It Shouldn't Happen to a Midwife! Read Free

made it sound like a flaw. ‘If it’s not, I’ll be asking if there’s a difference in the rent.’
    But in a rush of confidence Marie had gone over to the bed, patting the pale blue bed cover eiderdown as if to check it was really there. ‘Even if there is, it’d be worth it. I can’t believe my eyes, all this space for just me!’ She clapped her hands then pointed. ‘And, look! Would you not say there’s another miracle! A place for Our Lady.’ She rummaged around in her suitcase and took out a small statue which she held with the care of an antique dealer handling fenced goods.
    Cynthia raised her eyebrows into perfect arches. ‘You mean to put that on the bookshelf? Won’t that leave you short of space for your paperwork and textbooks?’
    â€˜Well, there’s still plenty room for them too,’ I said, wishing Cynthia would pipe down and wondering if the ornament was Ireland’s version of Florence Nightingale. ‘She’ll look well there, but shouldn’t she have a lamp in her hand instead of that plate on her head?’
    â€˜That’s a halo,’ Cynthia said, shooting out a withering look, but Marie’s puzzled expression went as she crossed over to a wide window. She pulled back the swirly patterned curtains, uttering little cries of wonder. ‘And the views! I can’t believe the views.’
    In the glow of city light Belfast was darkly sulking under a pall of fine drizzle and smoke. Probably the winter light didn’t help but it looked big, ugly and industrial with cranes gobbing at every corner. Surrounding hills might have softened the view but right now they were scowling like unattractive heavies. Still, the scene might improve in the morning light and since it appeared to have cured Marie’s vertigo, I couldn’t help but be infected by her happiness.
    â€˜Yes, it’s a fine sight. Nay problem. You’re sorted. Looks as if you’re going to be fine, Marie. And what about you, Cynthia, have you much to unpack?’ Even if she had a very savvy way I felt I should ask. After all, we were supposed to be members of a caring profession.
    â€˜No. I’m used to travelling light. Actually, I’ve done a fair amount of getting about so I’ve got it down to a fine art.’ She gave a modest cough. ‘When work could spare me in London I’d pop over to Paris to visit the parents. They moved there a few years ago. Daddy’s in the property business and—’
    Cynthia’s life history was cut short as a leprechaun knocked on the door and danced in, bringing the tea drinkers with her. They looked about with a benign interest.
    â€˜Well, hello there! I’d say this is another grand place for a party – that is, of course, if you like parties, but sure, doesn’t everybody?’ The sprite’s face was chalk white, her green eyes full of mischief.
    Marie looked shocked. ‘Oh!’ She clasped her hands. ‘Parties! When on earth will we have time for those? They say midwifery training’s awful hard – desperate!’
    â€˜It’s just a matter of application and hard work,’ said one girl, her eye makeup at odds with the tired grey cardigan tenting her from the neck down. ‘When I was standing in for Sister in theatre, it was a worry until I got a bit of experience, then it was so easy I could have done it blindfolded. I’m Margaret, by the way.’ She wrung our hands in a no-nonsense way.
    Resisting all her attempts to flatten it, the imp’s hair stood up in black spikes. ‘Ach now, eyesight’s a quair and handy thing but I’m sure these girls are not wanting to be hearing any of that oulde theatre stuff you’re always on about. Are we not all beginners again?’ She spoke lightly and hopped on dancer’s legs to the window to see out. ‘Some view! We’re lucky – some of the others look over