20
‘Where is she?’ Alex was already running towards the unknown man. ‘I can swim!’
‘Reservoir. Bottom of Broadway on the right.’ He thrust his lamp into Alex’s hand, and then Alex was gone, running down Broadway.
They had all turned to follow – the girls walking quickly rather than running, to accommodate the man, who was breathless.
A woman, in the water. In a reservoir. At eleven o’clock at night. This is not good.
‘Is she alive?’ As they hurried after Alex, Maureen voiced the fear they all shared.
‘She was, a couple of minutes ago. Shouting for help, she was. But the walls of the reservoir are pure straight, and I knew if I went in after her there’d be two dead instead of one. All I could think to do was run for help. Thank God you were passing – saved me having to knock doors!’
‘How come you heard her?’
‘I’m the nightwatchman in the Damask Mill.
Was making my rounds out on the road when I heard the splash – that was her going in.
A minute later I heard her shouting for help and I run over there, but I could do nothing for her.
She’s only been in the water a few minutes.
Hopefully that young fella will get her out. ’
Or he might drown too. ‘How’s he supposed to do that, if the walls are smooth?’ Maisie’s tone was sharp, anxiety threatening to overcome her.
‘There’s steps over the far side, but he’d need to get your woman over to them. I couldn’t have done that meself, and she was panicking too much to be able to try and get over there.’
‘Aye. But Alex won’t know where the steps are in the dark either.’
‘No.’
They were now running, heading down Broadway – the huge Damask Mill looming over them to their left and the dark emptiness of allotments on the right.
Just a couple of minutes later they entered the yard around the reservoir, which sat at the junction of the Clowney and the Blackie rivers – rivers which mostly now ran under the streets and roads of Belfast. They were both part of the Blackstaff River, which fuelled many of the old mills in West Belfast.
The sounds of splashing seemed magnified in the darkness.
But was it Alex making them, or the woman?
‘Alex!’ Maisie shouted, panic beginning to rise within her.
God, what if he had drowned trying to save her?
What if beautiful, lovely Alex was even now lying dead at the bottom of the reservoir?
Her chest hurt even thinking about it. ‘Alex!’
‘I have her!’ His voice was faint, his breath tight with effort. ‘She’s unconscious, but I think she’s still alive.’
‘This way!’ The nightwatchman had picked up the discarded lamp and was now heading to the far side of the small reservoir. He stopped, turning towards them, pale as a ghost in the hooded light of the lamp. ‘The steps are here!’
The three girls followed him, being careful not to fall into the water themselves in the darkness. Very few people round here had ever learned to swim, so they were all wary of places with deep water. How on earth had this poor woman – whoever she was – ended up in the reservoir?
A minute later the man was pulling the woman out, and then Alex – drenched – was climbing out afterwards.
Maisie allowed herself to exhale, then hurried to where Alex was already working on the lady using the techniques they had all been taught, laying her on her stomach with her head on her forearm and applying pressure to her back in the hope of expelling the water from the woman’s lungs.
Maisie crouched beside him, and thankfully the nightwatchman held up the lamp to illuminate the scene more effectively.
Maisie was searching for a pulse at the woman’s neck, frowning in concentration, and conscious of the water dripping from both Alex and the woman, water that was now forming a black pool around them in the cold November air.
The woman looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t think about her identity right now.
‘Faint pulse,’ she declared. ‘Very slow.’
Nodding grimly, Alex continued his efforts, and a moment later the lady cough-vomited, spewing water to the ground. He sat back, listening for a moment, and then declared, ‘She’s breathing!’
Together Maisie and Alex rolled the lady on to her side, exchanging a silent glance. The woman remained in mortal danger, they knew – not only from whatever water and dirt remained in her lungs, but from the cold.
‘We’ll need to get her warmed up,’ Alex said tersely, turning to the nightwatchman. ‘Have you blankets or anything?’
‘Nothing like that, sorry.’ He paused. ‘How did you know how to do that? Like, get the water out of her.’
Alex hesitated, so Maisie said it. ‘He’s a doctor.’ Removing her coat, she placed it over the woman, and the girls added their shawls. Not enough.
The man whistled in awe, then blessed himself. ‘So you were exactly the right person to come along the road there now.’
‘I dunno about that,’ said Alex tersely. ‘She could die yet. Secondary drowning, and the cold.’
‘Right.’ Maisie turned to Maureen and áine. ‘Can you go to the houses at the top of the road? We need more layers to keep her warm. Alex too.’ He might not have drowned, but he was at risk of hypothermia too. Lovely Alex. Brave Alex.
