigned tirelessly for the funds.

‘Right!’ Fenton pronounced. ‘A Ward next. Follow me! You too, Sheridan!’

Fenton was the arrogant type, his tone dismissive. He knew very few of the new doctors’ names yet, despite the fact they had now met on multiple occasions. I dread to think what he’s like with the women.

A Ward was well laid out, with a small sepsis ward – currently empty – to the left, a couple of single rooms, and a main bay at the end of the inner corridor. Sister Campbell – whom he’d met earlier in the week – was there, alongside two other midwives – both young and pretty. Peggy Cassidy and Priscilla Gildea, he recalled. They’d do well in a music hall act, Alex thought idly. Peggy and Priscilla, the Singing Midwives of Belfast. They’d both been at the reception on Wednesday. Shaking himself out of his random musings, he greeted them all, noting that, while Peggy Cassidy was as neutral as Maisie had been, Priscilla Gildea had a decided twinkle in her eye as she greeted the new doctors. Plus, she’s the only one with a Protestant name. Maybe he should keep his options open, after all.

He stifled a sigh. So much for his determination to focus only on the new job, ignoring the pretty girls for now. I have the attention span of a rabbit.

At lunch he sat with Dan Sheridan, chatting casually with him as they ate. Dan’s father was a GP, which partly explained why he had chosen medicine.

‘What about you, Alex?’ Dan asked mildly. ‘Have you doctors in the family?’

‘Not a single one!’ Alex declared cheerfully. ‘My father owns a manufacturing business – parts for ships, that kind of thing. We live up the Cliftonville Road.’

‘Ah, right. We’re near Queen’s – my da’s patients are mostly South Belfast. I’m an only child.’

‘At least you do have a doctor in the family. I went into it with very little idea about what it would be like.’

‘Let me guess – lofty notions of doing good?’

They shared a wry smile. While such moments did happen, they were sometimes drowned out by the noise of paperwork, of exams, of incomprehensible policies to be followed.

Alex set down his knife and took another sip of tea. ‘We’ll be grand.’

‘We will.’

After a brief but companionable silence while they both continued to demolish the lunches they’d bought, a notion seemed to occur to Dan. ‘So how did your ones react when you chose medicine?’

Alex grimaced. ‘Not well. I’m an only child too. There’s only me, my parents, and my granda in the house. That meant I was expected to take over running the plant, you know?’ He shook his head. ‘We got there in the end, but it was tough going for a while.’ Tough going. A strange way to describe the months of pressure – of arguments, and threats from Father, and pleading from Mother. Was it worth it? God, he hoped so. The years of training – between university and placements – had been hard at times, but he knew he couldn’t give up, as many had. He had fought for this path, and would see it through no matter what.

‘Well I got no grief about medicine,’ Dan responded, ‘but—’ He glanced about briefly, adding in a quieter tone, ‘My mammy was determined to marry me off. Kept introducing me to girls she thought were suitable!’ His eyes were dancing.

‘Nightmare!’ Alex had every sympathy for him. ‘My ones are a bit the same, especially my mother. So long as I marry a girl from our church, they’ll be happy.’

Dan raised an eyebrow. ‘But will you be happy?’

Alex shrugged. ‘Never really thought about it. I suppose so, as long as she’s nice enough.’ He grinned. ‘If my mother knew what I’d been up to in Edinburgh she wouldn’t be too impressed!’ Brief memories flashed through his mind – of the girls he’d gone out with there, and the things he had done with them. Oh, yes, he’d had a good year.

‘Aye, well, sometimes you have to push against your parents, do what’s right for you, not them.’ There was some edge to his tone that Alex thought was unusual. Was there something going on between Dan and his parents? Whatever it was, it had sparked curiosity in Alex.

‘You were in Dublin, Dan. Is that right?’