It Shouldn't Happen to a Midwife! (16 page)

‘How did you manage to keep it a secret?' I asked.

Her shrug conveyed a world-weary disdain for the question, whilst hinting at a score unsettled. ‘He was bigger than me and always grabbed the bike first. Whenever I tried to have a go, he'd shove me off. After a while, I just stopped trying.'

‘You've had a serious omission in your educational development,' I said, enjoying this brief spell of superiority, ‘and Marie and I are here to help fill the gap. It's actually dead easy. We'll show you. So let's go. Thank goodness Jo's on duty. We'll get the bike shed key from reception without the MacCready third degree.'

Outside, music floated faintly from the direction of the medical residence with a distant burst of laughter, making the atmosphere a bit more cheerful than it had been on our last visit. Light spilt onto the grassed area. Shrubs hunkered together like gossips discussing the attendees whilst the occasional couple, bent on intimacy amongst the trees, looked for as much privacy as us, their smothered giggles somehow involving us in their conspiracy.

I turned the key in the bike shed lock, swung the door open and saw a line of bikes. They weren't quite original boneshakers, but as I handled one, quickly realised were faithful to the original in terms of weight.

‘Choose your weapon!' At least their tyres were rubber and they had three speed gears. However, Margaret was looking so apprehensive it was doubtful she appreciated such refinements. ‘It's all to do with confidence. Isn't that right, Marie?'

‘Oh, surely. Come on, Margaret, it's only a bicycle.' Marie wheeled one to the door. ‘Is this one not just waiting for you?' She patted the seat in an encouraging way, her smile at its most seraphic. ‘If you get on, we'll both hold it. Come on now, that's a good girl.' Marie's wheedling tone should have had Margaret doing a saddle vault but she just stood stock still, staring – even trembling. Her gauntlets waved in the air.

‘I can't do it, I really can't.' Her voice verged on hysteria whilst she stood bracing herself as if preparing to fight off an attacker.

‘Oh, just get on!' I said, throwing patience out the window. It was cold standing about and I could have been in bed instead of out here in a whistling wind, gripping onto the handlebars of a lead weight, trying to convince somebody that getting onto something they were likely to fall off was a progressive move. ‘Look you can't possibly come to harm – not with us here.'

Something between a cry and a snort betrayed Margaret's doubt, but at last, grabbing Marie by one shoulder she climbed on, then rally-racer style gripped the handlebars, feet tip-toed to the ground. Now that we'd become stabilisers it was our turn to brace ourselves. Margaret's weight might have been an advantage in sumo wrestling but not for this activity.

‘Don't let go!' The voice was muffled amongst enough scarves to bandage her into a mummy. ‘And where's the brakes?'

‘You'll never find them with these goggles on. Take them off and I'll look after them,' I offered.

‘Well take good care of them. Anyway, somebody might recognise me,' she bleated.

‘Oh for goodness sake, who'd be interested? There's nobody around. Look! The road's empty – perfect for a maiden launch. Marie and I'll wheel you down a bit so that you get the feel of things. Try putting your feet on the pedals. That's right. Come on, you can do this.'

With the goggles removed, a pale sheen of sweat could be seen on her forehead, but the long road beckoned and it wasn't time to lighten up. ‘Good heavens, Margaret. You don't want Cynthia thinking she's got one over you.'

‘She already has. She's at the Ball.'

Who'd have thought Margaret possessed such a weeny voice?

‘Well, we're not either, so how about doing something constructive . Let's go.'

Marie and I, like frail tugs trying to guide a liner, set off down the road, our ship making us veer so crazily our muscles strained and protested as if they were being pulled apart.

‘Has anybody seen the harbour master?' I asked, longing for a straight course.

‘Ah, now, stop that and your laughing or we'll all end in the bushes,' Marie reproached and suppressed a giggle.

I'd been relying on her to be Captain Sensible and now here she was putting concentration in jeopardy.

Margaret's jaw set. She clamped her feet on the pedals then started to turn them in the ponderous way of a paddleboat.

‘That's right, keep going.' Encouraging and upping the pace was proving difficult but eventually our trainee began to accelerate. Quite soon she was making us run. At this rate and, worryingly, we wouldn't be able to keep up.

