I went through the cold facts of Barnabas White’s case.

The priest fretted, You’re young to be shouldering such a burden.

I’m thirty years old, Father.

What if you go on to marry, Nurse Power, and you’re blessed with some or many of your own?

I couldn’t simply say, I want this one. I tried to put it in terms the priest might respect. I told him, His mother died on my watch earlier today. I have a conviction that this task is laid on me.

Hmm. Then the old priest’s tone turned more practical. I know you nurses are all of good character, regular massgoers. My concern’s more on the other side.

I was suddenly too tired to follow.

He spelled it out: The mother was unfortunate, to say the least. What if it turns out, upon further inquiry, that the father was a brute, or degenerate—bad stock, don’t you know?

The little fellow can’t wait while we investigate his pedigree!

Father Xavier nodded. But do bear in mind, he’s certainly not of your class.

I don’t believe an infant has a class.

Well, now, that’s all very forward-thinking. But the fact remains, you wouldn’t know what you’d be getting.

I remembered the dark wells of the baby’s eyes. I said, Nor does he.

This time the priest didn’t say anything.

Good night now, Father.

I moved towards the door as if he’d given his agreement. I heard Father Xavier’s steps behind me. Wait.

I spun around.

What are you going to call him?

He’s already been baptised Barnabas.

No, I mean…maybe it’ll be best if you let the neighbours think he’s a cousin from the country?

I considered that for the first time, the stain of being what some called an adopted.

A fresh start, see?

The priest meant well.

So I told him, I’ll think about that.

I took a step back and Father Xavier’s hand went up as if to stop me. But no, he was sketching a blessing on the air.

My legs shook a little going down the stairs.

For a moment I thought I’d turned in the wrong door. No, it was Maternity/Fever, but a stranger was in Sister Luke’s place, giving Mary O’Rahilly a spoonful of something.

Where’s Sister Luke?

The nurse I didn’t know said, Running a message.

There was little Eunice in her crib, but the other one was empty. My pulse thumped.

Mary O’Rahilly hissed: Sister Luke took him, Nurse.

I whirled on my heel.

So the nun meant to hand him over to his keepers herself, just to spite me?

I dashed down the stairs. (Was there a hospital rule I hadn’t broken yet?)

I stepped aside to let two men carry a coffin in the doors—lightly, an empty one. Then I pushed out into the chill and galloped down the street.

The night was dark, quite moonless. I turned one corner.

Two.

A sudden misgiving. Had I misremembered the way to the mother-and-baby home listed on Honor White’s chart? Or confused it with another? I froze, scanning the dim line of buildings. Was that it, standing tall and stony at the corner?

I spotted the white bulk of Sister Luke gliding towards the gate with the Gladstone bag over one arm and a small swaddled shape tucked into the other.

I didn’t call out; I saved all my breath for chasing them.

As my steps slammed up the footpath behind her, the nun turned.

No mask now; Sister Luke’s lips were thin and her one eye bulged. Nurse Power, what in the name of God do you think you’re—

What are you doing?

She nodded up at the grey facade. Clearly this is the place for the child till things are sorted out. Best for him—for you—for all concerned.

I stepped close so I was only inches away from her. I have Father Xavier’s say-so. Give me the baby.

The nun’s grip on the sleeping Barnabas tightened. To be perfectly frank, Nurse Power, you don’t seem in a fit state. That poor girl today, I know it must have been upsetting—

Bridie Sweeney!

I roared the name so loudly that people hurrying by turned their heads.

I added, more quietly: One of twenty slaves kept at your convent.

The nun’s mouth opened and shut.

Underfed, I said. Neglected. Brutalised all her life. What was Bridie to you but a dirty orphan—free labour, and you took the wages she earned too. Tell me, when you sent her to serve in my ward, did you even think to check whether she’d had this flu?

Barnabas’s eyes popped open; he blinked around at the tarnished city.

Sister Luke said, You’re raving. Quite unhinged. What has Bridie Sweeney to do with this boy?

I didn’t know how to answer. All I knew was that their two souls were tethered in some way. One barely born, one gone too early; they’d shared this earth for a matter of hours. It was some kind of bargain, that was all I was sure of; I owed this much to Bridie.

I told her, I have permission from the priest. Give him over now.

A moment. Then Sister Luke set Barnabas’s blanketed form in my arms and the bag by my feet.

He mewed. I tucked him inside my cape to shield him from the November air.

The nun asked coldly, What are you going to tell people?

I didn’t have to answer her. But I said, That he’s my cousin from the country.

A snort. They’ll think that means he’s yours.

I registered her snide implication.

Maybe even that your brother’s the father, she added in a worldly tone.

Shame—but then my wrath pushed it away. To defame such a fellow as Tim, who couldn’t answer back.

I didn’t waste any more words on her. I seized the bag and strode off down the street. I watched my shoes land on each paving stone, being careful not to stumble and drop what I carried.

What was I doing, bringing a frail baby home to inflict on my frailer brother, who didn’t take well to noise or disruption? Hadn’t Tim been through more than enough already—what right had I to drag him into this story?

But he was such a tender fellow, I argued in my head. A natural at nurturing; he didn’t even need speech to look after me so well. If any man could rise to this strange occasion, it was Tim.

Small, practical worries crept in too. Once I got off the tram I’d have to walk the rest of the way home; I couldn’t get on a cycle with the baby.

And what would I say, how would I begin, once I let myself into the hall? Tim, you wouldn’t believe what—

I met this girl—

Tim, wait till I tell you—

This is Barnabas White.

I was in no condition to persuade my brother with argument or eloquence. Was this anything like Tim’s state when he’d emerged from the trenches, baptised in the blood of the man he loved? If I ever told anyone what had happened to me—the fever dream of the past three days—it would be Tim.

Maybe these hushed thoroughfares looked so foreign because I was showing them to Barnabas. A stranger come among us, unheralded; an emissary from a far star, reserving judgement. Breathe in the fresh air now, Barnabas, I whispered to the downy top of his head. It’s a while more till we’re home, but not too long. We’ll go to sleep then, very soon. That’s all we have to do for tonight. And then when we wake up tomorrow—we’ll see what we’ll see.

So I carried him along through streets that looked like the end of the world.