I Am Margaret (48 page)

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As my book ideas sometimes (but not always) do, this one came to me in a dream. I was on retreat with the Dominican Sisters of St Joseph at the time, and the idea was certainly one of those that had to be written, not typed up and filed away ‘just in case’. So I’d like to thank the Holy Spirit for the idea and the Sisters for all their support and wise words over the last five years.

I would also most especially like to thank my parents, for all their care and love, and for generally being such wonderful parents; and all my family and friends for their support and encouragement.

I’d like to thank my proofreaders, No. 1 being my Mum, whose honesty results in such massive improvements – an invaluable quality in a proofreader! No. 2 has to be Lucy Otton, with her brilliant analytical skills – ‘Corinna, Margo’s book was actually published on a Tuesday, you know...’ – and also Anne Harriss, Caroline Green, Cat Inkpin, Ellie Smith, Emma Turner, Eoin Colfer, Georgina Phillimore, Penny Caird, Rachel Fraser, Stewart Ross and Sr Mary Catherine Bloom OP – thank you for your time and your feedback, I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks also to Sr Tamsin Geach OP for helping with my awful Latin!

I’d especially like to thank Amanda Preston, my agent, from whom I have learnt so much about editing my own work – a painful skill every author needs to learn. Also Regina and Andrew at Chesterton Press, who have given so much help with preparing this edition.

I’d also like to thank those who have helped me by proofreading earlier work – Ehren Smith, Fiona Tubbs, Ann Harrison, Sam Moth, Diana Thombs, Clifton Martin and anyone I’ve forgotten!

And last but not least, my Guardian Angel (because they’re so underappreciated).

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Corinna Turner has been writing since she was fourteen and likes strong protagonists with plenty of integrity. She has an MA in English from Oxford University, but has foolishly gone on to work with both children and animals! Juggling work with the disabled and being a midwife to sheep, she spends as much time as she can in a little hut at the bottom of the garden, writing.

She is a Catholic Christian with roots in the Methodist and Anglican churches, and also edits her parish magazine. A keen cinema-goer, she lives in the UK with her Giant African Land Snail, Peter, who has a six inch long shell and an even larger foot!

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The Three Most Wanted: 1st 2 Chapters!

Chapter 1

The mist hung thickly over the trees. No helicopters flying today. Thank you, Lord. No one looking for us here, anyway...

“Is the weather going to hold?” I murmured.

“Forecast’s mist for the next week.” Bane climbed carefully over a fallen bough. “We had our month’s sun the day before yesterday.”

The latest painkillers were beginning to work. I hung there contentedly in Bane’s arms. Swing. Swing. Swing...

...The misty forest just the same. Everything just the same, except it was Father Mark carrying me.

“You shouldn’t have gone in there, y’know,” I mumbled. The pain was getting back up to full strength.

“Oh, hush,” said the young man, a smile softening his hatchet-face. “I can go where I like.” His eyes raked briefly over me. “Want some more pills?”

“Is it safe?”

His attention returned to the path ahead.

“Not ideal. But I wouldn’t get too excited.”

“Okay, then.” I couldn’t think straight. “Where’s Bane?” Trying and failing to keep panic from my voice...

“At the front. We need someone who knows what they’re doing at the front and his arms needed a rest.”

“Right. Of course.” I clamped my lips together. I will not scream for Bane. I’m okay here with Father Mark.

“We’re stopping, people, pass it on,” called Father Mark. Soon I was swallowing pills. Again. Bane came loping back along the long crocodile. He brushed hair from my face and kissed me tenderly.

“Okay with Father Mark for a bit?”

“’Course,” I lied. “Fine.”

“I’ll just leave you to confess, then.”

He kissed me once more and hurried back to the front.

“Could I confess?” I murmured.

Father Mark rolled his eyes.

“Have you committed a mortal sin since your last confession?”

“No...”

“Then go to sleep.”

I tried to think of a reply...

...My head rested on a familiar chest – my insides plummeted sickly – I’d dreamt it all, I was still back at the Facility... But... why was I being carried? I struggled to lift my aching, pounding head...

“Jon...?”

“Hello, sleeping beauty. How d’you feel?”

Everything echoed in my ears. The sun was rising above the trees, a brighter patch in the mist. I’d no memory of night, but it was morning now. I squinted against the cruel light, focusing on the flat dirt track along which the crocodile moved. Oh. Not a dream. Bane and Father Mark both exhausted? Or taking advantage of this flat track to get some extra time off?

