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a job understanding your baby’s Irish accent.’
    But Denise refused to be patronised. ‘You try having one and see how jokey that makes you,’ she said and gave a cold stare to Marie who had been handed the stethoscope and was now approaching with a trembling hand and her eyes already swimming. A sob hovered.
    She gazed into Denise’s face.
    â€˜Well if I was in your place, I’d be sick too, but with nerves.’
‘Oh for goodness sake!’ Miss Harvey threw her eyes heavenward.
    â€˜A birth’s supposed to be a cause for joy. Put your ear to that stethoscope
    and see if you can hear something positive for a change.’
    But further negativity came from outside with Sister’s voice carrying a cool, hostile message.
    â€˜No, Father, I’m very much afraid you can’t visit Mrs Murphy. She’s very kindly agreed to help Miss Harvey with her tutorial and that’s about to start right now.’ She turned up the volume. ‘Right now! Isn’t that so, Miss Harvey?’
    â€˜Ach, Sister, I just want a wee word with Mrs Murphy. She’s one of my flock and I’m here to wish her well.’ The tone was wheedling.
    â€˜Well, we’ll pass on your best wishes,’ Miss Harvey broke in. Quickly she grabbed the stethoscope, returned Denise’s bump to its owner, swished back the curtains and looked at her watch. ‘Heavens! Is that the time? You’ll have to excuse us, Mrs Campbell. My! How the time does fly. Our next patient must be thinking we’ve forgotten her. Come along, class.’ She hustled us out past a priest who was facing up to an unexpectedly implacable Sister Uprichard.
    His round figure, halo of wispy curls and rosebud mouth in its florid setting gave him the look of a dissolute cherub but he wore the certainty of a God-messenger on a mission.
    â€˜Well, if it’s not Miss Harvey, me oulde friend.’ He couldn’t have sounded less delighted. ‘Look,’ he ran a finger round a grimy dog collar, ‘I’ll only take a minute. She’s one of our most dearly beloved flock.’ He clasped his hands and gazed at the floor as if already praying. ‘And the baby being so near and all, I have a special wee word for her.’
    â€˜I’m sure God, like us, is busy enough right now and as we don’t know how long we’re going to be, I suggest that a better use of your time would be to visit the Murphy family in their home. Offer help. There must be at least nine hungry mouths to feed there, Father.’ Miss Harvey spoke pleasantly whilst making it clear the subject was closed. Going to Mrs Murphy’s bed she started to screen her off. ‘Come along, class, we’ve work to do.’
    Released from the doubtful pleasures of abdominal palpation, Denise wondered where Dr Welch was. Cynthia, who had returned looking smug, bustled off again, saying she knew where to find him. Her apron had been rinsed clean but also of starch. Now it drooped like a sad flag. It made her look more human if less efficient.
    Meanwhile the priest hovered, reluctant to leave. Miss Harvey, hands on the curtains, waited until Sister Uprichard took his arm and, propelling him towards the door, spoke with the hearty manner of a hostess seeing off her last and least welcome guest. ‘Now, Father, I’ll see you out and maybe when this Baby Murphy’s born you can run along and give Mum a hand, hang out the nappies. There’ll be plenty of them already. I imagine the last little Murphy’s still in them.’
    She opened the door and he trudged off whilst we gathered round Mrs Murphy who, unlike Denise, on whose small finger a large gem had sparkled, wore a wedding ring strung by a shoelace round her neck. Her swollen fingers busied themselves knitting whilst she kept a watchful eye on her new visitors.
    We didn’t need to be experts to figure out that this patient with the care-worn look of an