Mr Lynch’s Holiday

28

He waited with the others until the Sister came and let them in. Visiting time started at 6.30. She opened the door at 6.31. Third night in a row she’d kept them waiting. Still making her point.

Kathleen was at the far end of the ward. He went to the cot first.

‘Is he going to wake up soon?’

‘He’s only just gone off.’

‘Oh.’ He leaned over and kissed her.

‘He had his bottle and he was asleep within minutes.’

‘I thought I’d be able to give him his bottle tonight.’

‘Sister said it was better to get it out of the way before visiting time.’

‘She looks at us as if we’re litter blown in off the street. She’d be happier if there were no fathers to deal with at all.’

‘She’s an old boot.’

‘Have they said when you can go?’

‘Maybe tomorrow, or the day after that.’

‘You should both be at home. Not this place.’

‘I wish I was in the General. At least I’d have some pals there.’

He looked at the baby again. ‘How’s he been?’

‘Miserable most of the time. You’d think I was beating him. He pulls a face that would break your heart.’

Dermot smiled, stroking the baby’s face lightly. ‘What about you?’

‘Just a bit tired. Did you bring me anything?’

‘Some magazines.’

She looked at them.

‘What? Did I bring the wrong ones?’

‘No. They’re fine. I’m just sick of magazines. The same rubbish in every one.’

‘Also a box of Maltesers and a bottle of Super Jaffa.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Well, I thought they’d get a better response from you. Are you sure you’re OK? You seem down compared to yesterday.’

‘I’m fine. I just want to go home.’

‘I know, love.’ He looked at the cards on the bedside table. ‘Did you have any visitors this afternoon?’

‘Just Rita Barry.’

‘She talks enough for four people.’

She was quiet for a while.

‘She said something I can’t stop thinking about.’

‘What was it?’

‘She looked at him and said, “Well, God bless him. He’s a little miracle. Just what you were praying for all that time.”’

Dermot looked at her. ‘That sounds like Rita Barry all right.’

‘Is that what she thinks I was doing when she saw me down at church?’

‘What?’

‘Praying for a baby? Asking God for something? Like he’s a shopkeeper?’

‘This is playing on your mind? Something the Barry woman said? God’s sake, Kathleen.’

‘Maybe she’s right.’

He saw now she was worked up.

‘We had all that time. We both worked all the shifts we could and still there was time. I used to pray: if I wasn’t to be a mother, what was I to be? What was his plan? I helped out in the parish. I visited the sick. I typed the newsletter. I arranged flowers and spent hours listening to the twitterings of Rita Barry, Pat Quinlon and Margie Maher, which believe me would try any saint.’ Her voice was louder now. He worried others would hear them.

‘I don’t understand why you’re upset.’

‘But maybe it was all with an ulterior motive in mind. Do you see? Maybe it was all saying: “Look at me, God, I’m a good person, why can’t I be a mother?”’

He rubbed his face. ‘Well, what’s wrong with that? I thought you were supposed to ask God for things you wanted.’

‘Is that all prayer is? Begging letters. I thought it was meant to be a conversation.’

‘I don’t know what you want me to say. You seem to be arguing with yourself.’

‘I don’t want you to say anything.’

She was quiet for a moment before saying: ‘I hold their hand when they go.’

‘Who?’

‘If there’s no family. One of us will sit with them when they’re slipping away. I hold their hand so they’re not alone at the end. I sometimes wonder — is someone waiting to take their hand on the other side? When they pass I search their faces for any sign of knowledge, for a clue. What is it they see, Dermot?’

Nothing, he thought. Nothing at all. He pushed the thought away and took her hand, speaking quietly. ‘Should I talk to the doctor?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s not like that. I’m fine. I’m not blue. I’m happy, you know that, never been happier since he was born …’

‘But what?’

‘It just makes you think, doesn’t it? Birth, death. That’s when you think about these things. When I do anyway. About God. About what it means.’

He wanted then to tell her how much he loved her. He wanted to tell her to forget about God. He tried to think of something to comfort her.

‘Maybe you could try speaking to Father Phelan when you get home? Isn’t that what he’s there for? He must be there for something.’

She smiled at that. ‘I’ve tried to talk to him sometimes in the past, but he never seems to listen.’

Dermot was unsurprised. They didn’t listen. They had no answers.

‘Well, he’s not there for much longer. Maybe the new priest will be better.’

‘Probably another old relic who thinks women are there to make cakes and sing sweetly.’

‘You’ll soon disabuse him of that belief.’

She laughed and he felt a surge of hope. Maybe this was the push she needed. If the lack of a baby had led her to the Church, maybe now she would pull away. End her search for whatever it was she thought she was looking for.

He took his hand from hers and laid it on the baby’s back, feeling the rabbit pulse of his heartbeat. ‘What are we going to call this one?’

She leaned over and stroked the baby’s head. ‘I don’t know. We had so many prepared, but then you see him and none of them seem right at all.’

‘I had Peggy on the phone from the convent last night. She rang to offer her congratulations and tell us that he’d been born on the day of St Polycarp.’

‘Polycarp? What was he, patron saint of fish?’

‘Burned at the stake apparently. When the flames couldn’t touch him, they stabbed him to death.’

‘Good God.’ They both started laughing, becoming momentarily hysterical before getting control of themselves.

She looked at him. ‘I was thinking. If you want to name him Dominic, I’d understand. I’d be happy with that.’

Dermot thought. ‘No. He’s his own man. He deserves his own name.’ He hesitated. ‘But maybe as his second name. I’d like that.’

‘There we are, then. Halfway there.’