Page 59 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

‘Aye.’

A nice girl. ‘There’s actually a girl I like at work.’ He hadn’t planned it, but he needed to know how open they might be to him asking Maisie to be his girl.

‘Is there, now?’ Mother was all interest.

He took a breath. ‘But she’s Catholic.’

‘She’s what?’ She put a hand to her head. ‘No way, Alexander. She won’t do.’ Her tone signalled horror, and he could almost feel how tense she was.

He decided to try and brazen through. ‘Why not?’

‘Why not?’ she echoed. ‘Lord save us!’ She was looking at him, her eyes wide with what seemed to be horror. ‘You can’t marry a Catholic, Alexander.’ Her tone was severe; this was her implacable voice.

‘I’m only talking about asking her out, Mother.’ Deliberately, he kept his tone light. ‘And she mightn’t even go out with me if I do ask her.’

She sniffed. ‘Aye, her ones might object too. It’s impossible. I can’t believe you’re even thinking of it!’ She sounded upset, and a moment later he heard her open her handbag, presumably for a handkerchief.

‘Why are you doing this, Alexander? Are you trying to be hurtful?’

‘Of course not!’ Alex was shocked. This was a much more serious response than he had anticipated. While of course he knew about the unspoken rules of this place, he had no idea this would affect his mother in quite this way.

‘Well, it is hurtful. It’s extremely hurtful! You’re my only child, and I never dreamed you would do something so terrible!’

‘I . . . I’m sorry, Mother. I honestly am not trying to be hurtful. But I don’t see why it’s so terrible.’

‘And that’s the saddest thing of all.’ A sob escaped her. ‘If you don’t even know what you’re doing wrong, then I’m a failure as a mother!’

He reached out, squeezing her shoulder briefly. Inside, his stomach felt sick. ‘Of course you aren’t!’ Ensuring his mother’s happiness was one of his missions in life. Father could be morose at times, and critical, and even cutting, and Alex had taken it upon himself to protect her from some of Father’s worst comments – often by giving his father cause to divert his ire away from his wife and towards his son. Granda helped too, at times, but mostly he would simply set his jaw and glare at his son. Now, being the cause of his mother’s distress was terrible.

‘Your father is going to go clean mad!’ She sounded frightened now, which Alex understood. While Father had never raised a hand in anger to either of them, his anger was not a small thing.

He shrugged, knowing he needed to minimise the possibility of doing something that would upset them this badly. ‘Clean mad about what? Sure, nothing’s happened!’

‘Yes, but if you end up wanting to marry this Catholic . . .’ Her tone was scathing, and he cringed inside at being faced with just how bigoted she was. His own mother, whom he knew to be a good person, yet she could not see past her own bias. Or her fear of her husband. Or both.

He managed a light laugh. ‘All I said was that I like her. I like lots of people.’

‘Well, if you do ask her out, I don’t want to know about it!’ she declared fiercely.

‘I hear you,’ he said seriously.

‘Good.’ She paused. ‘And don’t do this to your father. It would break his heart.’

And that’s that. Mother wasn’t asking him to avoid Father’s anger. Instead, she was now asking him to show love. How could any good son break his father’s heart?

His own heart was sore. Although he had known what a big issue this was, somehow he had been lulled by Edinburgh into hoping it might be different.

A new notion came to him, blindingly obvious now he had thought of it. Perhaps this was partly behind Maisie’s withdrawal from him. Perhaps she understood these things better than him. His mind was reeling, and he honestly felt like he had been walking around with his head in the clouds, believing that any bigotry in his own family didn’t run deep. He’d been wrong, for if even someone as kind as Mother could react like this, what hope was there for progress in this place?

Yet he remained drawn to Maisie. He could picture her now – cheeky grin, beautiful face, stunning figure. No other girl had ever occupied his thoughts as she did. And he knew it went deep with him, the way she made him feel. God help me, I don’t know if I can let this go. Almost, he hoped she didn’t like him, for that would be more straightforward. Unfortunately, it was entirely possible that she too had enjoyed their kisses, but was wary of getting close to a Protestant – despite having an Anglican boyfriend during her training. But Belfast was not London. It mattered here.

Was there another way? Could he indulge this fascination, let it lightly run its course, and get her out of his head that way? Maybe. Perhaps it was all so captivating only because there was an air of the forbidden about it. Forbidden because they worked together, and because everyone noticed things, speculated. And forbidden because they were from such different backgrounds. Yes, that might explain the degree of attraction he was feeling. So maybe, without making a big thing of it with Mother, he could ask Maisie out, perhaps even take her out a few times, let his infatuation with her die a natural death. Like the light connections he’d made in Edinburgh. Girls who were perfectly nice, but whom he now rarely even thought about, and he knew they would not be thinking of him either. Light. Casual. Fun.

Aye, that was a better plan. Far, far better.

* * *

They were back at the Orpheus, and it was exactly like before. Despite all her inner warnings and worries – which had prevented her from sleeping well – Maisie was dancing every dance with Alex Lowe. It seemed natural, somehow. Even though she could never truly be his girl. Even though he would be an entirely unsuitable boyfriend.