8 #3
Exactly the right question. ‘Call me Maisie.’ She took a breath.
‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that, Mr Lennon.
But you be sure and ask Dr Fenton now, won’t you?
’ Inwardly, Maisie’s stomach was churning.
This woman was being bounced into ending a pregnancy against her wishes.
She was first on the list, which meant that Dr Fenton would have the thing done by a quarter past nine.
‘The priest says if I do this I’m gonna burn in hell for all eternity.’ Mrs Lennon’s voice caught, and Maisie took her hand as a wave of shock and sympathy rippled through her. ‘He says it’s a mortal sin and can’t be forgiven.’
‘God, I’m so sorry. Father Wallis, was it?’
The woman confirmed it, and Maisie’s jaw tightened.
‘Aye, I thought it would be.’ Father Wallis loved the Old Testament stuff, his sermons loaded with themes of sin, retribution, and punishment.
Mass was hard going these days – the man hadn’t an ounce of warmth or kindness in him.
While there were some who loved Father Wallis’s uncompromising approach, Maisie suspected many parishioners, like her, couldn’t wait for the priests in the parish and diocese to be reshuffled again.
Hopefully next time they’d get a nicer one in their wee bit of Belfast.
God, the situation looked hopeless! Was there anything she could do? Anything at all? As Mrs Lennon began to weep quietly, her husband put an arm around her.
‘I’ll give yous a minute.’
Quietly she slipped from the room, then, avoiding Sister’s office, left the clinic. She was acting on instinct, and couldn’t be sure if anything could even be done, but she had to try. And the only person she could think to ask for help was . . .
Moving as quickly as she could while technically not running, she made her way to the doctors’ mess on the top floor, running into Dr Marron. ‘Is Dr Lowe here?’
‘Aye, he’s in there.’ He pointed to one of the side rooms.
‘Thanks.’ Before she lost her nerve, Maisie tapped on the door. ‘Dr Lowe?’ She was slightly breathless, so deliberately she took a deep inhalation.
‘Come in!’ And there he was, looking fine and handsome in his suit and his white coat. He seemed to be writing up a patient’s file but when Maisie entered, he turned to look at her.
‘Maisie!’ Deliberately he set down his pen as the door swung closed behind her.
‘Is everything all right?’ His brow was furrowed, his expression laced with concern, and she felt herself flush.
Faced with the reality of him, and conscious they were entirely alone and private, she was abruptly beset with memories from the day before.
Had she really stood trembling like an eejit, and accepted comfort from him?
What must he think of me? Mortified, she was momentarily lost for words.
‘Um – there’s a lady in clinic – um – she – I wondered if you could maybe . . .’
His eyes were now crinkling at the corners, she noticed. It really was unfair how one man was allowed to be so good-looking.
‘If I could maybe . . . ?’ he prompted, and suddenly, she realised how hopeless it was.
‘Never mind. It was a stupid idea. I’ll go.’ Stupid, Maisie. Why are you so stupid?
She turned, but he must have moved like lightning, for just as she was reaching for the door handle his hand closed over hers.
She half turned, to find him so close that she could see the darker ring round his irises, the beautiful tones and shades and patterns in the grey. Her breath caught, her pulse racing.
‘Maisie.’ He turned his hand, so that he now was holding hers. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’ Gently he led her back towards the desk, bidding her sit in the chair he had recently vacated, then pulled up another chair to sit opposite her.
‘Right. Right.’ Deliberately, she broke his gaze. It was easier to think that way. ‘Mrs Teresa Lennon,’ she recited, ‘age twenty-four . . .’ She told him the whole story, sensing him stiffen when she got to the part where Fenton had made his recommendation in such black-and-white terms.
‘And so she’s downstairs, and scheduled for the D they both knew it.
‘We can try.’
His words lingered in her inner ear as she returned to the clinic. Gliding directly past Sister’s office like a ghost, she managed to get safely back to the Lennons. They had both been crying, it was clear.
‘But I can’t leave you, and leave our three without a mother!’ Teresa was saying, her voice cracking. ‘And I don’t want to burn in hell either!’
‘I know, I know,’ Mr Lennon said. ‘Hush now, Teresa, it will be all right in the end.’
Will it, though? Maisie couldn’t believe it. Well, how could it be? How could such a thing ever be all right in the end?