Page 83 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

‘Aye, maybe. I’ll try and pick a good moment to do it.’ He frowned. ‘She’s gonna be so disappointed. I hate to do it to her. And I daren’t even think about my father.’ He trailed a hand down her soft cheek. ‘But I love you. That won’t change, Maisie.’

She pressed her hand over his. ‘I know. I love you too.’

* * *

Alex’s opportunity came the very next day. They had been to church and were driving home when Mother, having discussed Mrs Thompson’s new hat and old Mr Taylor looking awful failed, added with a casual air, ‘I thought Alice Caulfield was looking well today. She’s a very pretty girl. Don’t you agree, Alex?’

Poor Mother. She can’t help herself. His heart was suddenly thumping in his chest as he realised this might be his chance to tell them both. ‘Who?’ he asked, and Mother tutted.

‘You know very well, Alexander! She’s my friend Sarah’s daughter.’

‘I don’t remember her.’

Mother sighed. ‘You know we want you to settle down, Alex. How can you do that if you won’t even walk out with a girl?’

Alex took a breath. ‘Sure I’m already walking out with a girl from work.’ From his position in the back seat of the car he couldn’t see his parents’ faces, but he could tell that his mother had stiffened – probably recalling their previous conversation. Granda, however, was now looking at him with great interest.

‘I hope she’s not unsuitable,’ Mother said, her tone disapproving.

‘I think she’s entirely suitable,’ he replied firmly. ‘I’m lucky she agreed to walk out with me.’

‘It’s not that Catholic you mentioned one time, is it?’ She sounded horrified, and his heart sank. Mother was generally the more persuadable one, and if there was no openness in her, he had already lost this battle.

‘It is, actually.’ Immediately, he added, ‘Watch out!’ This was addressed to Father, for the car had just swerved on the road, nearly crashing into one coming in the other direction. Father pulled in and applied the brake then, without turning to even look at Alex, said, ‘Get out.’

Alex found himself frozen, his mind unable to work and his body unresponsive. This was going even more badly than he had anticipated.

‘I said, get out!’ Father repeated, his tone menacing.

‘Why?’ I want him to say it.

‘For as long as you’re seeing a papist slut, you’re no son of mine.’

Rage flooded through Alex. ‘And for as long as you’re a hateful bigot, I have no father!’ Exiting the car, he slammed the door, wheeling away southwards to stomp in the opposite direction to home.

Oh, my God. He had been banished. No discussion, no explanation required. Just ‘Get out’. His stomach felt sick with a curious mix of anger and devastation. It had actually happened. And it was even worse than he had thought. Today was the day he had lost his family. When Father decided something this forcefully, no one contradicted him. Granda and Mother would just tiptoe around him. And while he couldn’t really say what Granda thought, he knew Mother likely agreed with Father. Sighing, he walked on. But where, he didn’t know. He certainly couldn’t go home. Perhaps he no longer had a home. You’re no son of mine.

* * *

Maisie was having a very strange day. Mammy was clearly fell out with her, avoiding her eye during Mass, and later saying things like, ‘Ask her to make a pot of tea’, making Maureen roll her eyes behind Mammy’s back and Molly look confused and curious at the same time.

‘Say nothin!’ Maisie hissed at Molly when Mammy’s back was turned. The last thing she needed was the whole family getting sucked in while she herself was still reeling from the enormity of what she’d told Mammy.

Thankfully, Da seemed oblivious to the drama unfolding between his wife and daughter, and when he returned from the shop with the Sunday paper he sat down to read about the Nazi occupation of Paris with seemingly no awareness that Maisie’s world was falling about her ears. To be fair, the fall of France was a worrying development – not only for the poor French, who must be devastated, but also for the Irish, as Nazi aircraft could definitely reach places like Belfast from air bases in northern France. They all discussed it, then Da and Matty went out to the yard to talk about building an air raid shelter. Very few families had constructed one, and it left a sick feeling in Maisie’s gut to imagine that some day Nazi planes might appear in the sky above her beloved Belfast.

* * *

Having marched for an hour through the streets of Belfast, Alex was still raging. Oh, he had known that seeing a Catholic would be taboo, but twenty-six years of having them as his parents, of knowing how good and kind they were – well, Mother, anyway – had encouraged him to hope that they might be – if not supportive, then at least . . .

Oh, he had no idea what he had hoped for. All he could feel right now was disappointment, anger, and a very real dread about the future. He couldn’t lose Maisie, but he might lose his family.

He had to see Maisie. Now. Had to know how her family had been with her today. Had to tell her of his parents’ reactions. Turning, he made his way up the Grosvenor Road towards the Falls, exchanging polite greetings with every stranger he passed, as was courteous. Polite? Inwardly he was distraught, angry, hurt, yet still he managed to remember to be civil. That was how he had been reared – in a household where Father’s rules were absolute, where Mother’s role was to keep the peace, Granda’s to keep out of things, and where good manners were highly valued.

Papist slut. His father’s words echoed around and around in his mind, fuelling rage every time. How dare he speak of Maisie in that way? How dare he judge an entire community, and every girl in it?

In reality, Alex knew himself to be much more a ‘slut’ than Maisie could ever be. For a moment, he pictured himself telling his parents all about his sexual adventures in Edinburgh, then realised there was no point. It would hurt and outrage them further, and it wouldn’t help. Besides, unfairly, only women could be called sluts. There was no equivalent word for young men.

He had reached the corner of Dunlewey Street, stopping abruptly. He couldn’t just walk up and rap the Canavans’ door. They would likely chase him, and it would make everything worse for Maisie.