Running on Empty by Roger Barry Read Free Book Online Page B

men who were present, with his back to the dancehall wall in Crossmaglen, South Armagh. He wore his dark blue three piece suit and black boots, which mirrored the lighting in the room. The conversation of the others mainly concerned local football rivalries, but tonight, Michael wasn’t listening. The young women all sat on the opposite side of the hall, chatting and giggling, and occasionally blushing as they cast furtive glances in the direction of the men. Michael elbowed his friend sharply in the ribs.
    ‘Who’s that?’ he asked simply, gesturing to the dark haired girl sitting across the room.
    ‘Who’s what?’
    ‘That girl, the one with the dark hair and white blouse and plaid skirt. I’ve never seen her around these parts before’.
    ‘Oh, I think she’s called Mary something, I heard she comes from Creggan’.
    She had shoulder length dark wavy hair, eyes that twinkled and a smile that would light up any room.
    As the music resumed, Michael strode purposefully across the hall until he came to a stop in front of Mary. The other girls nudged each other as he held out his hand.
    ‘My name is Michael Fahey, and I’d be honoured if you’d give me this dance’.
    Eight months later Mary and Michael married in a small stone-built church on the edge of Creggan village, settling into married life with ease. Although having no official trade to his name, from a young age Michael could turn his hand to anything relating to building. When war ended in Europe, they agreed that the opportunities available for construction work as vast areas of London began the process of rebuilding was too good to turn down, so they uprooted and headed for England. Michael got a job on a building site north of Clapham, his hiring mainly due to the quality and speed of his block laying. So, he was earning good money, and everything was working out as hoped, except for one thing. What both he and Mary desired above all else was a child, but despite their best efforts, there was no sign of Mary becoming pregnant. The practice was good, Michael used to joke, but despite his best intentions of making light of the situation, it was something that began to lay heavily on both of them. Eventually they decided it was time to take the matter further, to see if there was something that could be done to alleviate the situation. On a cold January morning in 1951, they sat opposite a doctor, as he explained as best he could in layman’s terms where the problem lay.
    ‘Well Mr and Mrs Fahey, the problem seems to be a malfunction of the hypothalamus.’
    They stared at him blankly.
    ‘I’m sorry, obviously I don’t imagine you’ve ever heard of this before, and why would you? Basically, there’s a portion of your brain Mrs Fahey, called the hypothalamus, responsible for sending signals to your pituitary gland to initiate egg maturation which isn’t functioning as it should. In other words, the part of the brain which tells the eggs to get ready isn’t telling them.’
    ‘Is there anything that can be done?’ she asked quietly.
    ‘I’m afraid not Mrs Fahey, not at the moment anyway. There is a lot of research being done in the whole area of human fertilization and reproduction at present, and I honestly think there’s going to be major advances in treating infertile couples in due course, so I’d remain optimistic for the future.’
    ‘So you’re saying, maybe someday but not now’
    ‘Yes, unfortunately as of now, that’s the situation. I’m sorry.

    Michael headed back to the building site with a cloud hanging over him, still trying to digest the news that he was to remain fatherless. As he walked on site, the vision that greeted him didn’t lighten his mood.
    Conroy, just what I need now, he thought to himself. William Conroy was the Clark of Works on the site, the power he wielded on the compound second only to God, and there was no love lost between the two men. He was a staunch Protestant who hailed from the Falls road in