20 #2
Maisie wasn’t so sure, but understood the focus had to be on Mrs Lennon for now. The priest was talking with her, murmuring prayers, anointing her with holy oils. Maisie moved closer, relieved to hear familiar Latin words. Te absolvo a peccatis tuis. I absolve you from your sins.
Emotion shuddered through her, and she absent-mindedly dashed tears away from her cheeks.
Absolution. Forgiveness. That would mean everything to Teresa Lennon, Maisie knew.
On the way down on the bikes, Father MacLaverty had quizzed her about how the lady had come to be in the water, and Maisie had answered honestly that she didn’t know, but that the nightwatchman had definitely heard her calling for help.
That was important – a sign that, no matter what she was thinking when she went into the water, she had then wanted to live.
For Teresa to be forgiven of her sins, there needed to be enough doubt in the priest’s mind about the possibility that she had committed the sin of despair. And he had now done it – he had given her the Last Rites, including absolution.
And as for that other sin – the one that had driven poor Teresa to despair – there was no need for anyone even to mention it to Father MacLaverty.
The fact that Maisie knew about it was entirely coincidental, and besides, she was bound by confidentiality rules not to divulge clinical information outside the hospital.
Teresa had closed her eyes and now looked peaceful. She would be dead within the hour, Maisie knew. Not just because her body was shutting down. But because she did not wish to live.
Swallowing against the hard, painful lump in her throat, Maisie turned back to the girls. Sensibly, they were huddled in their shawls, but their eyes were wide and their shoulders tense.
‘Thanks, girls. You did a great job, so yous did.’
‘So do we go home now? I hope I don’t get in trouble for being out so late!’ áine looked worried, making Maisie wonder again just how harsh her da was.
‘Aye, yous head on. I need to make sure Alex is all right, and see about informing the woman’s family. If Mammy’s still up, tell her I might not get home for a while.’ They agreed then turned away, disappearing into the darkness with arms linked. They’re good friends for each other.
Father MacLaverty was done. His face tight with emotion, he climbed out of the ambulance. ‘So sad. Such a young woman. Has she family?’
Maisie swallowed. ‘Aye, three wee ones, Father.’ And a fourth, gone forever.
He shook his head sadly. ‘I’ll need to go and see the husband. Do you know where they live?’
‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure, but Alex might know.’ Alex had done Mrs Lennon’s discharge papers, and Peggy told her he had paid for a taxi. He might well remember her address. ‘Alex!’
‘Ah, the young doctor from the céilí,’ Father MacLaverty declared as Alex approached.
‘How do you do, sir.’ Alex’s teeth were literally chattering with the cold.
They shook hands, and the priest frowned. ‘You’re foundered, son.’
‘Ach I’ll be grand. I’ll head for home.’
‘And where’s home?’
‘The Cliftonville Road.’
‘That’s too far to walk, and you soaked. You can either come to the presbytery to get dry and warm, or I can lend you one of these bicycles.’
‘I’ll borrow the bike, and be glad of it. Thanks, Reverend.’
Well, if Father MacLaverty had held any lingering doubts as to Alex’s religion, they had just been dispelled once and for all. Catholics never addressed priests as ‘Reverend’.
Father MacLaverty, however, didn’t miss a beat. ‘No bother, son. Just bring it back whenever you get the chance.’
Maisie felt a strange warmth running through her at Father Mac’s instant acceptance of Alex.
‘I will of course.’
‘Now, do you know Mrs Lennon’s home address?’
‘I do, as it happens. Harrogate Street. Number 5.’
‘Harrogate Street. That’s actually in St Paul’s parish, but I’m sure Father Wallis won’t mind if I follow through and let Mr Lennon know that his wife is on the way to the Royal.’
‘I’ll follow you up there, Father,’ Maisie offered. ‘I can stay with the children and let you both away.’
‘A good idea. Thanks, Maisie. Right, let’s go.’ He and Alex picked up the bikes, and mounted. The ambulance was now moving out, and they kept to the side to let it pass.
‘Here, jump on the crossbar,’ Alex offered. ‘I’ll take you to Harrogate Street.’
Maisie didn’t hesitate, and enjoyed a wonderful – if uncomfortable – ride up the Falls.
Uncomfortable because riding on the crossbar was never easy, but also because she had to resist the urge to put her arms around Alex the whole way up the road.
Instead she sat primly, her legs to one side, leaning against him.
She didn’t care that the cold from his damp, shivering body was seeping into her shoulder and her side.
If he would benefit from a small measure of her warmth, then she would give it gladly.
They passed St Paul’s church on Cavendish Street, the church and its presbytery both shrouded in darkness, and Maisie shivered. Would Father Wallis feel even the slightest measure of guilt for his part in Mrs Lennon’s crisis? She thought not. And Fenton was equally as bad. Her jaw tightened.
‘You all right?’ Alex murmured. ‘You’re all tense suddenly.’
‘Just thinking about Fenton.’ She couldn’t mention Wallis within earshot of Father MacLaverty.
‘Aye. We’ll talk tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow’s Saturday.’
‘We need to talk, though, don’t we?’
She sighed, then said, ‘Aye.’ Thinking quickly, she added, ‘Should we meet in town somewhere?’ Somewhere we won’t be spotted.
‘How about the Royal? The entrance to the tennis courts.’
‘Good idea.’
‘Ten o’clock?’
She frowned. ‘I’ll be helping Mammy with the housework.’
‘Right. One in the afternoon?’
‘Aye.’
Her pulse quickened briefly at the sure knowledge she’d see him the next day. Weekends without him could feel interminable. Just how he had become so essential to her happiness, she could not quite fathom. But he was. Dangerously essential.