As the girls sped off, the nightwatchman informed them that there was a telephone in the mill – only to be used in emergencies, but this clearly met that threshold.
‘I’ll leave you the lamp,’ he said, ‘and I’ll call for an ambulance.
Mebbe I shoulda done that first, but I knew if I didn’t get somebody to get her out quick there’d be no point. She’d have been a goner.’
‘You did the right thing,’ Alex said soberly. ‘She would.’
Off he went, leaving Maisie and Alex with their patient. She hugged him, uncaring of the cold, damp water now soaking her dress, then went to take the lamp closer to the woman. Bending, she shone it directly in the woman’s face, then gasped.
‘What? What is it?’ Alex bent beside her, his teeth chattering.
But Maisie couldn’t work out how to answer him.
It was too painful even to explain, as her mind figured out what must have happened.
That whatever had occurred tonight may not have been a mistake.
Alex pulled himself forward, so he could also see the woman’s face, clearly realising he wouldn’t get a response from Maisie. Slowly, realisation dawned on his face.
‘It’s Mrs Lennon,’ he said sombrely.
They exchanged a look filled with dawning understanding. That bastard, Fenton! Maisie thought. This is all on him. ‘God help her!’ she managed, and blessed herself.
A few minutes later Mrs Lennon stirred, moaning softly, and Maisie knelt on the ground beside her.
‘Mrs Lennon, it’s Maisie the midwife. You were in the water, but we got you out.
’ She wanted to add that Mrs Lennon would be fine, but she knew it wasn’t true.
Unlike Alex, whose body was now racked with shivering, Mrs Lennon was dangerously still.
Hypothermia. Her body was shutting down, and unless help arrived very, very soon, she wouldn’t make it.
‘Eeess!’ Mrs Lennon was trying to speak. ‘Eeeeessss!’ Her tone was urgent, but Maisie couldn’t understand her. ‘Not Waaalllsss!’ Not Wallis? Priest!
‘She wants a priest.’ But not Father Wallis. That, Maisie could understand. ‘I’ll go and get Father MacLaverty, Mrs Lennon,’ she said loudly. ‘All right?’
The woman grunted an assent, and Maisie rose. ‘I’m sorry, I have to leave you, Alex. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘Just go. I’ll be fine.’ He kissed her, his lips cold as the grave, and the sick feeling in her stomach intensified. Dear God, please keep him safe. Keep them both safe.
The nightwatchman was outside the mill, and called to her in the starlight. ‘Ambulance on its way.’
‘Thanks. I’m away to get the priest for her.’
‘Ah, no.’ He knew exactly what she was getting at. ‘I hoped we’d saved her.’
‘If the ambulance comes quick, it still might work out.’ Maisie heard the doubt in her own voice.
‘Aye, please God. I’m gonna have to stay here now – don’t want to get fired, like.’
‘No. Of course.’ Jobs were precious.
It took over ten minutes to get back to St John’s, and another five for Father MacLaverty to gather what he needed.
He had a couple of bicycles, though, which meant they sped back to the reservoir together in only a few minutes.
What a strange life priests have. After the céilí, poor Father Mac had probably been looking forward to a good night’s sleep, and now this.
By the time they arrived back, an ambulance was there, and the scene was lit with four hooded lamps – the angle of the lights turned down, yet still providing effective illumination.
The driver and the stretcher man were currently lifting Mrs Lennon on to the stretcher.
She was conscious, and was pulling at her clothes as if trying to take them off, Maisie saw – a sign of how far the hypothermia had progressed.
Sadly, it was now highly unlikely she could be saved.
Father MacLaverty climbed into the ambulance, placing a green stole around his neck as he did so. While the other man secured the stretcher inside, the priest began the Last Rites, and the driver turned his attention to Alex, who was standing shivering by the doors.
Maureen and áine were picking up blankets and shawls – all discarded in a pile.
‘Here’s your coat, Maisie. It’s damp, sorry.’
‘Thanks, love.’ Maisie shrugged it on, then gave both girls a quick hug. The effects of the low temperature were amplified by the damp coat. I’m cold. They all were. But none of them were dangerously cold. Not like Alex and Teresa Lennon.
‘Here, put them blankets on this fella!’ The driver was already placing a blanket round Alex’s shoulders. ‘Do you want to go to the Royal too – get checked out?’
Alex shook his head. ‘I’ll be grand once I get dry and warm.’