7
With a muffled exclamation Alex took three steps towards Maisie then gathered her into his arms, the door swinging closed behind him.
For just a second she held firm, remaining stiff and unbending, then the comfort of him became too much to resist and she melted into him, shaking like a leaf in autumn.
Her arms stayed by her sides, but his were about her, holding her tightly. Her head was pressed into his chest, her senses overwhelmed with the delicious scent of him, his heartbeat beneath her ear, the warmth coming from him.
She did not cry – all her tears had been shed, and shed again, in England, and since. But after a while she did begin to feel a bit better, her trembling easing and her mind gradually coming back from its frozen state.
‘Did something happen?’ he asked, and she shook her head.
He leaned back, his hands moving to her arms – bare as required for reasons of hygiene – and stroking gently. He probably intended only comfort, but now new sensations were stirring within Maisie’s body – sensations she had sworn never to allow herself to feel again.
With every ounce of strength within her she stepped back, checking her cap was straight, and saying, ‘I’m so sorry, Dr Lowe!’ Her voice was shaky. ‘God, you must think I’m a quare eejit!’
‘I don’t think that at all,’ he returned, his grey eyes on hers. ‘And I’m Alex to you. Everyone has a hard day sometimes. I’m only glad I came along at the right moment. Do you feel a bit better now?’
She nodded mistily, her vision blurred with tears. No! I must not cry! Turning away, she went back to the damned scissors in the soapy water – which had now had the deepest clean in their existence, she reckoned. ‘Aye. Sorry about that.’
He moved to the side of the room, to her left. ‘Don’t be apologising, Maisie. It’s all good.’
No it isn’t. It will never be good again.
‘What happened? Anything you want to talk about?’
‘No. Thank you, but . . .’ She shrugged. ‘No.’ Keeping her head down, she scrubbed at the scissors. Had that sounded rude? She hoped not. In what she hoped was a reasonably normal tone, she added, ‘Peggy’s back from being out with the district team.’
He paused, as if debating whether to challenge her, then said, ‘Good. I heard about the handywoman thing. Glad she’s being promoted to the district sooner.’
‘Me too.’ Damn it! Her voice still held a clear tremble.
‘I was talking to Dan earlier.’
Something in his tone sparked genuine interest within her, and she looked up at him ‘How was he?’
‘He seemed in great form. He told me she’s his girl.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘Peggy is? Jesus!’ Belatedly remembering that Protestants didn’t like it when you said that, she added, ‘Sorry.’
He waved this away. ‘Aye. Class, isn’t it?’ His tone sobered. ‘He said they had broken up in Dublin, but he’s back with her again now.’
You’ll come crawling back, Maisie Canavan. You are nobody without me. Straightening, she resisted the wave of pain. ‘Maybe she shouldn’t have got back with him. Maybe he wasn’t right for her.’ Her gaze became unfocused. ‘Maybe he wasn’t good to her.’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe. But Dan was very cut up about it, I reckon. He seems delighted now he’s got her back.’
‘I bet he is.’ Lads got more out of girls than girls got out of lads. But Peggy seemed happy. That mattered.
‘I hope it works out for them.’ Not everybody was as bad as Gerald. Taking a pair of clean scissors, she hooked all the other pairs onto the closed blades, placing the entire bunch into the steriliser, then emptying the sink and drying her hands.
‘It might. Strange to think people our age are only pairing off now. Most of my school friends are married already.’
‘Mine too.’
‘My ones would love me to settle down.’ He grimaced. ‘Since I got home, they’ve started pointedly talking about nice girls from church.’
She couldn’t help it: a cynical snort of laughter emerged. ‘And yet, you will one hundred per cent end up marrying one of them!’
‘You think so?’
She leaned against the sink, sending him a challenge with her eyes. ‘Aye. Aye, I do.’
‘I’m not so sure.’
‘One day,’ she declared, ‘I’ll remind you of this conversation – once you’re engaged to one of those nice girls from your church.’
‘Huh. I’ll look forward to it!’
He winked, and left, and Maisie sagged back against the sink. God, what a day!
Later, she would allow herself to think about Gerald again, and the moment of insight she’d had today – insight that she reckoned had completely changed how she felt about her break-up with him. For now, though, she was distracted by one small thing. What had Alex meant by that wink?
* * *
Alex was even quieter than usual during dinner, though Mother had not yet remarked on it, being busy telling both him and Father all about her day, in great detail. Granda, as ever, was mostly focusing on his food.
Alex was only half-listening. Why had Maisie been so upset earlier?
And why was it affecting him so? The memory of how it had felt to hold her in his arms was strong – how her trembling had gradually settled, how she had accepted comfort from him.
He had no idea what had caused her distress, yet it almost didn’t matter.
She had trusted him enough to allow him to comfort her.
The memory would stay with him for a long time, he knew.
Her comment about Dan and Peggy had also struck him as odd. Maybe he wasn’t right for her. Wasn’t good to her. Had someone hurt Maisie? A man? The notion sent anger flaring within him, along with a wave of protectiveness. How could anyone hurt someone so good?
I hardly know the girl. For all he knew, she might turn out to be messed up or unkind.
Nah, unlikely.
He was also irritated. For the hundredth time he had gone over in his mind Maisie’s confidence that he would end up married to one of the girls from church. Was that really what he wanted for his life? Being set up by his mother’s matchmaking machinations?
Was that how it worked? Even now, in the twentieth century?
There were quite a few young married couples at church, and as he’d noted earlier, most of his school friends were married .
. . How had they gone about it? He took a sip of wine, recalling that most had paired off during church functions and excursions.
Which was perfectly logical. That was the social circle they moved in, and ‘youth’ activities in the church were probably designed to encourage them to pair up.
They chose their own partners from within the group, not being pushed by anyone. And yet . . .
