15 #3
Deftly, Maisie caught the baby – a healthy boy, who cried lustily within seconds – placing him on his mother’s chest. They cooed over him, listened to Mrs Duffy’s delight, checked her bleeding, blood pressure and temperature, and then Maisie placed the baby briefly in his crib while they both supported Mrs Duffy to deliver the afterbirth.
While Maisie checked it was intact, Alex deployed his stethoscope to listen to the baby, doing a very brief head-to-toe check before handing him back to his mother.
‘He looks absolutely perfect, Mrs Duffy,’ he declared. ‘Congratulations!’
‘Thank you, Doctor! Thank you both! I can’t believe it!
He’s finally here, the wee skitter!’ She addressed the baby fondly.
‘You gave me so much trouble, you know, but this time you finally made it through.’ Tears were streaming down her face as she looked up at Maisie and Alex.
‘All my ones said they’d light candles for me. Well, it worked!’
‘It certainly did!’ said Maisie firmly, noting as she did so that Alex’s features were tellingly immobile. Does he not believe in the power of saying prayers?
* * *
An hour later, as they left the hospital for the day, their shift done, she asked him about it.
‘It was the mention of candles that threw me,’ he said. ‘Like, why should that make a difference?’
‘I dunno, but it does.’ Maisie paused, thinking about this. ‘There’s something really beautiful about lighting a penny candle while saying a wee prayer for somebody. You’re like focused, and calm, and really thinking about them.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Some people would say that to pray you shouldn’t need candles and stuff. That it’s a sort of superstition.’
They had reached the bike shed, and as they retrieved their bicycles Maisie continued the conversation. ‘Well of course you don’t need them. But if it helps people pray, then what’s wrong with that? And besides, it’s not really a superstition. Not like the piseógs. It’s just a good habit.’
‘What does that mean? Pishogs?’ He grinned. ‘Sounds rude!’
‘Ach, they’re only oul charms for good luck. Or bad luck. Nothin’ to do with religion.’ They cycled up the hill towards the road. ‘Like salutin’ a magpie if you see him by himself. Or trying to see your future husband’s name in the apple peel.’
‘Wait. Whoa!’ He was laughing. ‘What are you even talking about? A magpie? And apple peel? Explain!’
So she did. The lone magpie could bring bad luck unless you saluted him three times, and when peeling apples if you managed to get a long piece of peel you would throw it over your shoulder.
‘If you’re not married you have to look and see if it forms a letter.
If it does it’s supposed to be the first letter of the name of your future husband.
Load of nonsense of course, but sure it’s only a bitta craic.
’ She eyed him curiously. ‘Do you not know any of the oul’ piseógs? ’
‘My father doesn’t like superstition. He thinks it’s the work of the devil.
’ He grinned. ‘I do remember my grandparents on my mother’s side being superstitious about certain things, though.
Like the first visitor after New Year. And they used to put some sort of greenery on the door at the end of April. ’
‘Aye, that’ll be the hawthorn. It’s a sort of celebration of the return of spring, I suppose. May is Bealtaine which is one of the nicest months.’ She shuddered. ‘Opposite end of the year to us now. We’re heading for winter, and there’s war again.’
‘Aye.’ He looked sombre, and it occurred to her that she wasn’t sure which was more handsome – laughing Alex or sombre Alex.
‘And there’s nothing we can do about it.’
‘We can pray. And hope.’
‘We can.’ Their eyes met, and again she was breathless. ‘We can also enjoy ourselves now and again. Me and Dan are gonna go to the thing at the Orpheus next week. I think he’s hoping Peggy will come.’ He had an open, hopeful look on his face.
‘What thing?’ Her brow cleared. ‘Oh, the tea dance for the fundraising committee?’ Tea dance. Even the words brought memories flooding back – of London, and dancing with Gerald. Alex was now nodding enthusiastically, but her own emotions couldn’t match his. Instead, her heart lurched.
‘What’s wrong?’ Alex was frowning.
‘Nothing!’ It sounded fake, even to her own ears.
Feck. But why should she stay away, because of memories?
Why should she let Gerald ruin another good thing for her?
She paused, and then heard herself – in her normal voice again, ‘That would be good craic. If Peggy goes, I might go with her.’ She could replace those memories with new ones.
‘We could all go together?’ Alex replied. ‘Safety in numbers and all that!’
‘Aye.’ Strangely, she was no longer thinking about dancing with Gerald. Instead, in her mind it was Alex with his arms around her. She swallowed. ‘So . . . see you on Monday?’
‘I’ll walk with you up to the corner of your street,’ he returned. ‘I’m in no hurry to get home.’
So they talked, of everything and nothing. And when they said goodbye at the corner, Maisie was conscious of an unexpected sadness. Unexpected, but entirely clear in its meaning. She was sad that she wouldn’t see him for two whole days.