Another Kind of Life (34 page)

‘We must be going, James. It’s late.’

Her husband looked at her in astonishment. He was just about to reply when something in his wife’s expression must have stopped him.

‘Aye, of course, of course. Lovely evening, Hannah, Charles – thanks so much. Looking forward to the next one already!’

A few moments in the hall, a friendly wave, a pause until they turned the corner out of sight. Charles shut the door. He followed Hannah back into the drawing room.

‘I was worried, Charles,’ she said quietly. ‘Is anything wrong?’

He patted the sofa beside him, his expression almost normal, but she had the sense he was making an effort.

‘Nothing for you to worry about, my dear. I’m sorry I couldn’t get word to you.’

She waited. He said nothing, just went through the ritual of filling and lighting his pipe. She could wait for as long as it took.

‘We lost a building contract today,’ he said, puffing, keeping his eyes intently on the bowl of his pipe, cupping his hands around it. ‘It was a big one, so we were a wee bit
disappointed.’

Hannah knew he was keeping his voice deliberately low, his attitude calm. But she was his wife, she had the right to know, to share it with him, no matter how bad it was.

‘Why did you lose it? Do you know?’

‘Aye. To be sure, I know. There’s no mystery about that.’

‘Can you tell me?’

She had never seen him like this before. He was dangerously quiet. No teasing, no mockery. It was as though he had retreated somewhere, far away from everything. Suddenly, he seemed to make up
his mind.

‘Och, it’s just business, Hannah. Nothing for you to worry your wee head about. Haven’t you enough on your plate?’

He patted her stomach, smiling at her. She felt relieved: something of his old manner had returned. She wouldn’t push him any further. She had learned of late that the more she pushed, the
more he dug his heels in. He would tell her in his own good time, and she would have to be content with that.

‘M
ARY,
M
ARY, COME
quickly, please!’

Startled, Mary dropped the bundle of clothes on her way to the laundry sink and looked around her. Miss Hannah’s voice seemed to have come from somewhere very near.

‘Mary, where are you!’

The voice was higher-pitched now, frantic. Upstairs; she was calling from upstairs.

‘Coming now!’

Dear God, Mary thought, don’t let anything be wrong. Memories of the Long household started to crowd in on her. Impatiently, she pushed them away.

‘Don’t fret, now, I’m on me way!’

She ran up the stairs, cursing silently as she stumbled in her eagerness. Miss Hannah’s voice had sounded terrified. At least it wasn’t the middle of the night, and Nurse Walker was
on standby only two streets away.

Mary reached the landing to see Hannah standing in front of her, her long white nightgown soaking wet to below her knees, streaked unmistakably with blood. She was shaking, her eyes two
startling pools of blue in a pale, terrified face. Mary instantly became calm.

‘It’s all right, Miss Hannah. Yer waters have broke. It means the baby’s ready.’

She smiled encouragingly, leading the frightened young woman back into her bedroom. She had a sudden rush of pity for her: she was only a girl, herself.

She settled her on the bed, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, rubbing her arms to stop the shivering.

‘This’ll be a considerate wee wain, arrivin’ at midday instead o’ the wee small hours o’ the mornin’!’

She was rewarded with a weak smile. Hannah’s eyes were tearful now, her face not so frozen.

‘Are you sure everything’s all right?’

‘As right as rain,’ Mary promised her. ‘Now you sit tight for five minutes, an’ I’ll be back with Nurse Walker.’

‘No – don’t leave me! Don’t go, Mary, please!’

Her hands clutched at the sleeves of Mary’s dress.

Mary knelt on the floor and took Hannah’s two hands in hers.

‘Deliverin’ babies is the midwife’s work: lookin’ after them is mine! I promise I’ll be back before ye know it.’

Finally, Hannah nodded. Mary fled before she had time to change her mind. She felt wildly excited. She had shared this child with Miss Hannah, shared all the joyful anticipation of its arrival
as much as a doting aunt. And Miss Hannah had promised, if it was a wee girl, to give her the second name of Cecilia.

The whole room was filled with pain. It didn’t matter if she stood, or tried to walk, or even knelt on the ground on all fours with Mary rubbing her back. No matter what
way she lay or turned, there was no escaping it. Hannah couldn’t bear any more of this. Tomorrow, she’d come back again tomorrow.