Realisation came to him. It was laggards who were being pushed. Laggards like himself, who had been busy at medical school for years. Almost as if he was late. Almost as if there were rules. Hidden rules.
Maisie knew about them, it seemed. His irritation rose as he recalled her serene confidence that he would toe the line and marry someone his parents approved of.
Someone from church. It was even more annoying, given she was the one girl he had become seriously attracted to since moving home.
Despite the insouciant wink he had sent her, his mind was now circling again and again on the big questions about his future – questions he had not even considered while a medical student in Queen’s and in Edinburgh.
The war too was having an impact. Well, how could it not?
Like everyone else he had been glued to the news reports on BBC radio before dinner.
France had advanced into German territory, and yesterday there had been a meeting of the Anglo-French War Council in Abbeville.
Alex knew that men of his age and younger were even now enlisting to fight Hitler.
Many of them would die without ever knowing what it was to be a husband, a father. Without ever knowing romantic love.
The notion was disturbing. Although the London government had decided not to introduce conscription here in Northern Ireland – probably for fear of Catholic riots – as a doctor he would have been exempt regardless.
Was it cowardice to feel slightly relieved about that?
So why was he – like countless others, no doubt – suddenly turning his mind to love, and marriage, and fatherhood?
Baby Watson came to mind. Having examined many babies with professionalism and skill, their fragility called to him.
Fatherhood called to him. What must it be like for men like Mr Watson, to know that the child they cradled was their own son or daughter, born out of the love between husband and wife?
The same protectiveness surged through him again – this time for the idea of a son or daughter.
His attention returned to the present, for Mother was talking about the Ladies Committee at church, who were apparently planning fundraising events. Fundraising for Spitfires. Spitfires! Lord, who’d have thought it?
‘We have fundraisers coming up for the hospital too,’ he said shortly.
‘Well, you must do your duty by the church,’ she replied primly.
He sighed. ‘I’ll end up having to go to both, I suppose.’
‘Why so reluctant? I’d have thought you’d want to mix with other young people. We’re planning receptions, and tea dances, and garden parties next spring.’
Garden parties! ‘We’re at war, Mother. Do you think there’ll still be garden parties?’
‘Of course there will! Sure that nasty Hitler person is miles away! The fighting will all be in Germany and Poland. Nothing will happen here.’
About to contest this, Alex thought better of it, saying only, ‘I hope you’re right.’
There was a brief silence. ‘So tell me about the hospital fundraisers.’
‘I don’t know that much – we heard about them at that reception last week. Tea dances in the Orpheus once a month, they said.’
She sniffed. ‘Sounds reasonably respectable, to be fair. The Orpheus doesn’t serve drink.’ His parents didn’t approve of drink, apart from a small glass of wine with dinner. With a casual air she added, ‘A nice young lady joined our church committee today.’
Here we go again. ‘She’s not called Melissa Moore, is she?’ he asked, recalling his conversation with Dan. Mothers!
‘No, Prudence Craven. Mr and Mrs Craven’s daughter. Why, who is Melissa Moore?’
‘A young lady from the hospital committee. I met her at that reception last week.’
She sniffed. ‘Sounds like a Catholic name.’
Granda lifted his head, looking from one to the other.
‘What? Melissa?’ Alex was being deliberately obtuse.
‘No, Moore.’
‘Moore could be either. I’ve known Protestants called Moore.’
‘Yes, but most Moores are Catholics. Where is she from? Which school did she go to?’
‘I have no idea. And why does it matter?’
Mother’s eyes widened, and now Father looked up from his dinner, his jaw tight. Uh-oh.
‘You really have to ask that?’ Mother looked astonished.
‘Tell me.’ Weirdly, he wanted to make them say it aloud.
‘Well,’ said Father, ‘the likes of us wouldn’t ever want to be associated with people like that.’ His face wore an expression of distaste.
‘Do you mean Catholics?’
‘Yes. Catholics. We’re better than them, and it would be . . . demeaning for you to be associated with that class of person.’
His jaw dropped. We’re better than them. If even his own father was this bigoted, what hope was there for Ireland? Granda, he noticed, was shaking his head slowly.
‘I’ll say this once, and once only.’ Father’s brow was now furrowed, his hands gripping his cutlery so tightly that Alex could see the whites of his knuckles. ‘If you ever take up with a Catholic, you will leave this house and never return. You will be dead to me.’
Alex felt sick. ‘I cannot believe you are this full of hatred for people you don’t even know.’ Flinging down his napkin, he rose. ‘I shall say goodnight.’
‘Alexander! Get back here!’ His father’s tone was one Alex hadn’t heard since childhood.
These past few years they had developed a more adult relationship.
Friendly, almost, although both his parents continued to try to manage him, he knew.
But having lived independently in Edinburgh for a full year it was hard to take their scrutiny, their disapproval.
Anger racing through him, he made for his bedroom. It was fairly late, and the blackout rules had made cycling at night dangerous, so he couldn’t even take his bicycle out to relieve some of his frustration. I am twenty-six years old, and my parents are trying to dominate my life.
And was this even a battle he had to fight?
No matter how much he liked Maisie, it seemed as though nothing could happen there.
First, she would be entirely unsuitable in his parents’ eyes – a Catholic from a fairly poor background.
In fact she would be deemed so unsuitable that he might risk losing his family entirely.
While he was raging with both parents right now, Alex knew that the ties of family could not be easily broken. His mind raced through hundreds of childhood memories – memories of togetherness, care, love from his parents and his granda. Happy memories. He sighed. Why was it so damn complicated?
His second problem was this. Despite her accepting his comfort earlier, Maisie didn’t seem to like him the way he liked her. He frowned, recalling the flash of joy he’d surprised in her when he had arrived. Or did she?