It Shouldn't Happen to a Midwife! (13 page)

‘It's not size that matters, Seonaid,' I said, giving her a hard look. ‘There's some very small people around here who're givers too.'

Marie was nodding so vigorously it was amazing she didn't play her vertigo card. ‘She's right. So let's put all our talk about leaving where it belongs,' she said, binning a scrap bit of paper, ‘and get your stuff back where it should be. Now, where's your rosary?'

‘When you put it like that, I suppose you're right.' Seonaid jumped up then pulled a face in her mirror. Marie and I exchanged hopeful grins as she gave a little jig. ‘Ha! Maybe you're right and I should give Mider another wee try, but that Matron gets to you, you know. She's so sarcastic it gets under your skin.' Recovery beckoned with another pirouette. ‘Let's go to the pictures. There's a good one on and I'll be in a better mood to sort this room out when we get back.'

‘So what's the film about?' I asked as we headed downstairs.

‘It's called
The Trap
and it's about a mute girl taken by a fur trapper to be his wife but I don't see that happening to any of us.'

‘You'd be right there,' Marie agreed. ‘I don't think we have any fur trappers in Ireland. Let's go!'

‘There's a letter here for you, Nurse Macpherson. I think it's from your mother.' Miss MacCready, splendid in pink, was overseeing her shiny-floored, people-free empire. ‘I'll get it for you right now – you haven't heard from her for a while.'

She went into her booth and unlocked a small glass-enclosed cupboard, scrutinising the envelope with its spidery writing as she handed it over. ‘Ah ha! Looks as if it's been written in a hurry, but maybe in Scotland copperplate's out of fashion. Not like us here where tradition's cherished.'

She might have launched into further Ulster wonders but for the sighting of our outdoor clothes. ‘You're surely not going out tonight of all nights?'

As she wagged a finger, her bracelet jangled in tuneless reproach. ‘D'ye not know there's a Rangers and Celtic football match on?'

‘Here?'

Her look was pitying. ‘No. Glasgow, of course.'

‘It's only a game. Surely there can't be much interest in Scots teams over here.' I doubted if Aberdeen's football team could raise a pulse beyond its city and wondered why somewhere across the water should be any different.

‘Well, if you're not the innocent!' she marvelled. ‘Over here support for the Old Firm's as powerful as religion. The pubs will be full of people watching the match.' I must've continued to look blank for she bunched her fist, slamming it into her hand and toed an imaginary ball. ‘You'll be telling me next I'm a left-footer!' A few hairpins fell out as she shook her head and regained her balance. ‘Ah, Nurse Macpherson, if only you knew!'

There were many things I didn't understand about living here, but I was beginning to realise why the entrance hall, guarded by its ardent nanny with her excessive care and opinions, was continually deserted. It might also explain why Seonaid, and even Marie, were now sprinting for the outside door.

‘We're actually only going to the flicks and they're just down the road.' I was already hurrying after them but, because Miss MacCready looked so anxious, I tried for a jokey, ‘So in our case, it'll be best foot forward.'

‘Just get home before the pubs close. Yez are very young and innocent girls. Still.' Her voice fluted after us.

‘As if we'd go to a drinking place!' said Marie, casting her eyes heavenward and belting her coat so tightly it was surprising she could breathe. ‘That poor woman – she's such a worrier. She'll be dead before her time.'

Hunching her shoulders against a sleety shower blown down from the hills, she linked our arms, making us hurry as she towed us along. ‘Come on, girls, it's freezing out here. I just hope the cinema's a bit warmer.'

‘All that silent baptism's making you power crazy,' grumbled Seonaid but nevertheless sped up. ‘Would you just get back into your cosy shell now?'

The picture house, untroubled by either fresh air or daylight, held in its plush, still atmosphere a hint of splendours past with its faded red curtains and well worn seats. Settling into the warm pleasant fug of a middle row, on sagging seats which creaked at every move, we concentrated on the film, aware there might be more excitement in the back row, but then the screen heroine upped the action, took an axe and aimed it at a block inches away from the sleeping hero.