Sarah walked beside Jon, raising a hand and touching his arm when he veered slightly to the left.

“Hi, Margy. You feel better?” She looked proud of her little job as Jon-aimer.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled, trying for a reassuring smile. Failing, apparently – Sarah stared worriedly at me. But getting words out was like lifting lead to my lips – I let my head rest on Jon’s shoulder and said nothing.

“It’s too early for more pills, Margo,” Jon told me after a while. Had I said something? Not too sure, but he looked worried.

“M’fine,” I muttered, though I was by no means sure about that. Major Everington was walking alongside with his empty eye sockets turned towards me, blood trickling down his calm face like tears.

He held out a hand, palm cupped as though to receive something.

“I do think it’s very decent of you. But if you’re not going to need them anymore...”

“Go away,” I told him desperately. “You’re not really here...”

“Am I not?” He raised an eyebrow, making one empty socket gape horribly. I shut my eyes tight.

“Sarah is here, Margy,” came an anxious voice. “I is...”

“It’s okay, Sarah.” Jon’s voice. “I don’t think she’s talking to you.”

“Then who Margy talking to?”

“Someone who’s not there.”

“A ghost!”

I whimpered. Not a ghost, please, Lord?

“No, no, not a ghost, Sarah. She’s running a temperature, that’s all. It makes people... see things.”

I dragged an eyelid up and risked a peep. The Major was gone. For now... I sunk slowly back into a daze of heat and pain...

...Kept hoping my head would clear, but it just seemed to get worse. There were voices, but I could hardly concentrate of what they were saying.

“She needs more pills.” Bane’s voice. Anguished. I dragged my eyelids up and tried to focus on his face.

“It’s too soon.” Fr Mark. Very firm.

“But...”

“No. Taking that many tablets too often would really be pushing it.”

“We’ve got to do something about the fever. Can you put more solution on?”

“No. Every time we unwrap those wounds to add more antiseptic, we also get more bugs in there. Tonight, maybe.”

“Well, what can we do?”

“For now, nothing. Give her more tablets in an hour.”

“Can’t you do anything else?”

“I’m a priest, not a doctor.”

“Much use that is! There’s got to be something!”

Father Mark opened his mouth again, exasperated – paused.

“Well, now you mention it.”

He fished out a case from around his neck, taking out a familiar compact camera – or something which looked like a compact camera. He opened the battery compartment and slid out a little vial full of golden liquid.

“I can give her the Sacrament of the Sick. It might make her feel better.”

He held out the vial towards me and Bane batted it away.

“Isn’t that for dying people?”

“No. It’s for sick people, as the name might suggest.”

“Seriously, Bane, it might make her feel better,” put in Jon.

Father Mark turned to me.

“Margaret?”

Perhaps it was worth speaking.

“Yes, please,” I whimpered. Certainly felt sick enough. Couldn’t keep my attention on what Father Mark was doing, though...

Vaguely aware of him sliding a second vial out and shaking a few drops of Holy Water over all of us... Jon crossed himself but my hand went all over the place – Bane put his hand around it and moved it for me....

“Penitential rite,” Father Mark was trying to catch my eye again. “Do you confess your sin?”

“Umhmm,” I managed...

...Father Mark’s cool hands rested on my pounding head as he prayed over me... then his thumb was running lightly over my forehead, damp with holy oil, marking a cross beside the plaster-covered one Major Everington had cut into my flesh.

“Through this holy anointing may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit...”

“Amen,” said Jon and Bane mouthed the same. Father Mark took my hands gently, one at a time, to anoint my palms... finished by reaching out to silently anoint my eyelids – I closed them helpfully. Wordless thanks that they’d rescued me when they had?

Father Mark was tracing a cross over us and putting the vial away. The Mass kit disappeared back inside his shirt. “All done.”

“I’m sure she feels a lot better,” said Bane sarcastically.

But I did. Not any more with it, but a whole lot calmer. Like I’d had a spiritual infusion.

“Except I bet you do, knowing you,” Bane sighed. He pressed a gentle kiss onto my cheek and picked me up again.

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Chapter 2

The coach went over a pothole and I woke with a jolt.

“Okay?” Bane looked strange in the unfamiliar school uniform.

“Yeah. It’s not hurting so much now.”

“It’s been almost six days. The skin should be reattaching.”

“Can’t be too soon.”

I eased up to sit on the coach’s rear seat instead of lying along it, Bane’s hands hovering around me against the assault of another pothole.

“Are we on schedule?”