Page 89 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

Alex sank back in his own chair, his mind awhirl. Memories were coming to him now. Times in the past when he’d asked Granda innocent questions. Where did you live when you were small, Granda? Can you remember your grandparents, Granda? Every time, Father had intervened, telling Alex to stop asking stupid questions and ordering Granda not to answer. ‘The past is the past,’ he’d say. ‘We don’t need to think about it any more.’

What the hell was that about? Had there been some awful thing in Father’s childhood, some traumatic event that Alex wasn’t to be told about?

Or was it, perhaps, something more prosaic? Had Father been conceived out of wedlock, maybe? That would be a shocking history for an upstanding member of the Presbyterian Church. Yes, Father would hate that. Would absolutely detest it. But it might explain his determination to prevent Alex from talking to Granda, from finding out about the Thing. Whatever the Thing was. If there even was a Thing.

Alex literally rubbed his hands together, excitement running through him. Whatever the big secret was, he was determined to find it out. And judging by Granda’s choice of timing, and the knowing way he’d looked at him, Granda seemed to reckon it might unstick the current impasse.

Well, thank God something will. Alex was sick, sore, and tired of the whole bloody thing. All he wanted was to propose to the girl he loved without worrying that both families wouldn’t be gobshites about it. If something didn’t change soon, then by God he would make change happen.

29

It was Friday, and the céilí was underway. The event was progressing as it always did – the same dances, the same faces, the same music. The atmosphere was good, the dancers smiling and chatting, yet Maisie wasn’t feeling it. Mammy was here, along with Maureen and Moya. Oh, she was playing it well, helping the team doing the teas, speaking to various people she knew, but in between the hostess duties she was sending venomous looks towards Maisie and Alex.

Alex, too, wasn’t himself. He seemed restless, and his shoulders were tense. It was funny, Maisie mused, how skills learned in midwifery could be helpful outside work. In this case, it confirmed that Alex was becoming increasingly frustrated, as was Maisie. They’d had their first kiss a year ago, had told some family members back in June, yet they still seemed no closer to gaining acceptance.

‘I think I’m gonna buy some tea,’ Alex announced when the band called a break. Before Maisie could stop him, he made a beeline to where Mammy was selling cups of tea at the side of the hall, determination in his every step.

‘Oh, sweet Jesus!’ she muttered. Alex had had a tough week, Maisie knew. Now that she was out on the district they saw less of each other, but he had still managed to find time to tell her of his own father’s continued hostility, and also an odd conversation he’d had with his granda. She had sensed the anger within him, the fading hope that their families would come round to the idea of them as a couple, given time.

As she approached, she saw Mammy turning from her previous customer. Mammy literally leaned back in shock when she saw him there. Maisie almost giggled, never having seen a person be actually ‘taken aback’ before. Stifling her hysteria, and continuing to walk towards them, she searched her mother’s face as Alex ordered two teas. He sounded perfectly polite, but his very presence was a direct challenge to Mammy. And Mammy didn’t usually take too well to direct challenges.

She took his money and handed him his change before turning to get two clean cups from the back table, bringing them to the front – the table that stood as a barrier between her and Alex. Her hand only shook slightly as she filled both cups with good strong tea, but Maisie’s stomach was now sick. She’s gonna say something. Maisie stopped, hovering a few feet away – close enough to hear their conversation, but not close enough to catch Mammy’s eye.

‘Help yourself to milk and sugar.’ Mammy’s tone was flat, but her face hardened as she took a sharp breath. ‘You’re the Protestant doctor that works with our Maisie.’

‘That’s right. My name is Alex.’ Picking up the jug of milk, he added a splash to each cup.

‘And you care about our Maisie?’

‘I do.’

What’s this about? Alex caring was a good thing. Maisie’s mind was whirling in confusion.

‘Then you’d have been better leaving her alone. You’re hurting her and our whole family.’

Feck! The blow was delivered icily, and with precision. Maisie felt Mammy’s words like knives in her heart. Rage rose within her and she strode forward to stand by Alex’s side.

‘Don’t you start on Alex, Mammy! He’s the best person I know!’

Mammy’s mouth twisted in a sneer. ‘Aye, better than your own family, no doubt. Well, you—’

Maisie braced herself. Here it comes. Words of separation, of renouncement. By sticking up for Alex – who, by the way, was perfectly capable of fighting his own battles, but would have held back for her sake – Maisie had made her choice in Mammy’s eyes. It’s over.

Strangely though, Mammy hadn’t finished her sentence. Instead, her eyes had widened as she looked at someone or something to Maisie’s left.

‘Mrs Canavan!’ It was Father MacLaverty. ‘So lovely to see you tonight!’

Mammy was sunk. A lifetime of bowing to priests had stopped her, mid-flow.

‘Hello, Father.’ She tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it.

‘Maisie, good to see you.’ Father MacLaverty beamed at her, and Maisie stuttered a response.

But Father MacLaverty wasn’t done. ‘And the main man, Alex!’ He pumped Alex’s hand. ‘How are you, my friend? You haven’t called to see me this week. Scared I’ll beat you in chess again?’

There was the briefest of pauses, before Alex said, ‘Ha! Not a chance!’ His warm smile was genuine. They had become friends, Maisie knew, ever since that awful time last November when Mrs Lennon had died, but even she hadn’t quite realised the camaraderie that existed between the two men.

The shock in Mammy’s eyes had given way to speculation. ‘You two know each other?’