Blood pumping in my head seemed to coincide with feet pound- ing on the road. Maybe I was having a heart attack. What a way to go.

‘Look up!' I cried. Margaret seemed to be hypnotised by the pedals but managed to lift her head.

‘No, not the sky, you daftie. Ahead!'

And then, with a burst of speed to leave us standing, she was off! Freed from restraint she was launched. Helpless we watched. The large blob that was Margaret grew smaller by the minute. She was making a zig-zag course towards the perils of Grosvenor Road where the sound of her wails slowly faded into the distance.

Marie had given herself up to disaster, burying her face in her hands and moaning. ‘She's heading for traffic – she's going to be killed. Oh why did we ever think we could help? We'll be in such trouble. Mother of God! I knew I should have stayed with my geriatrics back home.'

‘Shush a moment, Marie.' I'd been diverted by something quite extraordinary. ‘Hang on a sec. Look, it must be Cinderella time. There's a pumpkin on the loose.' Marie spread her fingers to look through them. ‘Sure pumpkins don't move,' she whispered.

‘Well then it must be Cynthia. See that gold shape lurking in the bushes? Open your eyes, see? It looks as if she needs to get away but she's not sure where. She's weaving about like she's lost, and oh, Lord.' Small whimpering sounds floated towards us. ‘I think she must be crying.'

Marie shook her head in disbelief then, taking in the agitated figure, registered with a start. As quickly forgetting her pledge to care only for the elderly, she snapped into Sister Mercy mode and said, ‘Ah – the wee love! Look, you're good at running. You go after Margaret and I'll see to Cynthia. Sure but she sounds really upset – the poor soul. What could've gone wrong?'

‘I dunno but actually, and if I know her, the last thing she'll want is us fussing over her. This must be one of the few occasions Cynthia doesn't need an audience.' I peered into the dark but saw nothing until nose blowing tones trumpeted from behind a bush marked her position. ‘I think we should leave her for the moment, track down Evel Knievel and see if there're any bits left. I wouldn't mind hearing tears coming from that direction. At least we'd know she's alive. Come on, let's hurry. We can come back and check on Cynthia once we've found Margaret.'

In worrying mode, we started to jog along the seemingly endless stretch to Grosvenor Road. ‘At least we're on the right track, see. Look,' Marie said, pointing to a swathe cut through a flower bed, ‘I never noticed them before.'

‘Well let's hope nobody else sees them either or they'll be on the hunt for a phantom pruner and,' I was beginning to struggle, ‘maybe we shouldn't mention Cynthia to Margaret when and if we find her. Where on earth do you think she is?'

And still there was no sightings. I looked back but there was neither sight nor sound. Cynthia had disappeared completely. Presumably she'd got back into the hospital by the District entrance. I hoped she was all right. The idea of her being anything other than in charge, even if it was just of herself, was unimaginable. And where was Dr Welch in her hour of need?

We'd reached Grosvenor Road and, scanning it, at last saw with a surge of relief, Margaret with the bike – both apparently in one piece.

‘Praise be! But she's talking to a bobby,' whispered Marie, clutching my shoulder. ‘I hope she hasn't been arrested.'

‘From the way they're talking I don't think that's what he's got in mind. He seems to be showing her how the bike lights work. Come on, let's say hello and find out.'

Despite the odds, Margaret appeared hale and hearty and in remarkably good spirits.

‘Hello there, girls. Did you think you'd lost me?' If it had been anybody but Margaret I'd have sworn she sounded roguish.

‘Would these be the two you were telling me about?' The policeman was big and cheerful with the easy manner of somebody practised in crowd control. ‘Yez have chosen a quair time to be out on a cycling mission surely?' He put his hand on the handlebars as if we might grab the bike and escape. ‘I'm thinking this young lady,' he nodded at Margaret, ‘has been in dangerous company.'

‘As on the bike?' I said, liking him for the fun in his voice, the absence of a notebook, the way he'd obviously helped Margaret but wasn't making a meal of it and the fact that he was bigger than her.

‘That too.'

‘Brian's been telling me I should've had my lights on,' Margaret explained, ‘and I've been telling him I'm just a learner. I nearly ran him down you know.'

