27
Cautiously, Alex made his way through the dimly-lit hallway of his own home. No one seemed to be around, and the front door lock hadn’t been changed – or not yet, at any rate.
Tiptoeing up the stairs – and skipping the third stair from the bottom, which creaked – he made his way safely to his bedroom, looking out on the familiar starlit view over Belfast before closing his blackout curtains and turning on the big light.
Confusion came over him as he looked around his bedroom.
Here he had played with toys as a wee lad, had done countless pieces of homework, had dreamed his dreams. Never could he have imagined the possibility of his family cutting him off.
Yet this was real. Every time he allowed himself to recall the implacable tone of his father’s voice in the car, he felt sick.
Maybe I’m exaggerating. Maybe now his father had calmed down .
. . That was hope, not expectation. He knew his father, knew his stubbornness, his need for control.
He was a good man, even though sometimes Alex and his mother had to find ways to work around him.
But this was much, much worse than Alex choosing not to go into the family business.
Father’s religion – and the politics intrinsically entwined with it – was part of who he was.
Well, if Alex was going to be kicked out, then there were things he wanted to take with him, as well as clothes.
Personal things. The photo album on his shelf.
The silver-framed photographs from his bedside table – his parents, his grandfather, a family group.
His medical textbooks. Trying not to think about it too much, he pulled a canvas bag out from the back of the wardrobe and began to pack.
That done, he went to bed, though sleep was hard to find. He kept waking up, his mind racing and his heart pounding, as if he was in imminent danger. But there was no fierce dog attacking him or bull chasing him. The danger was the rift with his family, and he had no idea what to do about it.
Morning came, finally, and he rose feeling old and tired.
He washed and dressed, then made for the kitchen, where Mrs Sinclair was bustling about as normal.
He often skipped formal breakfast, and she was used to doing him some scrambled eggs and toast before he headed to the hospital.
This morning, though, everything was different.
Everything he saw and heard and did seemed sad, poignant.
Would he ever see Mrs Sinclair again? She had been part of their household since he was a child, her kitchen a haven of informality and warmth.
He watched her prepare his parents’ breakfasts, forcing himself to eat his eggs as she brought food through to the dining room where, he had no doubt, his father was currently eating in glowering silence.
He didn’t lift his head when he heard the front door slam. That was Father leaving for work, much earlier than usual. But why? Was there to be no confrontation this morning? Or had they agreed that Mother would tell him to go?
Sure enough, when he was passing through the hall on the way back upstairs, Mother emerged from the dining room, following him wordlessly.
Of course; no rows in front of Mrs Sinclair.
He continued upstairs, conscious of his mother’s near-silent steps behind him.
Reaching his bedroom, he picked up his suit jacket and was just shrugging into it when Mother knocked and entered, her gaze going straight to the canvas bag, which was stuffed full of the items he’d prioritised.
‘So you’re going to be stubborn about this, then?’
‘It’s not stubbornness, Mother,’ he returned quietly. ‘I have to see this through.’
‘You’re breaking his heart.’
‘Aye, and my own along with it.’
There was pain in her eyes. Pain that he had put there.
‘I’m sorry. I truly am.’
She swallowed, then gestured towards the bag. ‘There’s no need for that. I spoke to your father last night. While you’re walking out with this girl he will tolerate you living here but he does not wish to speak to you.’
Relief flooded through Alex. He inclined his head. ‘I’ll eat in the kitchen, or here in my room.’
‘Just to be clear. This doesn’t mean I approve of what you’re doing. You are betraying us – both of us. This is not how we reared you.’
He frowned. ‘You reared me to do the right thing. I love you and Father, but I love Maisie too.’
Her expression hardened. ‘Well, you may snap out of it, before you lose your family forever. I told your father that this is likely to be a passing thing, so I’m relying on you getting a bit of sense soon.’
Not gonna happen. Alex didn’t say it out loud, but he knew it in his heart. ‘I better go,’ he said evenly. ‘Work.’
Mother turned and left the room without another word.
Alex stood there for a moment, feeling disorientated.