‘Please, Nurse Walker,’ she begged. ‘Just let me rest for a little while, just a little.’

Mary sat behind her on the bed, her strong arms linked in Hannah’s, her warm body a comfort, something solid and grounded to lean against.

‘We’re nearly there, Mrs MacBride, nearly there!’ Nurse Walker’s voice was loud, encouraging. ‘We can see the wee one’s head. Just a few more pushes and
we’ll be there, so we will!’

Mary’s face was pressed to hers, her cheek warm and firm.

‘Ye’re doin’ so well, Hannah; don’t give up now. Pretend ye’re usin’ my strength – push, now!’

With one huge, last effort, Hannah drew breath, kept her chin down as Nurse Walker had shown her, and pushed, hearing herself groan as though from a great distance.

‘Well done! That’s the head now – what a dotey wee face!’

The midwife’s voice was triumphant. Mary embraced Hannah warmly from behind, finding she could no longer speak. She thought she had never seen anything so magical, so simply wonderful, in
her whole life. Hannah began to laugh as the baby seemed to turn around of its own accord, its small red face suddenly visible, all its tiny features squeezed together with indignation.

‘One more push, now – the shoulders’ll slide out easy enough!’

Hannah was rewarded with a high-pitched wail.

‘It’s a wee girl, with a fine pair o’ lungs!’

‘Look at the length o’ them legs!’

‘Let me see her!’

Nurse Walker was bending low over the infant, her hands moving so swiftly that Hannah couldn’t make out what she was doing. Then, grinning from ear to ear, the elderly woman handed her a
tiny bundle, swaddled tight in a white cotton blanket.

‘Now, just once more, and we’re done.’

Hannah looked up in alarm.

‘Twins?’ she gasped.

‘No, you wee goose – the afterbirth!’

All three women laughed. Mary couldn’t contain herself any longer.

‘Congratulations, Hannah, well done to you! What a wee beauty she is!’

Then she blushed. In her delight, she had forgotten all formality, forgotten completely that Hannah was her employer, neither her friend nor her sister. Hannah’s eyes never left her
daughter’s face. Her hand sought Mary’s, fumbling among the sheets and towels behind her.

‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Baby Eileen, say hello to Mary. Mary, I’d like you to meet Eileen Cecilia MacBride.’

Hannah squeezed Mary’s hand.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For everything.’

M
AY’S EYES WERE
gritty with sleeplessness. The trip from Paris had exhausted her. She had hardly slept the night before, every mile of the
rattling train journey putting more and more distance between her and her hopes. Even at Calais, her eyes kept looking for a miracle, her neck straining as she searched the crowds for the sight of
a tall, rangy figure making his way rapidly through the throngs to claim her. It had not happened, and she was angry at herself for the heights of her ridiculous, romantic hopes.

Alone in her compartment, she had cried for the first time since Madame had told her she was sending her home. Some instinct had made her steely, refusing that woman the pleasure of seeing her
defeated. She had cried for most of the journey, and now she felt simply empty: as though some vital part of her had leached away during the night.

She had kept her eyes down for most of the ferry crossing to Belfast. A woman with a small child, then a well-dressed couple – May would respond to neither advance, watching with relief as
they drifted away from her, the one looking upset, the others puzzled. She didn’t care how she appeared to the other passengers: she would never see them again. She wanted no talk, no
kindness, no contact with anyone. They had all left her alone with her book. She had to remember to turn the pages from time to time to complete the impression of concentration, of a woman
absorbed. The grey, freezing morning in Liverpool had seemed to her exactly right: somehow she wouldn’t have been able to bear it if the sun had shone.

She had gone out on deck as soon as she had heard the first booming warnings from the Reed Horn on East Twin Island. Fog, as usual. A thick, grey mass of it hung above the city; May could
already smell the greasy fumes of factory chimneys, could feel the heavy air insinuate itself into her mouth, her nose, her lungs: she imagined it coating her insides with soot, layer after layer
of it until she would become sick again, coughing and wheezing her way back to childhood.

