10
Sister Campbell was approaching, and Maisie stiffened. Was she going to criticise Alex for taking Mr Lennon in?
But no. ‘You can take your break now, Midwife Canavan,’ she said, her expression neutral. ‘Take a full half hour; come back at half one. I’ll keep an eye on your patient.’
‘Yes, Sister.’ God, they were kind, these women – even the strict ones.
Maisie and Alex left the ward together, walking in silence, their steps in harmony. Once out in the main corridor, Alex coughed, then said casually, ‘I thought you’d be on your dinner break, but you weren’t in the canteen.’
He had been looking for her!
‘When I saw Mr Lennon there,’ he continued, ‘I realised who he was, and that he probably hadn’t seen his wife yet.’
‘You did a good thing.’
He waved this away. ‘Not good enough.’ He grimaced. ‘Maisie, I owe you an apology.’
‘An apology? What for?’
‘For failing you. For failing Mrs Lennon.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Russell got what I was saying. He really did. We went to find Fenton, but he was all “professional opinion”, and Russell had no way of challenging it.’
They were level with the entrance corridor. Here they had to decide whether to go to the canteen or not. ‘Have you eaten?’ The concern was still there in his eyes.
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t take a bite. Feel sick.’
‘I’m the same – and I wasn’t even there.’
‘Well, Alex!’ Dr McMullen eyed them curiously as he passed. As soon as he’d moved on, they exchanged a knowing look.
‘A wee walk outside?’ Alex’s expression signalled the need for a bit of privacy.
‘Good idea.’ There was too much scrutiny in the hospital.
Eyes and ears everywhere. So they turned left, passing the bas-relief of the mother and children that was the symbol of the hospital, down the shallow stone steps and out via the main portico.
Outside, Maisie exhaled as they made their way down the path then turned towards the greens.
No one was near. Good. Here she could breathe, and could hopefully begin to come to terms with what had happened that morning.
Alex walked silently beside her and she was conscious of a sense of ease in his company. They were both of the same opinion here, she just knew it.
‘So.’ She glanced his way. ‘Am I going crazy, or did Doctor Fenton exaggerate the likely consequences of Mrs—’ Even with no one around, she avoided saying the name. ‘—of that lady going ahead?’
He nodded. ‘Put it this way, he could have told her he was concerned about the scar, that it might rupture during her next labour, the things he would do to try and save her. He could even have explained that some women do die of uncontrollable bleeding when a rupture happens. That would have allowed her to think about it.’ His jaw hardened.
‘Instead he went for an over-simplistic “You will die” when that’s not necessarily what would have happened. ’
‘I trained in London, as you know. I saw a mother die after they couldn’t stop the bleeding. But I also saw one survive. The surgeons were amazing.’
‘I’d love to know how many women Fenton has saved after a rupture,’ Alex’s tone was sceptical.
‘You think he knows he can’t do it?’ Could one man’s inadequacy have led to this? Or was it simply fear? Fear of being found out to be inadequate?
Alex shrugged. ‘Even if he can’t, why did he not suggest a repeat caesarean section?’
‘That’s true.’ They walked on another few steps.
‘She might well have bled during surgery, to be fair – especially if the placenta had grown into the scar. But the risks could have been managed. He could have had another surgeon do the operation with him, though that might have seemed like weakness to him.’
‘Either way, the lady didn’t have to be pressurised into . . . into this.’ Maisie’s voice wobbled and he put a friendly arm around her.
‘Hey.’ They had stopped, and now he was looking at her. ‘I know. It’s shocking.’
‘It’s wrong. It shouldn’t have happened.’
His hand slid to seek hers and she gave it. ‘I did try, you know.’
‘I’m not blaming you. Honestly. We’re only small cogs in a massive machine. And men like Fenton just swan around and do what they want.’
‘Russell did ask him about consent. Pointed out the woman is Catholic.’
‘Let me guess. He didn’t care.’
A shadow crossed Alex’s face. ‘No. He didn’t.’
‘Fecker.’
They walked on, Alex dropping Maisie’s hand. She felt strangely bereft without his touch, but pushed the feeling away. ‘Let me know when it’s twenty past.’ Unlike her, Alex had a watch.
‘I will.’
‘God love them.’ The words burst from her as she recalled Mr Lennon hugging his wife.