While relieved that he wasn’t being put out on his ear, he knew the time ahead would be hard.
Father was good at being angry, good at holding onto it.
And Mother would be stuck in the middle, hating the tension in the house but preferring that to the alternative, which was Alex leaving.
And as for poor Granda, he would hate the fact there had been a falling-out.
He sighed, then made his way downstairs, picking up his bicycle from the shed and heading down the Cliftonville towards Girdwood, across the Shankill and down past the weaving factory and flax mill on Northumberland Street.
Finally, the hospital came into view, and his heart lifted a little.
Maybe things weren’t as bad as they might have been.
His parents knew he was walking out with Maisie, and he hadn’t been kicked out. Or not today, anyway.
He made straight for Russell’s sitting room, where his boss was sipping tea and looking unusually tired.
‘I need you in delivery suite this morning, Lowe. That young girl is in labour.’
‘Maggie-Ann? Did her waters go?’
‘They did. About four hours ago. I was called in.’
‘Right.’ The team would not have done that lightly.
‘So far she’s doing all right, but I want you to stay with her. I have a theatre list this morning. Send for me if there are any signs of a placental abruption.’
‘Of course.’ As he made his way to the labour ward, he went over the signs in his mind.
Continuous pain in the mother’s abdomen or lower back.
Vaginal bleeding. Rigid, ‘woody’ uterus.
Maternal tachycardia or other signs of medical shock.
Foetal distress. Bracing himself, he spoke to Sister Higgins, who told him Maggie-Ann was in room 1 – the room that was closest to the theatres. They all knew the risk.
‘Midwife Canavan is with her, and has decided to stay on after her shift ends.’
‘I see.’ That suggested Maisie thought there wasn’t long to go – it wouldn’t make sense for her to stay too long, as she would be on night duty again tonight.
It also meant that he and Maisie would be caring for Maggie-Ann together.
They loved it when that happened, and this was an important case.
Between himself and Maisie, he hoped they could help Maggie-Ann through what would undoubtedly be a very challenging day.
He entered room 1 as quietly and discreetly as he could manage.
Maggie-Ann was standing by the bed with her back to him, Maisie by her side.
Turning her head, Maisie gave him a welcoming smile, but didn’t speak to him.
Instead she said soothingly, ‘Maggie-Ann, the doctor is here. Just so you know. You don’t have to change anything.
Just keep breathing like you have been. You’re doing so, so well.
’ After waiting for another moment to make sure Maggie-Ann was still calm and trance-like, she walked quietly towards Alex.
‘Mother’s observations all normal so far,’ she told him quietly.
‘No bleeding, dizziness, or steady pain.’
He nodded. ‘Heart rate?’
She told him, and he relaxed somewhat. ‘Good. Foetal observations?’
‘Baby is head down, not much movement.’
‘Heart heard?’
‘Aye, but . . .’ She grimaced. ‘A bit slow at times.’
‘How far along do you reckon she is?’
‘Good contractions with not much time between them. Shouldn’t be too long until she’s pushing.’
‘Aaaagh!’ As if to prove Maisie right, Maggie-Ann gave a strangled sound, and Maisie hurried to her side. ‘What’s happening, Maisie? What’s going on?’ The girl sounded terrified, but Maisie spoke calmly.
‘It’s all right, Maggie-Ann. This is normal. It’s part of it. Your body is ready to push the baby out soon.’
‘I want my mammy!’ she wailed, and Maisie put an arm around her.
‘Your mammy will be here soon. She said she’d come about nine, once she gets the wee ones to school.’
‘Is it nine yet?’
Alex glanced at the clock on the wall. Eight fifteen.
‘Nearly. Now when the next pain comes, just you let your body push away. You’re doing great, Maggie-Ann. You’re so strong. You can do this.’
Maggie-Ann was struggling to stand, so after the next contraction Alex and Maisie helped her onto the bed where she knelt, leaning on the bars of the headboard.
He took the opportunity to try to locate the foetal heartbeat, but couldn’t find it.
Another contraction came while he was still searching, so he respectfully stepped back.
