The small room stank of eucalyptus. Honor White was out of view behind a steam tent of sheets, but I could hear her coughing. Her baby was in his crib, bundled legs stirring.

Sister Luke reported that he’d taken his first two bottles all right.

I had to grant the nun this much—her prejudices didn’t get in the way of her looking after patients.

Bridie poured herself a glassful from the jug of boiled water and drained it with a gasp. Then she set to work tidying up the ward like an old hand.

Delia Garrett told me, I’m leaving today, Nurse Power!

Really?

Dr. Lynn was in, and she says I’ll do better convalescing at home.

It was unorthodox but I couldn’t object, given the state of the hospital. The Garretts were comfortably off enough to hire a private nurse, whereas for most of our patients, this was their only chance to be looked after.

Sister Luke told me, Father Xavier was gone last night, and he’s out at a funeral at the moment, but I’ll see can I find another priest to christen that one. (Nodding at the White baby.)

Once the nun had left, I met Bridie’s eyes. Her smile was dazzling.

She asked, What now?

In her steam tent, Honor White was crimson. I decided it was time to get her out.

I wiped her face with a cool cloth. Is that any better, Mrs. White?

She only muttered another of her prayers.

I checked her chest binder. Barely damp; her milk hadn’t come in yet. I loosened the fabric further so it wouldn’t constrain her noisy breathing. Bridie, could you ever make Mrs. White a hot lemonade while I check on Mrs. O’Rahilly?

The young mother was nursing her little girl, whose head was rounding out nicely already. Mary O’Rahilly’s face was serene, and the tray beside her looked as if she’d eaten well. But my eyes went compulsively to the shadowed insides of her wrists—the blue marks.

As if she’d read my mind, she mentioned him. Mr. O’Rahilly’s coming for Eunice tomorrow, she said, for her to be christened. They’ll let him in as far as the visitors’ lobby, and she’ll be brought down.

Very good.

I was watching her face. Was she longing to go home to her husband, dreading it, both?

Stay out of it, Julia. Marriage was a private business and a mysterious one.

I turned to Delia Garrett. I see you’re packed up already. I’ll change your binder before I dress you.

When I unwound her bandage, it came away soaked with milk.

She kept her face averted.

Such a waste, those plumped-up breasts; I wondered how long it would take them to register and accept that there was no one to feed.

I wrapped Delia Garrett up again with a fresh bandage. Then I looked in her bag and pulled out a loose dress.

Not that old thing!

I found a skirt and blouse instead, and Bridie and I got her dressed, very gently.

I looked back at Honor White, who’d already dropped into a doze, her lemonade untouched on the cabinet. Sleep was the best thing for her, I supposed; we had no medicine any more effective.

In his crib, her boy made a catlike sound as his legs stretched. No need to carve a crescent on my watch for this one. Despite being premature, he was doing grand. Already his asymmetrical mouth hardly startled my eyes anymore; just two pieces of lip that didn’t quite join up, a brief hiatus.

It occurred to me that this tiny stranger had some of my blood in his veins. Would he always be kin to me under the skin?

Shall I show you how to feed him, Bridie?

Do.

I found the crosscut teat and bottle where Sister Luke had left them in soda after boiling them. I shook up the jar of infant mixture (pasteurised cow’s milk, cream, sugar, and barley water, according to the label), then diluted it with warm water, not cold, so as not to chill his stomach. I fitted the teat onto the soldered spout.

I had Bridie take the White boy in the crook of her left arm. He tried to curl up like a grub, but I made sure his neck was straight. I let the liquid down gradually into the twist of his mouth, slowing the flow by putting my finger on the teat’s second hole as if I were playing the tin whistle.

Bridie murmured, Look at that. Can’t suck it exactly, but he’s glugging it down, no bother to him.

Little by little, the White boy took his whole meal while the two of us watched. He swallowed as if he knew he had only one task in the world and his future depended on it.

I heard baritone singing in the passage. Two little boys had two little toys…

Groyne, of course.

I took the drowsing baby. Could you go and shush the man, Bridie?

She hurried out.

But rode back in the next minute in the wheelchair Groyne was pushing. Bridie was holding imaginary reins, pretending to giddy-up while the two of them carried on the song.

Did you think I would leave you dying,

When there’s room on my horse for two?

Climb up here, Joe, we’ll soon be flying,

I can go just as fast with two.

I said without heat, This is a sick ward, you pair of foolish gamallooks.

The orderly neighed softly and tipped the chair back on its little rear wheels. Carriage for Mrs. Garrett.

Bridie climbed out, laughing sheepishly.

When I turned to apologise to Delia Garrett, she was weakly smiling. She said, I sing that one to my little girls.

Won’t they be delighted to have you home?

She nodded, a sudden tear spangling off her chin.

I put down the White baby and got Delia Garrett into the wheelchair, then hung her bag on the handle. Her hands lay in her lap, her blouse loose on her belly. She looked pretty in a half-destroyed way.

Thank you, Nurse Julia, said Delia Garrett. Thank you, Bridie.

Goodbye, we chimed.

Best of luck, Mrs. O’Rahilly.

The younger woman couldn’t say You too to this bereaved mother, so she only smiled wanly and nodded at her.

Groyne pushed Delia Garrett off down the passage.

Bridie and I turned to each other.

Oh, the secrecy and heat of that glance.

Then, without a word, we made up the empty bed on the right, to be ready for whoever would arrive next.

When the sun came up a little later, a band of light cut in the ward’s window. Bridie looked see-through to me today, as if made of bones and light, wearing her flesh like a dress.

Bridie sneezed so suddenly that Eunice jerked and fell away from her mother.

Sorry, said Bridie, it’s the sunlight.

I told her, It sometimes makes me sneeze too.

Mary O’Rahilly reattached the baby’s mouth to her nipple, expert already.

Honor White was sleeping, and there was no other patient to hear, so I found I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to talk to Mary O’Rahilly.

I leaned over her bed and said under my breath (since I wasn’t supposed to be saying this at all), May I ask you something, dear? Something rather personal.

Her eyes went wide.

Does Mr. O’Rahilly ever…lose his temper?

A carefree wife might have answered, Doesn’t everyone?

But Mary O’Rahilly shrank back a little, which told me Bridie had guessed right.

Coming round to the other side of the bed, Bridie asked: He does, doesn’t he?

The woman was barely audible. Only when he’s taken spirits.

I told her, That’s an awful shame.

Bridie pressed on. How often?

Mary O’Rahilly’s eyes slid back and forth between us. It’s hard for him, being out of work.