Prologue #3
‘So you’re going through with it then?’ There was bitterness in his tone. He’s hurting too!
‘I’m so sorry, Gerald. I have to.’
‘Why? Why do you have to?’
She stifled a sigh. She had explained it already, dozens of times.
Tonight, though, she had to make allowances for his pain.
‘Belfast is my home. I’m only here because my family paid for my training.
It’s my duty to go back now I’m qualified.
My wages as a midwife will really help.’ There was no point dwelling on the fact she missed her family and could never stay away from them forever.
He was not close to his, and seemed to have no concept of such things.
Surely he would understand duty, though?
His lip curled. ‘Midwives only earn a few shillings a week!’
‘That might seem like nothing to you, but in my family it’s a lot,’ she returned firmly. The man had no idea of the true value of a shilling. Of course it wasn’t his fault that he had grown up in a wealthy family.
‘Why did you not train in Ireland then, if money is so tight?’
‘Remember I told you about my mother’s cousin who trained here as a nurse?
Well it was her that told Mammy about the special scheme at King’s where midwifery tuition was almost for nothing; you only had to pay for your room and board.
It ended up being even cheaper than training in Belfast, and we could just about afford it out of the money my granny was giving me.
’ The option of training in Belfast and living at home but failing to bring in wages might have tipped her family’s finances from just about managing into something much worse – especially since the Royal Maternity Hospital in Belfast charged quite a bit for tuition.
At least here, Maisie wasn’t burdening her family with her food costs.
Oh, but she missed them so much! The eleven months she’d been here had felt like decades. She had gone home only once – for Christmas – and it had been so lovely to be among them all, even for a short time.
‘Would you . . .’ Be brave, she told herself. Ask him. ‘Would you ever think about moving to Belfast?’
His head whipped round, his expression incredulous. ‘To Ireland ?’ His evident horror suggested she had asked him to move to some horrific place peopled by wild savages.
He was now raging. She was all too familiar with the clenched jaw, furrowed brow, and general glower he adopted when angry about something.
Sometimes, she could placate him, avoid the explosion.
This being their last ever evening together he knew he would never see her again, so was likely to want to say his piece.
Maisie kept quiet, knowing from experience that trying to justify herself any further wouldn’t yield a positive response.
It was too dark to go into Ruskin Park, so they kept to the streets, taking the longer route up Coldharbour Lane towards Denmark Hill then on to Camberwell Grove.
It was a brisk walk of around forty-five minutes, but tonight, it seemed, Gerald had little to say.
It was only when the hospital was in sight, and they paused at the secluded corner where they usually kissed goodnight, that he spoke again.
‘So this is it then.’ Bending his head, he pulled her to him and kissed her harshly, painfully, until she squirmed to be free.
‘Don’t!’ she managed, but he ignored her, kissing her again. This time, his hands left her shoulders to roam all over her body. He had tried this before, and every time she had stopped him, explaining she wasn’t like that. This time, however, he seemed to have lost the run of himself entirely.
‘Stop it, Gerald!’ she was genuinely frightened now. He was so angry! ‘Please, stop!’ She did her best to catch his hands, to escape, but he was too strong.
Abruptly she was free. He had pushed her away. ‘On you go then, Maisie, you bloody tease! I might have known you wouldn’t put out.’
‘Well yes,’ she retorted, sudden anger blazing through her too, despite her fear. ‘I told you enough times! It’s the way I am, it’s how I was reared. You knew that from the start!’
He leaned in to her. His face was twisted with rage, and she shrank back further. ‘I only picked you because I thought you might. But you’re useless that way, too, Maisie! I wasted nearly a whole bloody year on you! Thought you’d be my Irish tramp!’
Maisie was frozen, unable to breathe, to think, to move. She could barely take in what he was saying. His words, his angry expression, the coarseness of his language . . . It was like he was a different person. Where was the man she loved? The man who had told her a hundred times that he loved her?
He whirled away then turned to throw her a parting comment. ‘You’ll come crawling back, Maisie Canavan. You’re nobody without me.’ His tone was harsh, his words delivered slowly and deliberately, and something inside her shattered into smithereens.
She still couldn’t breathe, and her mind was entirely paralysed. She just stood there, watching him walk away, only vaguely aware that this was the last memory she would ever have of him.