She counted the buoys which now guided the ferry into port. All of them were lit, their misty beams rising and falling gently on the rolling swell. Eight black cans on the County Down side, nine
red ones on the Antrim side. At some points along the Victoria Channel, all the buoys looked the same dark colour, with nothing to distinguish them in the murky water. They looked crusty, May
thought, like dried blood.

The ferry announced its impending arrival, and it was as though all the sounds from the quayside were suddenly unleashed. As they drew closer, the shrill sound of sirens, the groans of distant
machinery and the creaking of timber shattered the watery silence. It was as if all the looming shadows of cranes and gantries in Belfast’s shipyards had suddenly come to life, stretched
themselves and roared into wakefulness. May was startled by the noise and the jostling and hurrying that now surrounded her on the deck. People were crowding against the railings, pointing and
shouting at the vessels that lay side by side at the quay. Towering above them all, pushing against the grey skyline, was the huge hull of a ship under construction. May thought she had never seen
anything so vast and terrifying in her life.

‘It’s the
Celtic
, it’s the
Celtic
!’

Excited voices were shouting to each other, forefingers jabbing the air in the direction of the monster. It seemed to her to be lying in wait – like some enormous beached whale hoping for
the next tide. It made her feel dwarfed and vulnerable; looking up at the stocks made her dizzy and slightly sick. She wanted to be away from here, wanted to be safe within Hannah’s
walls.

Quickly, she began to gather her things. Most of the other passengers were still facing the hull of the
Celtic
, unable to draw their eyes away from it. Belfast’s pride: a symbol of
its growing industrial might. ‘The biggest ship in the world,’ she heard the men saying. ‘Aye, bigger even than the
Oceania
.’ Their voices congratulated each other on
its vastness, as though their citizenship made them somehow personally responsible for this marvel. They kept repeating to each other over and over again what they must already know. She would take
advantage of their distraction and make her way to the gangway. With any luck, she would not be delayed disembarking. She had her money and the piece of paper with Hannah’s address folded
together inside her glove. She knew that Charles would come for her if he could, but she was not to wait if he were not there before her. In a way, she hoped he wouldn’t be. She wanted to
look neither right nor left, but straight ahead to where Hannah’s last letter had promised a line of carriages would be waiting. She wasn’t ready for conversation and questions, not
yet, no matter how kind. She just wanted to be with Hannah; that was home for now.

May welcomed the time alone on the last part of the journey to 107 High Street, Holywood. The small space inside the carriage was comforting, allowing her to disappear. It was
as though the carriage became her carapace, protecting and sheltering her until she was able to compose her face and her thoughts for meeting her sister. She would tell her everything in time, of
course, but this was Hannah’s moment, Hannah’s joy which must not be tainted.

Her sister was waiting for her. May smiled to herself when she saw her, imagined her standing in just that position since early morning. A swift movement of muslin at the porch window and the
front door was suddenly flung open. And there she was, arms open wide. May hugged her sister wordlessly, realizing how fiercely she had missed both Hannah and Ellie, suddenly wanting never to be
that long apart again.

‘May – welcome home!’

‘Oh, it’s so good to be back! Let me take a look at you!’

She held Hannah at arm’s length from her, the older girl looking suddenly shy. Her face was rounder, softer than before, her figure fuller. May thought the change suited her.

‘You look wonderful,’ she said softly. ‘And I can’t wait to see baby Eileen.’

‘Aren’t you tired?’ asked Hannah anxiously. She looked at her sister’s pale, strained face and May caught the sudden fear in her eyes. Hannah knew that there was
something wrong – something more than the fatigue brought on by a long journey. This was not the moment. May shook her head vigorously.

‘That can wait. I can’t.’

She was already taking off her bonnet, shrugging her way out of her travelling coat. From behind, a pair of strong hands lifted the awkward garment and May found her arms slipped away easily
from the imprisonment of the heavy sleeves.

She turned around to see who had helped her.

Hannah indicated a strong, capable-looking girl, whose expression instantly reminded May of Lily.

‘This is Mary. Mary, this is my sister, May.’

May saw that the girl’s face was at once young and somehow older than its years, her hair already lightly brushed with grey.