There was no point in persisting, anyway.
The baby might be still alive, but if so, it wouldn’t live long past birth.
Half an hour later the child was born, its head flat and misshapen, the rest of its body perfectly formed. A wee boy. A wee boy who didn’t take a breath. Sadness arced through him. The baby’s origins were not its fault, and a wee life had been lost today.
Swiftly, Maisie wrapped him up in a hospital towel, handling him with great care and respect as she brought him out and passed him to Sister. Maggie-Ann had been adamant that she didn’t want to see the baby, which, given the history and the child’s abnormalities, was probably for the best.
Alex stayed with Maggie-Ann, still worried about placental bleeding. Thankfully, the placenta came away in the usual manner, with no significant bleeding. Maggie-Ann had been lucky.
Half an hour later, Maisie had tended to Maggie-Ann’s personal care, and her mother – who had just arrived – was ushered in.
‘Ah, Mammy!’ Maggie-Ann was crying. ‘Thank God it’s out of me. It didn’t live, you know. Died before it was born.’
‘Aye, they’re after telling me.’ She hugged her daughter. ‘You’ll be all right now. Good girl.’
Alex glanced at Maisie, who gave him a meaningful nod, and they slipped out quietly.
‘Thanks, Midwife Canavan,’ said Sister Higgins crisply, when she saw them emerge from the room. ‘It was good of you to stay with her.’
‘Ah, it was no bother,’ Maisie said quietly, her eyes sad as she placed her discarded apron into the laundry basket. ‘I couldn’t have left her at that stage.’
Alex finished adding a final note to the woman’s file, which was at Sister’s desk. ‘Does Mr Russell know the outcome?’ he asked Sister.
‘He does, aye. Said he was relieved there were no unexpected complications.’
Only the expected ones. A stillbirth was always distressing, no matter the circumstances.
Sister straightened. ‘Right! I’m due to give Midwife Gildea a break in room 3. I’ll see you tonight, Midwife Canavan.’
‘Aye, see you then.’
‘I’ll go and speak to Russell while you get your stuff,’ Alex murmured to Maisie. ‘Meet you outside in five minutes?’
‘Perfect.’
Russell wanted all the details, so it was nearer ten minutes later by the time Alex got outside, but Maisie was waiting for him at their usual spot by the corner.
They couldn’t hug or kiss here, for there were any number of hospital windows eyeing them, but he was able to send her warmth with his eyes. ‘How are you, love?’
Her eyes softened. ‘I’m all right. Better for seeing you.’
‘What about your ones?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s confusing. Mammy still hasn’t told Da. She’s ragin’ with me, like, but for some reason she’s decided not to tell him.’
‘Probably hoping this will blow over.’ Briefly, he told her what had happened with his own parents.
‘So, that’s good, right? They haven’t disowned you?’
‘Not completely, no.’
‘And my ones haven’t either. God, wouldn’t it be amazing if they came round?’
‘Course it would, but we can’t get our hopes up. My father . . .’ He grimaced. ‘He’s stubborn, so he is.’
She looked thoughtful. ‘In our house I reckon my ma is the boss on stuff like this. Neither of them like it, but if she came round, he might too.’ She shook her head. ‘What am I even sayin’? They’ll never come round. My mammy is so, so holy. Her faith is everything to her.’
His mind flicked to his own family. While they attended church like they were supposed to, they weren’t particularly into it all. That mattered. He tucked the information away, to think about it later. Another day.
‘Look, we’ve survived so far. They know, and we haven’t been kicked out yet. That’s something.’
‘It is.’ Her eyes searched his face. ‘How are you holding up?’
‘The thing is,’ he said slowly, thinking it through, ‘what we just did in there, for that girl – it kinda puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?’
‘It does.’ She smiled. ‘And this is why I love you, Alex Lowe. You’re so wise, and your heart is so big.’
‘Away on, and don’t be starting that oul nonsense!’ he declared, laughing, before saying goodbye and returning to work. Hope, irrational as it was, couldn’t be fully vanquished.