Page 42 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

‘No, silly, I mean next Friday.’

‘Oh.’ Realisation dawned. ‘I’ll miss it, I’m afraid. We have the first fundraiser for the hospital next Friday.’ A tea dance in the Orpheus Ballroom – not exactly on a par with the lively student parties he’d enjoyed in Edinburgh, but still it would be a damn sight better than one of Mother’s boring get-togethers. It was a ballroom, for a start, and he enjoyed dancing – especially if pretty girls were involved.

‘Never worry, darling, I’ll put mine off a week.’

Damn! Stupidly, he had shown his hand too soon, and now would end up attending two tedious Friday-night events in a row. I wonder if any of the other young ones might go to the tea dance? That might make it more bearable. Dan? Peggy? Maisie? His pulse skipped briefly as he pictured himself dancing with Maisie. Oh yes. Possibilities.

‘. . . and the Marshalls, and the Cravens too. I’ll make sure they bring Prudence. Our Alex will need someone his own age to chat to!’

‘Prudence Craven?’ He frowned, trying to remember the girl. ‘Is she the one who joined your church committee? You introduced me to her after the service last Sunday.’

‘The very one!’ she beamed. ‘Nice that you remember her!’

He did, but only vaguely. ‘I’d have thought she’s nowhere near my age. She’s only a child, surely?’

‘She’s eighteen now, and attending functions with her parents.’ Mother sighed. ‘Lovely girl! She’s going to be doing some of the flower arrangements from this week on. She’ll enjoy my dinner party.’

Alex said nothing – not without some difficulty. He now remembered the girl clearly – young, tongue-tied, and nervous as a rabbit. If Mother thought she could dump babysitting duties on him, she was very much mistaken. And he doubted very much whether Prudence Craven would in fact enjoy the dinner party. Still, it was none of his concern. Putting the whole thing from his mind, he turned his attention back to his pork roast. Mother, however, was not done. ‘You mentioned a girl you met at the hospital reception. . . Melissa Moore, I think you said her name was?’

Uh-oh. Mother’s memory was sharp – especially if it was a topic she was particularly concerned about. And she was clearly concerned about Melissa Moore. He could tell –firstly, by the very fact she’d brought her up, a day later, and secondly, by the look on Mother’s face, the slight frown furrowing her brow.

‘Yes,’ he said, trying for a casual tone. ‘I think so. I can’t really remember.’

‘Oh. So you’re not particularly interested in this girl, then?’

‘Lord, no!’ He allowed laughter to dance in his eyes. ‘I’m very fussy, Mother.’

‘Too fussy, if you ask me,’ muttered Father.

‘And were you not fussy, choosing Mother?’ Alex sent his father a challenging look.

Affection warmed Father’s gaze. ‘Aye. Took me a long time to persuade her to be my girl.’

‘And my father didn’t approve of you at first, Henry,’ Mother added, her eyes soft with fondness as she looked at her husband. Granda, Alex noted, seemed to be very interested in the conversation.

‘Was that why you needed to be persuaded?’ Alex was curious. While he’d heard this many times before, it was now interesting in new ways.

‘Partly.’ Mother was smiling. ‘I never expected to choose a working man, and a Presbyterian, like Henry. I thought I’d end up with a nice Church of Ireland boy with a profession.’

‘I never done you wrong, though.’ Father’s tone was clipped, as ever, but affection still lingered in his eyes. A man of few words – particularly when it came to softer emotions.

‘You haven’t. And I’ve never regretted my choice.’ Her tone sharpened as she turned to Alex. ‘But that doesn’t mean you can marry someone unsuitable, Alexander.’

Don’t even go there. The last thing he needed tonight was another row with his family. ‘Was Father considered “unsuitable” by your family?’

Mother looked uncomfortable. ‘Only at first. Once they got to know Henry they came round.’

‘Even then I was making good money,’ Father stated bluntly. ‘More money than your fancy lawyers and doctors.’

Mother looked pained by what she would surely consider an ill-bred reference to things that should not be talked about. Alex, however, was more than ready to make mischief.

‘Mother!’ he declared, exchanging a gleeful look with Granda. ‘You married him for his money!’

She broke into helpless laughter. ‘I did not! Now just you stop that, Alexander Lowe!’

They were all laughing now – an unusual enough occurrence that it lightened the mood entirely. It was only as he was preparing for bed that Alex’s thoughts returned once more to Maisie. Of how they had walked and talked together, both at dinner time and on the way home. Of her kind heart and her distress and her Anglican boyfriend. Of how he felt when he was with her. Alive, he thought now. She makes me feel alive.

13