Page 68 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

Home then, and time to think, to relive the terror that had flooded through him. God, that had been desperate! Standing alone on the edge of the reservoir, faced with the realisation that he too might die if he went in the water, he had almost given way to cowardice. His hesitation, brief as it was, felt shameful, unmanly. What would they think of him, if they knew? Maisie? Father MacLaverty? The two young girls – Maisie’s sister and her friend? Oh, he had managed the thing, jumped in, got Mrs Lennon out. But she would die regardless, he knew – an outcome which felt like a punishment for his cowardice. If he hadn’t panicked for those few seconds, would he have rescued her more quickly? Would she have had a better chance?

Around and around his thoughts went, yet answers eluded him. All he knew was that his efforts had been entirely pointless.

* * *

Dawn was breaking when Danny Lennon returned. Maisie had done the ironing, cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, and prepared a pot of porridge for the morning. She peeled the spuds too, plopping them into a big pot of water and putting a lid on the top. Her work done, she sat on the settee – only for a wee moment.

When she heard the front door opening she awoke abruptly, finding that she had lain down. She jumped up – confused, dishevelled, and cold. The fire was out, the light still on, and pale morning light was seeping sullenly through the open door.

‘Maisie. Thank you for staying with the childer.’ Danny’s voice was calm, but his eyes showed heartbreak.

‘It was no bother.’

There was a pause. He was trying to say something, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. He can’t say it. ‘Did – did Teresa die?’

He nodded, turning away to hang up his coat. Pausing for a second, he leaned his head against it, as if mentally bracing himself to face her again. Sadness flooded through her. ‘I’m so, so sorry, Danny.’

‘At least she’s at peace now. Her nerves were in a bad way ever since – you know.’

‘Aye. Should never have happened.’

‘And she even got to get the Last Rites and absolution. Thank God it was Father MacLaverty. Thon other get—’ He stopped himself. ‘I’ll say no more about it. What’s done is done. But do you think Father MacLaverty would do the funeral?’

‘I would hope so. They can be fairly strict about their parish boundaries, but it’s worth asking – especially since he was the one to give her the Last Rites.’

‘Aye.’ A noise from upstairs indicated at least one of the children was awake. He straightened. ‘I’ll get the childer their breakfast.’

‘Do you want me to stay and help?’

‘No. Thanks, like, but no. I’ll have to tell them about their mammy and it would be better without a stranger. No offence.’

‘Of course.’ She donned her coat, which had dried nicely hours ago on a chair in front of the fire. Moving the chair back to the kitchen, she filled the kettle and set it on the stove to boil, then went back into the tiny living room, seeing that he was already working on clearing out the ashes. He turned to say, ‘I called at our Johnny and Carmel’s house. Johnny’s away to the mill already, but Carmel said she’ll be over shortly to help with the childer and to start to get things ready.’

For the wake. ‘Aye, that’s good.’ She glanced at the tiny clock on the mantel. Half-six in the morning. ‘I’ll call back later.’

‘You’re a good girl, Maisie.’

Maisie wasn’t so sure. On the short walk from Harrogate Street to home, it all kept coming back to her. The initial appointment with Fenton. Her last-minute appeal to Alex. She should have told Alex that first day! At least then he and Russell might have had the chance to intervene. With only moments to go until her theatre slot, there had been very little that Russell could have done to protect Mrs Lennon. If only . . .

* * *

Alex woke with a start yet again. All night he’d been doing this, the strangeness of his attire and the hot-water bottle shocking him awake. The memories too. Turning his head towards the windows, he saw weak morning light peeping around the edges of the curtains.

Mrs Lennon was probably dead by now. It was highly unlikely she’d survived even another couple of hours after the ambulance had ferried her in. He’d tried, and failed, to save her.

Hopelessness flooded through him. What was the point of even trying, when he hadn’t managed to save her? He moved cautiously in the bed, relieved to feel relatively normal in terms of the cold. He had survived, but somewhere south of here was a grieving widower and three wee children who would never see their mother again.

* * *

The streets were fairly busy, though the millworkers would already be at their posts. Da and Maureen would already be there, and Matty was probably already away to his work too. That left only Mammy and Molly in the house.

‘Oh, so you decided to come home, did you?’ Mammy, all bristling annoyance, had come to the living room on hearing Maisie enter.

This is all I need. Taking off her coat, Maisie hung it on one of the pegs by the front door, an image flashing into her mind of Danny’s donkey jacket, and how he had leaned against it, his wee heart in smithereens.

‘Our Maureen said there was some woman in the water,’ Mammy continued. ‘But yous had got her out. Where the hell were you all night?’

‘At Mrs Lennon’s house, minding her children to let her husband away to the Royal with Father MacLaverty.’