‘Two innocent people. Both bewildered by the whole thing. She’s blaming herself entirely.
Never even a thought in her head that what she was told might not be true.
’ She shook her head. ‘How is that poor woman ever supposed to get over this?’
‘I don’t think she will. I don’t think anyone could – especially someone with her beliefs.’
She sent him a challenging look. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He shrugged. ‘Many Protestants would have struggled with her decision too, though it’s harder for Catholics, I would imagine. But it’s an awful thing to ask of any woman. Any couple.’
‘What would you have done? If it was you in Mr Lennon’s position?’
He thought for a moment. ‘I think it’s hard for the man to know what to do, because the child is inside her, not him. I would want to be supportive, to talk it all through, to help her say what’s most important to her.’
‘Aye.’ A good man. She could barely speak for fear of crying.
‘I would also want a second opinion. No way would somebody like Russell have presented the information in that way.’
‘Or you.’
‘Sorry?’ He looked confused.
‘If you were her doctor, you wouldn’t have pressurised her like that.’
‘No. At least, I hope not.’ He shook his head. ‘Maybe this is a good thing for me to learn now, at the very beginning of my career.’
‘Me too. I just feel so helpless, though. If I had interfered, I’d have been sacked. What am I supposed to do if something like that happens again?’
‘But you did interfere – in a good way. You got me involved.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘You’re right! I interfered. I could still be sacked! Jesus!’
Stopping, he took both of her hands in his. ‘No. Don’t you be worrying about that! You did exactly the right thing. You went to someone you trusted, and I didn’t tell Russell where my information had come from.’
‘Aye, but if he takes it the wrong way – or if Fenton does – all they have to do is confirm which midwife was looking after her this morning.’ She gripped his hands in fear. ‘I can’t afford to lose this job!’
His thumbs were moving, gently stroking. While he was probably only trying to be reassuring, it was sending delicious sensations through her – a totally inappropriate distraction at a moment like this.
‘And if that happens I’ll make it clear that you weren’t telling tales. It’s an unusual case – perfectly natural for it to be discussed among the team – especially us new ones. We’ll all be learning from each other for a good while yet.’
What he said made sense, yet the fear within Maisie would take a while to subside, she knew that already. ‘And I shouldn’t even be thinking about myself when that poor lady is in bits up in A Ward.’
‘Now don’t you be mixing up two separate things,’ he said firmly.
‘I would argue that you had a professional duty as a midwife to mention something that you were unclear or worried about. And as I recall, when you described the case, you stuck to the facts. You recited what Fenton had said. You told me the lady was upset.’
‘I also told you she is Catholic.’
‘Entirely relevant.’ His lips turned up slightly. ‘And not once when you were telling me it all earlier did you call Fenton a fecker.’
A helpless laugh escaped her. ‘He is though. A fecker.’
‘I agree entirely.’
She sighed. ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘For understanding. For backing me. For taking me out here and letting me talk about it.’
‘I hope it’s helping, even a wee bit.’
‘It definitely is.’
‘It’s helping me too, you know.’
She eyed him curiously. Doctors had always seemed to her to be a breed apart – remote, confident, knowledgeable. ‘How come?’
‘Today – this case . . . Working in maternity is hard. I want things to be done right, you know? I want the mothers and babies – and fathers – to be better off because of what we do.’
Emotion rose within her, and now it was her turn to seek his hand. Squeezing it gently, she said, ‘You’re a good doctor, Alex Lowe. I’m glad to know you.’
Turning his hand to hold hers properly, he said, ‘Thanks, Maisie. That means a lot to me.’ His voice was thick with emotion.
Silently they continued walking, hand in hand, neither commenting on the fact that their hands were entwined. Having walked all the way to Broadway, they turned at the back of the Damask works, dropping their hands. He checked his watch. ‘Twenty past one.’
‘Feck! I’ve to be back by half past.’ She quickened her steps and he matched her pace.
‘Don’t be worrying. You’ll be there by twenty-five past.’
‘God, I hope so!’ The last thing she needed was to annoy Sister Campbell, especially if Fenton decided to go on the warpath. ‘Hopefully I’ll be allowed to stay with that lady all day.’
‘Aye, I’ll keep checking on her too.’
He genuinely cares. Or was she deluding herself ?
Aye, she needed to be careful with this Alex fella.
Gerald had also seemed like the sweetest, kindest man when they were first together.