‘We police don't often get a chance to stop women on runaway bikes but maybe you should think about getting some more practice.' Brian was all but pulling on his braces. ‘If you like, I could help. I've had a fair bit of experience and I'd hate some poor woman in labour waiting for her midwife to call and her never arriving on account of her transport letting her down.'

Marie seemed to have been struck dumb by Brian's magisterial presence but now she managed, ‘Is that not a great offer, Margaret, and maybe the sergeant here can take you and the bike back, even help you have another wee shot? Jane and I won't mind. It would let us take the long way round to the Home.' A gust of wind with a suggestion of hail whipped her hair, tilting her halo. ‘Sure and it's a fine night for a breath of fresh air.'

Margaret was enthusiastic. ‘Good idea.' She waved a dismissive gauntlet. ‘I'm so excited. I can't believe I've learnt so quickly. Now I just want to get better and,' her nostrils flared, ‘I'm sure I can trust Brian not to let me go.'

The policeman placed a territorial hand on the bike seat. ‘And I won't be doing that. Dedicated midwives are thin on the ground. I should know. My late mother was one. She'd have been delighted to think I was helping you to become one. So just you hop on the saddle, Margaret. And it's hi-ho, Silver and cheerio, girls.'

We could have said, ‘Mind how you go', but they were already gone, Brian striding alongside Margaret who might have been wobbling but in all other respects was in complete control.

‘Wait till she starts telling him about theatre,' I said.

‘But at least she's happy and safe,' sighed Marie, tucking her arm into mine. ‘I wish we could say the same for Cynthia. When we get back I'm wondering if we'll see her. See if she's all right. I'll be praying for her if not.'

‘Marie, do you ever think about yourself?'

She looked puzzled. ‘Of course I do. All the time. How else could I be of service to others and,' she paused as if holding the winning card, ‘it's what helps me get out of bed in the morning.'

In the end, and despite heavy lurking outside Cynthia's bedroom, we'd to wait until morning when a bleary-eyed Seonaid, granting us an audience in her bedroom, gave us some answers.

‘We're just checking you'd a good time,' Marie said, stepping cautiously into the room where Seonaid's hairpiece nestled like a small rodent on top of her dress, which had been flung on the floor.

‘They look as if they'd a good time and must have danced all night,' I offered, picking up battle-scarred shoes placed neatly by her bed and tapping the soles together. ‘Morning, campers!'

Seonaid sat up in her bed and held a hand over her eye. ‘Would you stop that racket and take that rat-tat-tat out of my ear? I can't believe you're waking me on a day off. Me head's bursting now.'

I gave up on the subtle approach. ‘And so's ours – with curiosity. How did last night go? You must've been late. I never heard you coming in.'

‘Nor I,' agreed Marie. ‘You must've been having a great time. I was thinking about you all night and still I never heard you.'

‘It was OK,' Seonaid shrugged. ‘I've been at worse.'

‘Is that a love bite on your neck?' I asked, making Seonaid get up and rush over to the mirror. ‘Caught you! If there hadn't been a chance of one you'd never have gone to check.'

She had the grace to laugh. ‘I suppose Raymond did his best to give me a good time and the tickets were expensive.' A belated sigh of conscience seemed to engulf her before she went on, ‘And the food was great, even if we were sitting below Cynthia's lot.'

I said, ‘Now! Cynthia? Marie and I heard her last night when we were out with Margaret. She was roaming outside, round the bushes and sounded really upset. She was home even before we were. We saw the light in her room but didn't want to disturb her, and she's out this morning. Miss MacCready said she'd seen her heading off very early on. D'you know what happened?'

Seonaid lay back on her bed, putting her head on the pillows as if it were a treasured possession and sighed. ‘That oulde yoke Welch acted as if he wasn't with her. It was a shame. He just went off and danced with other girls. You'd have thought he was on his own. Cynthia did as best she could, but eventually being left in a corner got too much for her and she left.' Seonaid shook her head. ‘I didn't know if she'd have liked me to do anything but I thought it might hurt her pride if I did. I asked Raymond to have a word with her supposed partner but he was already having several with that obstetrician, Jimmy, who took exception to him asking Lisa to dance. How did you know about Cynthia?'