Marie's arm gripped mine as she pulled herself to the edge of her chair, making it scream in alarm. Then, keeping her eyes glued to the screen, she whispered, ‘D'ye think Seonaid would mind if I covered her record book? It's already beginning to look tatty. Matron won't like that – or maybe she will. Give her another chance to call her into her office.' She paused to check the hero's head was intact. ‘I'd say that was a rude awakening, and I've got some brown paper – if you like I could do yours as well.'

Drama might have been lost on her inside the cinema but it would have been hard to miss outside where, as we joined the audience emptying out onto the pavement, the sound of distant chanting floated down the Falls Road.

Next to us a woman in a sensible coat, the collar turned up against the cold, said to her companion, ‘Ah, Patrick, can you hear that noise? The pubs must be closing. We'll have to hurry. We don't want to get caught up with any of those supporters. Come on!' She sounded worried but was unable to do anything, stuck as she was in a crowd that had the focus of a headless chicken.

Patrick flipped up his anorak hood, consulted his watch and clicked his teeth in annoyance. ‘Your film went on too long. I should have slipped out before that soppy end. I was counting on getting you home and catching up with the football before it actually finished. I know it was just a friendly but still, I'd have liked to have seen Celtic thrashing Rangers.'

‘I wouldn't be too sure of that.' A man, muffled to the hilt with a blue and white scarf, spoke. ‘Rangers are every bit as good, and don't you forget it. That crowd you're hearing,' he nodded in the direction of the distant shouts, ‘will be cryin' 'cause they're backin' losers.' He was short and stocky and had a very thin wife hanging onto his arm.

The two women eyed each other speculatively whilst the men, preparatory to discussing the beautiful game, jutted their chins, squared their shoulders and moved closer to each other.

There was a library nearby capped with stone angels in meditative poses. They looked down on a stirring restlessness. It wasn't a worry for them, but it certainly was for those caught in the middle of it and not appreciative of the finer points of football. Still, it seemed, there was a growing number who were. Each an expert on football and its players, they began to contribute. Influenced by so much sporting chat the formless crowd began to move into combative lines.

That sneaky snow-laden wind tugged at coats and pulled on scarves whilst a bus splashed past, soaking those on the outside of the pavement. As sides were becoming clearer the crowd's murmur grew in disharmony. Women plucked at sleeves as if to hold back action but such restraint was misinterpreted. Jostling broke out. A bottle crashed to the ground, followed by the ominous sight of somebody picking it up and brandishing it. There was a pause whilst the crowd, like some animal suddenly trapped and preparing to lash out, held its breath. Then, into the silence a scream speared the night.

‘Ah, stop now!' It was Seonaid who, covering one eye with one hand was holding up the other in a halt position. ‘Everybody! Me lenses! I've lost a contact lens. Don't any of yez move or you might stand on it!'

All eyes swivelled towards a small figure squatting on all fours frantically patting the street as if she were soothing it. ‘I can't afford to lose it. If you just give me a minute I'm bound to find it – it can't be far away.'

As still as the statues above, the crowd stayed put, fixed on the diminutive figure with the same attention as the hero had given the axe-wielding heroine, until, unable to contain himself, Patrick stepped forward. ‘I'll give you a hand.'

‘Don't move!' yelled the thin wife. ‘Or you'll stand on it.'

‘That's right,' approved Patrick's wife, ‘with feet as big as your mouth, how could you miss?'

Abashed, he melted into the background.

Carefully I hunkered down beside Seonaid. ‘You'll never find it,' I muttered, aware of the crowd on either side, ‘but at least I know how Moses felt or,' I winced, feeling gravel on my palms, ‘maybe even a penitent.'

‘There's more religion about you than you let on,' Marie whispered as she joined us, ‘but it'll be a miracle if we get anything but broken glass and filthy frozen hands. Sacred Heart, I can't believe I'm doing this – and would you just listen to that supporters' noise coming near? We're going to get caught up in even more trouble. What's wrong with specs anyway – at least they'd be easier to find. Now, Seonaid, where did you see it last?'

Undaunted, Seonaid continued patting, apparently not only blind but now deaf to the sound of chanting coming nearer.