Gradually, though, she had realised he was entirely different when they were alone.
Since the penny had dropped for her yesterday, she now saw Gerald differently, and was still getting used to this new, more realistic, image of him.
The charm had vanished, revealing Gerald to be selfish, vain, and arrogant – a man who took joy in belittling others.
Every story he told seemed to feature himself as the main character, or showed others in a bad light.
Is that what me and Alex just did to Fenton?
But no. Objectively, what Fenton had done to Mrs Lennon was both indefensible and incomprehensible.
The only reason Maisie could think of to account for it was that Fenton was himself so scared of the possibility of uterine rupture that he preferred to pressure the woman into ending her pregnancy.
Silently, Maisie said a quick prayer for the baby, for its mother, and its father. God, please help them all.
Maisie and Alex parted on the main corridor, their farewells light and professional, and Maisie headed down to the clinic with a hundred different emotions swirling within her.
Fear of being sacked was still there, though eased a little by Alex’s logical reassurance.
Guilt for her inability to prevent harm to Mrs Lennon and her baby was still strong, along with pure rage at Fenton – rage that must never be allowed expression.
And somewhere in the mix, not to be looked at or thought about, was the memory of Alex’s hand holding hers, the way he had looked at her, the admiration in his gaze .
. . No. He had been comforting and friendly, and holding her hand had been part of that.
How often had she taken the hands of women who needed her support? Aye, that was probably all it was.
And besides, she knew that she would never trust a man again, after Gerald had turned out to be such an eejit.
Worse than an eejit. A fecker. She had, she supposed, had the notion that Gerald himself had been hurt by someone – perhaps as a child – and that what he had needed was someone to love him.
But her love had not made Gerald a better man.
Alex, on the other hand . . . Maisie realised that, for the first time in months she felt she could breathe freely. But the last thing she needed was to start walking out with another lad so soon after breaking free. Never mind a lad that her family would completely disapprove of.
As she returned to the ward and Mrs Lennon, she reflected on the similarities between Fenton and Gerald.
Both superficially charming and confident.
Both selfish and self-centred. That would have seemed like weakness to him.
Alex’s words about Fenton came back to her.
Gerald had detested being wrong – even in the smallest of matters.
He had much preferred to be the all-knowing one who never, ever made mistakes.
A flash of memory came to her now, one small moment from her time in London.
Or at least it had seemed small at the time.
They had been at one of the regular hospital socials when one of the nurses had merrily talked about having been to Westminster that day and seen Chamberlain emerge from a motor car and enter his home in Downing Street.
Gerald had insisted that she couldn’t possibly have seen Chamberlain as the Prime Minister was known to be abroad.
The girl had laughed and said she knew what she had seen, and Gerald had ranted about it to Maisie for hours afterwards.
And when the papers the next day had confirmed that Chamberlain had indeed returned the day before, the topic had never been mentioned again.
Not by Gerald, and certainly not by Maisie.
At the time she recalled telling herself she was not petty, and that only pettiness might have made her bring this evidence of his error to Gerald’s attention.
Besides, she wouldn’t want him to feel uncomfortable.
Now, though, she saw it rather differently.
What she now understood was that even then, she had been wary of challenging Gerald.
While knowing how sensitive he was to criticism and to being caught out in a falsehood, she had foolishly thought it endearing – evidence that she was coming to understand the parts of him that others could not see.
She had thought it showed vulnerability. God, I was a fool!
And if Fenton’s actions really had been driven by fear and pride – if his motivation for treating Mrs Lennon so dreadfully had been to protect himself from demonstrating failure and inadequacy, then that pointed to a character flaw so dreadful as to be unforgivable, given the consequences.
Maybe it’s him that has committed the mortal sin today.
The man had killed a baby against the wishes of its mother, and without a sound reason – or at least, without any valid reason that Maisie could discern.
He should have allowed the woman to make her own choice without pressure.
If God had any sense of true justice then it would be Fenton who would be punished, and Mrs Lennon forgiven.
And what did it all tell her about Gerald?
She circled back round to him again. Caught up in the romance of it all, she had excused his tantrums, but maybe she should not have done so.
Maybe, like Fenton, he too had a character flaw that simply could not be fixed.
And maybe he too should not be excused. Maybe .
. . maybe Gerald should not be forgiven.