Page 53 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

‘It was the mention of candles that threw me,’ he said. ‘Like, why should that make a difference?’

‘I dunno, but it does.’ Maisie paused, thinking about this. ‘There’s something really beautiful about lighting a penny candle while saying a wee prayer for somebody. You’re like focused, and calm, and really thinking about them.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Some people would say that to pray you shouldn’t need candles and stuff. That it’s a sort of superstition.’

They had reached the bike shed, and as they retrieved their bicycles Maisie continued the conversation. ‘Well of course you don’t need them. But if it helps people pray, then what’s wrong with that? And besides, it’s not really a superstition. Not like the piseógs. It’s just a good habit.’

‘What does that mean? Pishogs?’ He grinned. ‘Sounds rude!’

‘Ach, they’re only oul charms for good luck. Or bad luck. Nothin’ to do with religion.’ They cycled up the hill towards the road. ‘Like salutin’ a magpie if you see him by himself. Or trying to see your future husband’s name in the apple peel.’

‘Wait. Whoa!’ He was laughing. ‘What are you even talking about? A magpie? And apple peel? Explain!’

So she did. The lone magpie could bring bad luck unless you saluted him three times, and when peeling apples if you managed to get a long piece of peel you would throw it over your shoulder. ‘If you’re not married you have to look and see if it forms a letter. If it does it’s supposed to be the first letter of the name of your future husband. Load of nonsense of course, but sure it’s only a bitta craic.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘Do you not know any of the oul’ piseógs?’

‘My father doesn’t like superstition. He thinks it’s the work of the devil.’ He grinned. ‘I do remember my grandparents on my mother’s side being superstitious about certain things, though. Like the first visitor after New Year. And they used to put some sort of greenery on the door at the end of April.’

‘Aye, that’ll be the hawthorn. It’s a sort of celebration of the return of spring, I suppose. May is Bealtaine which is one of the nicest months.’ She shuddered. ‘Opposite end of the year to us now. We’re heading for winter, and there’s war again.’

‘Aye.’ He looked sombre, and it occurred to her that she wasn’t sure which was more handsome – laughing Alex or sombre Alex.

‘And there’s nothing we can do about it.’

‘We can pray. And hope.’

‘We can.’ Their eyes met, and again she was breathless. ‘We can also enjoy ourselves now and again. Me and Dan are gonna go to the thing at the Orpheus next week. I think he’s hoping Peggy will come.’ He had an open, hopeful look on his face.

‘What thing?’ Her brow cleared. ‘Oh, the tea dance for the fundraising committee?’ Tea dance. Even the words brought memories flooding back – of London, and dancing with Gerald. Alex was now nodding enthusiastically, but her own emotions couldn’t match his. Instead, her heart lurched.

‘What’s wrong?’ Alex was frowning.

‘Nothing!’ It sounded fake, even to her own ears. Feck. But why should she stay away, because of memories? Why should she let Gerald ruin another good thing for her? She paused, and then heard herself – in her normal voice again, ‘That would be good craic. If Peggy goes, I might go with her.’ She could replace those memories with new ones.

‘We could all go together?’ Alex replied. ‘Safety in numbers and all that!’

‘Aye.’ Strangely, she was no longer thinking about dancing with Gerald. Instead, in her mind it was Alex with his arms around her. She swallowed. ‘So . . . see you on Monday?’

‘I’ll walk with you up to the corner of your street,’ he returned. ‘I’m in no hurry to get home.’

So they talked, of everything and nothing. And when they said goodbye at the corner, Maisie was conscious of an unexpected sadness. Unexpected, but entirely clear in its meaning. She was sad that she wouldn’t see him for two whole days.

16

The Orpheus Ballroom was in York Street in the city centre, and as Maisie and Peggy arrived, Maisie was excited to see a steady stream of people making their way into the beautiful building. It was only a few years old, five storeys tall and built with both Belfast red brick and pale facing on the facade. A large electric sign had been hung with the letters ORPHEUS from top to bottom, but with the blackout rules now in force, it would remain unlit tonight.

The sun was already dipping down low in the sky as the girls arrived at the door, paying their entry fee and being directed to the top floor via the beautiful wide staircase with brass rails, dark timber panelling, and detailed carvings.

In the entrance hall was a floor mosaic with the usual local symbols – the shamrock for Ireland and the red hand for Ulster – along with the words Orpheus and The Ballroom of Romance. And these sorts of socials and dances were indeed associated with romance. That was why the queue was full of young people, with a few older ones mixed in. Opportunities to mingle were hard to come by, and the young adults of Belfast had swarmed to the Orpheus tonight, to pay their entry fee, support the hospital, and maybe, just maybe, meet a nice dance partner.

A new fundraising drive called the Ulster Gift Fund had now been launched by Lady Rosalind, after whom the hospital nursery had been named. This time, she was aiming to provide clothing, bandages, and ‘woollen comforts’ to military hospitals, alongside an existing fundraiser for a second nurses’ home. It meant the Orpheus was jammed with people wanting to help. While Maisie and Peggy were unsure about whether they should be funding the British Army – albeit very indirectly – the Royal Nursing aspect gave them cover.

Maisie and Peggy had arranged to meet up at Dunville corner and walk to York Road together, having agreed to meet Alex and Dan inside. Both girls were wearing their Sunday dresses – it was exciting to be wearing a dress, and not for Mass.

Exclaiming in wonder at the luxurious fixings, the girls reached the ballroom level, Maisie noticing that the hum of excited conversation was growing louder as they opened the door and went inside.

‘Wow!’ The ballroom was massive, with a gorgeous dance floor of glowing wood, a balcony, and an elaborate stage at the far end. The place was alive with people, chatter, and a palpable air of excitement that seemed almost frenzied in tone. Dimly, Maisie suspected the recent declarations of war across Europe had something to do with it.

But almost immediately, her heart lurched as she spied the familiar dress uniforms of British Army officers. It’s not him, she reassured herself, nevertheless allowing her gaze to rove over the entire group of soldiers. Mostly younger men, yes. Tall and short, slim and portly – and none of them were Gerald. She exhaled. Well, why would they be?