‘For God's sake, Wee Doll, would you find that lens?' called someone in a resigned fashion. ‘Then we can all go home. We're beginning to freeze.'

The wind was also searching, looking for small, unprotected spaces and gleefully invading sites of special interest. It had found a resident spot in the small of my back and made me shiver and wonder if the possible signs and symptoms of hypothermia could be linked to fear. If Seonaid's search proved fruitless maybe we'd all be found in the morning, frozen to the spot, suitable candidates to join the angels crowning the library.

Then, like a goal scorer, Seonaid gave a triumphant cry. ‘Found it!' She got up, holding her palm steady with her other hand, turning in a circle and supposing that everybody could see a minute piece of plastic. ‘There! I knew if I just kept trying it'd give itself up. Thanks, everybody. Now we can all go home.'

‘Thank God for that,' said the man in the blue and white scarf, stamping on his feet to restore circulation. ‘You wouldn't by any chance be a nurse?'

‘Yes. Why?'

‘It's the bossiness. But you'd better hurry on up the road. By the sound of that pub crowd, they're not in the mood to be stopped by anybody, least of all a wee nurse like you.' He tapped her lightly on the shoulder then, nudged by his wife, hurried away.

Not to be outdone, Patrick spoke up. ‘We could come with you – make sure you get home all right, we're going that way anyway.' He shook himself as if limbering up but Marie pointed to his wife. ‘Look at your wife now. She's just flagged down that taxi. You'd better hurry or you'll miss it.' She made a prayerful gesture and added, ‘Don't you be worrying about us, there's three of us and with the help of the good Lord that makes four.'

Not one to query divine intervention, Patrick hurried away.

A ragged moon had freed itself from the tethering murk and now shone with a watery light as if beginning a new elemental chapter. Still it was cold, and in its rawness all appetite for blood sport seemed to have evaporated. Desultory chat broke out as the crowd started to disperse, with people hunched in universal complaint about the weather as they either caught buses or walked off, the sound of musical chanting apparently no longer a crowd puller.

‘I haven't much of an ear for it,' I said, lengthening my stride, ‘but that singing's flat. God's choir boys they ain't, and though I don't see how we can avoid them, I really, really don't want to meet them.'

The sound of a bottle landing gave its own discordant pitch. ‘D'you hear that? Sounds as if the game hasn't gone the choristers' way.'

‘And you sound as if you'd have liked them to win,' said Marie, sounding surprised.

‘I don't know who they are but it's only a game,' I shrugged. ‘I don't understand the big deal and frankly I don't care. It wasn't ever such an issue in that sinful city where I trained.'

For a moment, the Falls Road held the emptiness of an alien planet. Quite often and at any time through the day, tank-like prams stuffed with children would be pushed along the street by harassed-looking women, heading out on some urgent mission in thin slippers and curlers anchored by faded headsquares. Now there was nothing but a vocal blob weaving towards us and looming larger and getting louder. Even though Bostock House was near, its distance was beginning to seem insuperable.

‘If we hurry we could beat them to it,' Marie quavered, ‘or maybe they'll just pass us by. It'll look bad if we cross the road just in front of them.'

A figure detached himself from the crowd and, picking up speed, weaved towards us. With a fine disregard for melody he yelled, ‘Look! Women!'

As if it would give us immunity and clinging onto her rosary, Marie squeaked, ‘Girls!'

‘I wish I'd on my Doc Martens,' said Seonaid. ‘I'm thinking they'd be very useful right now. Jasus! I should have left when Matron gave me the chance.'

When I was applying to Belfast to do my training for a bit of adventure and change, I hadn't quite bargained on this level of excitement . Now I was gripped with the same regret as Seonaid. The crowd coming towards us looked so ferocious I thought we might be about to jettison maternity for eternity.

‘Come on! Let's just cross. Now!' Seonaid grabbed our arms, dragging us to the edge of the pavement.

‘Watch!' I cried. A van was hurtling towards us. Then over the sound of the crowd came the screech of its tortured brakes, followed by a terrible silence.

The van had slewed round. Marie was crying, which seemed unneces- sary since Seonaid, apparently sound in wind and limb, was asking the driver what had kept him.